Read Online Books of the Dead (Book 1): Sanctuary From The Dead by R.J. Spears - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.J. Spears
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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zombie.
Clomp, step, clomp, they went. A hand slapped the wall, probably for balance. They were just about to us.
My hand clutched the bat so tightly; my knuckles were white. I remembered my coach’s admonishments against having an over tight grip. His voice echoed in my head and I relaxed. It had helped me get a few extra hits that season but still hadn’t allowed me to crack the starting line-up. In the world of zombies, I guessed that a loose swing might work for me, too.
A large shaggy head of hair came into view first, matted down in places with globs of dried blood. He was a big guy, probably about 6’ 2”. The father, I thought. His face had long deep gashes and one his eyes was gouged out. He turned the corner and took me in with one remaining eye, the color of nothingness. As he reached for me, Mike brought his bat down with a dull metal ping, and the creature went down in a heap.
Mike and I grabbed a leg each and pulled the body out the side door. When we re-entered the house, we heard a clanking, metal-on-metal, noise from the basement.
We exchanged glances. “Hold up. We’ll head down in a minute,” he said. He walked up the stairs and asked Brandon and Aaron to check the se cond floor. I was left alone to listen to the clanking below. It somehow made me think of a pirate ship. Ahoy was all that came to my mind.
Mike came back down and asked, “You ready?”
“Ready or not, I guess,” I said, breaking from my imaginary pirate adventure.
It wasn’t something th at we hadn’t encountered in different forms already, but this instance was probably the worst. At least for me.
The pattern went like this; a family member wa s bitten, then died and turned. Hoping against hope, they locked the undead person in a room or tied them to a bed. A parent, most likely, not able to bear the thought of putting the person down tries anything to protect their undead family member. In the end, that decision takes down the entire family.
In one house, it was the father who had been bitten. As he started to get sick he boarded himself in with his entire family -- three kids and his wife. Cleaning that place out meant killing an entire undead family. It also meant nightmares for weeks. Remembering it brought a bone tired weariness through me, making my bones feel old and my muscles weak. Now it was time to do it all again. The hits always keep coming in the zombie apocalypse.
T he story became clear for this sad house once we entered the basement.
She looked to be fourteen o r fifteen. She was chained to a large support beam. Probably to protect the boy. Maybe he just had to see his big sis’ one more time, maybe to hug her, and that’s how he got bitten. Then they put him in the pantry.
There were any number of scenarios that could have b rought about the hellish stage play. Making it worse was the mother’s desiccated body lying in the corner, most of the top of her head gone with dried blood and brain matter spattering the wall above her. There was a small handgun on the floor in front of her. Having her daughter turn into one of those things was bad enough, but to lose her son must have pushed her over the edge. I couldn’t fit together the puzzle pieces about the father, but it didn’t really matter. We had taken him out and now would have to deal with his daughter.
The girl rushed at us, hissing and snarling but was yanked backwards b y the heavy leather collar. Someone had put it on her -- most likely the father. A metal chain attached to the collar. She had probably been down there for months. The thick sweet smell of the long dead filled the room. I never got used to it when it was this close and in your face. My stomach lurched a little.
She had clawed all the finger nails off both her hands and bones poked through the skin of several of her fingertips. Her neck was red and raw with bits and pieces of
Clomp, step, clomp, they went. A hand slapped the wall, probably for balance. They were just about to us.
My hand clutched the bat so tightly; my knuckles were white. I remembered my coach’s admonishments against having an over tight grip. His voice echoed in my head and I relaxed. It had helped me get a few extra hits that season but still hadn’t allowed me to crack the starting line-up. In the world of zombies, I guessed that a loose swing might work for me, too.
A large shaggy head of hair came into view first, matted down in places with globs of dried blood. He was a big guy, probably about 6’ 2”. The father, I thought. His face had long deep gashes and one his eyes was gouged out. He turned the corner and took me in with one remaining eye, the color of nothingness. As he reached for me, Mike brought his bat down with a dull metal ping, and the creature went down in a heap.
Mike and I grabbed a leg each and pulled the body out the side door. When we re-entered the house, we heard a clanking, metal-on-metal, noise from the basement.
We exchanged glances. “Hold up. We’ll head down in a minute,” he said. He walked up the stairs and asked Brandon and Aaron to check the se cond floor. I was left alone to listen to the clanking below. It somehow made me think of a pirate ship. Ahoy was all that came to my mind.
Mike came back down and asked, “You ready?”
“Ready or not, I guess,” I said, breaking from my imaginary pirate adventure.
It wasn’t something th at we hadn’t encountered in different forms already, but this instance was probably the worst. At least for me.
The pattern went like this; a family member wa s bitten, then died and turned. Hoping against hope, they locked the undead person in a room or tied them to a bed. A parent, most likely, not able to bear the thought of putting the person down tries anything to protect their undead family member. In the end, that decision takes down the entire family.
In one house, it was the father who had been bitten. As he started to get sick he boarded himself in with his entire family -- three kids and his wife. Cleaning that place out meant killing an entire undead family. It also meant nightmares for weeks. Remembering it brought a bone tired weariness through me, making my bones feel old and my muscles weak. Now it was time to do it all again. The hits always keep coming in the zombie apocalypse.
T he story became clear for this sad house once we entered the basement.
She looked to be fourteen o r fifteen. She was chained to a large support beam. Probably to protect the boy. Maybe he just had to see his big sis’ one more time, maybe to hug her, and that’s how he got bitten. Then they put him in the pantry.
There were any number of scenarios that could have b rought about the hellish stage play. Making it worse was the mother’s desiccated body lying in the corner, most of the top of her head gone with dried blood and brain matter spattering the wall above her. There was a small handgun on the floor in front of her. Having her daughter turn into one of those things was bad enough, but to lose her son must have pushed her over the edge. I couldn’t fit together the puzzle pieces about the father, but it didn’t really matter. We had taken him out and now would have to deal with his daughter.
The girl rushed at us, hissing and snarling but was yanked backwards b y the heavy leather collar. Someone had put it on her -- most likely the father. A metal chain attached to the collar. She had probably been down there for months. The thick sweet smell of the long dead filled the room. I never got used to it when it was this close and in your face. My stomach lurched a little.
She had clawed all the finger nails off both her hands and bones poked through the skin of several of her fingertips. Her neck was red and raw with bits and pieces of
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