Read Online 4 Hardcore Zombie Novellas by Cheryl Mullenax - Free Book Online
Authors: Cheryl Mullenax
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man’s head and shouted: “Let him go or I’ll shoot you!”
He didn’t let go. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
“Hey! I’m not fucking around! I WILL SHOOT YOU.”
The naked biter was unimpressed. Or batshit crazy.
“Shoot ’im,” Bravo said in a wet, strangled voice.
She reaimed and fired. The slug hit him squarely in the center of the top of his head and he fell backward, taking Bravo back with him.
Betty heard a scraping noise to her rear. She spun back around to see a disfigured man in bloody clothes crawling toward her. The raw-meat stench told her that this was the one she’d smelled earlier.
“Stop!” she yelled. “
Alto!
”
He didn’t.
She shot him. His right eyeball disappeared in a splash of blood.
But he did not stop. He merely paused long enough to wipe at his empty eye socket with the back of a filthy hand, then he came on with one crazy eye shining in the light beam.
Betty fired again. And again.
Her weapon held 13 rounds but she wasn’t going to get a chance to fire them all. The man was on her as she fired the fifth round.
The sixth ricocheted off the tunnel wall with a whistling whine.
The seventh shot was pointblank to the belly as he fell on top of her, teeth tearing into her throat.
The eighth blew off the tip of Betty’s left breast.
There was no ninth.
Betty Davis Wolfe died slowly.
There were no dead relatives waiting to welcome her, no light shining at the end of a tunnel, just her failing flashlight in this drug-runner’s tunnel.
She died wishing she’d had a last cigarette.
When she woke to the afterdeath, what she desired was not a smoke.
17
Mystery Train
Piggy was too pooped to pop. She was like the hobo campfire, flamed out and burnt down to dying embers. Lethargic, gorged on hobo blood and meat to the point where she didn’t want to move. Warm liquid seeped out of her anus. She reckoned it was the blood she’d imbibed from that silly skull-fucker Sop. Hadn’t he been shocked when she chomped his drippy little dick off! One fell snap of the teeth and his limp sausage was in her mouth and he was screaming his ass off, but not for long. By the time she’d chewed the blood out of his cock and spit the thing on the ground, he was flat on his back, passing out. And that was when Piggy made a pig of herself. She took the stump of his dick in her mouth and sucked and sucked and sucked the blood out of him. Couldn’t call it cocksucking because his cock was mostly gone. But that was some sweet nub-sucking, right? She drained him nice and slow and didn’t stop until his heart did. When she was finally done, she rolled over and saw that Sick had bested Suck by chewing his throat out like a fast-food junkie. Piggy preferred dining at a more leisurely pace and figured that made her a more refined diner than hobo Sick, who must’ve wandered off to find another snack. Suck was just now stirring to life (or non-life) and would likewise be about the business of finding food with a heartbeat.
Piggy thought this was some weird shit, all right.
Weirder still was how quickly it became second nature to her, this new way of life, or undeath, or whatever the devil you called it. What wasn’t so weird was that her suicidal impulse
had
survived her death. Doing away with herself now was a bigger challenge. A harder row to hoe for any ho. But she knew she could do it. And now that her gut was so full of blood that it was leaking out her ass, it seemed the ideal time to end this nasty-ass excuse of an afterlife. And she knew just how to do it.
She rose from the earth. Like a slow shadow, Sop the Dickless Dead rose a moment after her. He looked at her, his blanched face shrivel-wrinkled in death, then he shambled away in shame. Or maybe just to find warm-blooded victuals.
Piggy heard the distant train whistle and hobbled as fast as she could toward the tracks. She slipped and slid down the embankment to the rail bed and then slipped on the gravel thereabouts, but she beat
He didn’t let go. Didn’t acknowledge her at all.
“Hey! I’m not fucking around! I WILL SHOOT YOU.”
The naked biter was unimpressed. Or batshit crazy.
“Shoot ’im,” Bravo said in a wet, strangled voice.
She reaimed and fired. The slug hit him squarely in the center of the top of his head and he fell backward, taking Bravo back with him.
Betty heard a scraping noise to her rear. She spun back around to see a disfigured man in bloody clothes crawling toward her. The raw-meat stench told her that this was the one she’d smelled earlier.
“Stop!” she yelled. “
Alto!
”
He didn’t.
She shot him. His right eyeball disappeared in a splash of blood.
But he did not stop. He merely paused long enough to wipe at his empty eye socket with the back of a filthy hand, then he came on with one crazy eye shining in the light beam.
Betty fired again. And again.
Her weapon held 13 rounds but she wasn’t going to get a chance to fire them all. The man was on her as she fired the fifth round.
The sixth ricocheted off the tunnel wall with a whistling whine.
The seventh shot was pointblank to the belly as he fell on top of her, teeth tearing into her throat.
The eighth blew off the tip of Betty’s left breast.
There was no ninth.
Betty Davis Wolfe died slowly.
There were no dead relatives waiting to welcome her, no light shining at the end of a tunnel, just her failing flashlight in this drug-runner’s tunnel.
She died wishing she’d had a last cigarette.
When she woke to the afterdeath, what she desired was not a smoke.
17
Mystery Train
Piggy was too pooped to pop. She was like the hobo campfire, flamed out and burnt down to dying embers. Lethargic, gorged on hobo blood and meat to the point where she didn’t want to move. Warm liquid seeped out of her anus. She reckoned it was the blood she’d imbibed from that silly skull-fucker Sop. Hadn’t he been shocked when she chomped his drippy little dick off! One fell snap of the teeth and his limp sausage was in her mouth and he was screaming his ass off, but not for long. By the time she’d chewed the blood out of his cock and spit the thing on the ground, he was flat on his back, passing out. And that was when Piggy made a pig of herself. She took the stump of his dick in her mouth and sucked and sucked and sucked the blood out of him. Couldn’t call it cocksucking because his cock was mostly gone. But that was some sweet nub-sucking, right? She drained him nice and slow and didn’t stop until his heart did. When she was finally done, she rolled over and saw that Sick had bested Suck by chewing his throat out like a fast-food junkie. Piggy preferred dining at a more leisurely pace and figured that made her a more refined diner than hobo Sick, who must’ve wandered off to find another snack. Suck was just now stirring to life (or non-life) and would likewise be about the business of finding food with a heartbeat.
Piggy thought this was some weird shit, all right.
Weirder still was how quickly it became second nature to her, this new way of life, or undeath, or whatever the devil you called it. What wasn’t so weird was that her suicidal impulse
had
survived her death. Doing away with herself now was a bigger challenge. A harder row to hoe for any ho. But she knew she could do it. And now that her gut was so full of blood that it was leaking out her ass, it seemed the ideal time to end this nasty-ass excuse of an afterlife. And she knew just how to do it.
She rose from the earth. Like a slow shadow, Sop the Dickless Dead rose a moment after her. He looked at her, his blanched face shrivel-wrinkled in death, then he shambled away in shame. Or maybe just to find warm-blooded victuals.
Piggy heard the distant train whistle and hobbled as fast as she could toward the tracks. She slipped and slid down the embankment to the rail bed and then slipped on the gravel thereabouts, but she beat
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