Read Online Cutthroat Chicken by Elizabeth A. Reeves - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth A. Reeves
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vampires, were just too passé.
They’d been done to death.
The crew turned to face Goldie Locke. They needed to hear what she had to say. They, too, wanted answers. They wanted to understand why they were being hunted—why so many had already perished as victims in this bloody massacre. They wanted her to tell them that they would be OK. That escape was possible.
Even that she, not this mythical creature, was the real killer.
“I know him,” Goldie Locke admitted. There was no shame or embarrassment in her expression, just simple honesty. “I’m a kind of warden for creatures like him. I suppose, in a way, this is partly my fault. I should have kept a better eye on him. For him to accomplish something like this… well, it seems impossible. I guess I made the fatal mistake in believing him to be pretty much harmless. He was… cute, comical even.” She gave a little shiver. “That he could do all this… this isn’t the Fred that I recognize. By the time I realized that he was more dangerous I realized, it was too late. I did the best that I could, once I realized that he was going on a rampage. I followed him. Not quickly enough, as it turns out. I tried to head him off. I tried to prevent him from hurting anyone. Instead, I just managed to get myself locked in with the rest of you.” Her face turned thoughtful in a grim sort of way. “In fact, I may be more at risk than any of you. He knows me. He may very well have a vendetta against me. I can’t count on my hands how many times I gave him onions for punishment—zombie chickens hate onions. At least, Fred does.” She shook her head.
“A likely story,” Chef Aire-Craft huffed. “Are we supposed to believe this twaddle? It is ridiculous!”
“Yes, you are supposed to believe me,” Goldie Locke said. “Impressive use of the word ‘twaddle’, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that outside of a book.”
Her glib words only increased the huff in his chest. He threw back his head so that he could look down at her. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but this Goldie creature had to stand at five feet, tops. “There is no zombie chicken, is there? This whole thing is just some farce—some serial killer sicko’s game.”
Goldie Locke sighed. “I can’t make you believe me. I am telling the truth, though. I’m not going to honeyfuggle you. I’m not going to lie to you. You can believe what you want, but I promise you,” she stabbed her finger in his direction, “there is a zombie chicken out there. He’s already devoured the brains of all the chickens in the pantry. Now, he’s hunting down your people and killing them. At first it was just one at a time, then there was the fire. It can only escalate from there. The sooner you get that into your head, the sooner we can try to get out of here. It’s not going to be easy. This chicken means business. This isn’t a game to him. He’s serious… deadly serious. He’s out for revenge.”
“Revenge?” Abe Braun’s voice squeaked, which only lent fuel to his fury. “What has anyone here done to deserve vengeance from a zombie chicken?”
“Zombie, no. Chicken, yes,” Goldie Locke said. “It’s pretty simple. Just try to think like a chicken.”
Somebody snorted. Another muttered. “Do chickens even think?”
Goldie Locke shot them a sharp glance and they subsided. She continued, “How many cooking shows do you think are on this network? Just competitions, let’s say. Shows like this one.” She gestured around them at the studio.
Abe Braun raised his eyebrows. He didn’t see the point in responding, but deigned to answer her question anyway. Supposedly she’d get to the point eventually. Hopefully before they were all chicken chow. “There are somewhere around twelve shows of that sort on this network. At least, that is my guess. Why?”
Goldie Locke shook her head. “Twelve competition shows. Try to think about it from his perspective. How many shows have you
They’d been done to death.
The crew turned to face Goldie Locke. They needed to hear what she had to say. They, too, wanted answers. They wanted to understand why they were being hunted—why so many had already perished as victims in this bloody massacre. They wanted her to tell them that they would be OK. That escape was possible.
Even that she, not this mythical creature, was the real killer.
“I know him,” Goldie Locke admitted. There was no shame or embarrassment in her expression, just simple honesty. “I’m a kind of warden for creatures like him. I suppose, in a way, this is partly my fault. I should have kept a better eye on him. For him to accomplish something like this… well, it seems impossible. I guess I made the fatal mistake in believing him to be pretty much harmless. He was… cute, comical even.” She gave a little shiver. “That he could do all this… this isn’t the Fred that I recognize. By the time I realized that he was more dangerous I realized, it was too late. I did the best that I could, once I realized that he was going on a rampage. I followed him. Not quickly enough, as it turns out. I tried to head him off. I tried to prevent him from hurting anyone. Instead, I just managed to get myself locked in with the rest of you.” Her face turned thoughtful in a grim sort of way. “In fact, I may be more at risk than any of you. He knows me. He may very well have a vendetta against me. I can’t count on my hands how many times I gave him onions for punishment—zombie chickens hate onions. At least, Fred does.” She shook her head.
“A likely story,” Chef Aire-Craft huffed. “Are we supposed to believe this twaddle? It is ridiculous!”
“Yes, you are supposed to believe me,” Goldie Locke said. “Impressive use of the word ‘twaddle’, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that outside of a book.”
Her glib words only increased the huff in his chest. He threw back his head so that he could look down at her. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but this Goldie creature had to stand at five feet, tops. “There is no zombie chicken, is there? This whole thing is just some farce—some serial killer sicko’s game.”
Goldie Locke sighed. “I can’t make you believe me. I am telling the truth, though. I’m not going to honeyfuggle you. I’m not going to lie to you. You can believe what you want, but I promise you,” she stabbed her finger in his direction, “there is a zombie chicken out there. He’s already devoured the brains of all the chickens in the pantry. Now, he’s hunting down your people and killing them. At first it was just one at a time, then there was the fire. It can only escalate from there. The sooner you get that into your head, the sooner we can try to get out of here. It’s not going to be easy. This chicken means business. This isn’t a game to him. He’s serious… deadly serious. He’s out for revenge.”
“Revenge?” Abe Braun’s voice squeaked, which only lent fuel to his fury. “What has anyone here done to deserve vengeance from a zombie chicken?”
“Zombie, no. Chicken, yes,” Goldie Locke said. “It’s pretty simple. Just try to think like a chicken.”
Somebody snorted. Another muttered. “Do chickens even think?”
Goldie Locke shot them a sharp glance and they subsided. She continued, “How many cooking shows do you think are on this network? Just competitions, let’s say. Shows like this one.” She gestured around them at the studio.
Abe Braun raised his eyebrows. He didn’t see the point in responding, but deigned to answer her question anyway. Supposedly she’d get to the point eventually. Hopefully before they were all chicken chow. “There are somewhere around twelve shows of that sort on this network. At least, that is my guess. Why?”
Goldie Locke shook her head. “Twelve competition shows. Try to think about it from his perspective. How many shows have you
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