Read Online The Week of the Dead by Viktor Longfellow - Free Book Online
Authors: Viktor Longfellow
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the sugar?” Stephen began to clank around in the kitchen loudly attracting the creatures outside.
“What the hell are you doing?” Devin said as he pointed the gun at the windows.
“Looking for sugar, vegetable oil, and the coffee beans. Where’s my goddamn paint cans? Girly, go in that room, and bring me my oxygen tank.”
“Pantry, on the floor,” Devin said as he opened the back door going to the back shed. He quickly came back with a few paint cans, mostly still full, and a five-gallon jug of fuel.
“What are you making?” Devin asked intently.
“In my day, you never leave the area until all enemies are dead. I’m making something that will get their attention, and I’m making coffee while I work. Got a goddamn problem?” Devin shook his head silently. “Get your shit, leave me the rifle and a handgun, and let me do my thing,” Stephen said as he punched buttons on the coffee machine.
The youngsters said their good-byes and made it out the back door. They began to climb over the back fence and into the backyard of the neighbor’s house making as little noise as possible. Stephen sipped on his coffee as he began putting the ingredients into the paint cans. “ A bunch of flammable shit and a gun. Going out with a bang indeed ,” he told himself.
He lined the floor and counter with the vegetable oil. He dumped silverware, spare change, and salt rocks into the paint cans. He ripped up towels and stuffed them into the cracked lids of the cans. He poured gasoline into a line that connected the kitchen to the couch where he positioned a box of ammunition on its side aimed at the door. He had a plan, and it was going to work. Stephen finished his cup of coffee. Hope they have better coffee in hell. He stood at the door, armed with the handgun Devin had given him.
He unloaded the chamber, and the creatures began to barge the door. More and more they pressed against the wooden portal until it gave out. Stephen moved to the couch. He stopped and threw his coffee mug at the approaching red eyes advancing on him. “Wrong house assholes!” he exclaimed as took the lit cigarette from his lips, took a few drags, and then threw it onto the gasoline trail. Stephen didn’t know how well his plan had worked, but he knew he needed to get out of there. He grabbed a chair and threw it out the window. He then crawled out the window cutting his hand on the cracked glass stuck in the frame. The attackers began to hurdle into the living room chasing him. Stephen found the ladder and climbed onto the shingled roof with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
He knew the fire was getting close to the paint cans by now. Soon the house was going to be demolished under his feet. He took the time to pick off some of the creatures in the street. He aimed down the sight to pick his targets. Being an army sniper, his aim was true; being an old man, it was fuzzy, but he could still pick out friend from foe. After well-placed rounds, Stephen noticed that the noise was bringing the creatures into the house. He didn’t know if the fire was having any effect on them, but by now he didn’t care. The house under him let out a quick roar followed by another.
Black and white smoke began to bellow out from under the roof. Then a small explosion happened. Followed by a quieter one. Then suddenly there was a familiar sound. A sound that Stephen had to dig deep in his memory to triangulate; it brought him back to his days in Vietnam, the sound of rapid gunfire. Stephen leaned over the side of the house and saw twelve distinct bullet holes in the next-door neighbor’s house. Holy shit, it worked , he thought as he gave himself a smirk. “Come and get me, you Charlie sons of bitches!” Stephen expelled as he reloaded his rifle and began firing wildly into his new audience of red-eyed listeners. “You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted as he reached in his pockets to find more ammo.
He had only one round left. He loaded it. “ Do I
“What the hell are you doing?” Devin said as he pointed the gun at the windows.
“Looking for sugar, vegetable oil, and the coffee beans. Where’s my goddamn paint cans? Girly, go in that room, and bring me my oxygen tank.”
“Pantry, on the floor,” Devin said as he opened the back door going to the back shed. He quickly came back with a few paint cans, mostly still full, and a five-gallon jug of fuel.
“What are you making?” Devin asked intently.
“In my day, you never leave the area until all enemies are dead. I’m making something that will get their attention, and I’m making coffee while I work. Got a goddamn problem?” Devin shook his head silently. “Get your shit, leave me the rifle and a handgun, and let me do my thing,” Stephen said as he punched buttons on the coffee machine.
The youngsters said their good-byes and made it out the back door. They began to climb over the back fence and into the backyard of the neighbor’s house making as little noise as possible. Stephen sipped on his coffee as he began putting the ingredients into the paint cans. “ A bunch of flammable shit and a gun. Going out with a bang indeed ,” he told himself.
He lined the floor and counter with the vegetable oil. He dumped silverware, spare change, and salt rocks into the paint cans. He ripped up towels and stuffed them into the cracked lids of the cans. He poured gasoline into a line that connected the kitchen to the couch where he positioned a box of ammunition on its side aimed at the door. He had a plan, and it was going to work. Stephen finished his cup of coffee. Hope they have better coffee in hell. He stood at the door, armed with the handgun Devin had given him.
He unloaded the chamber, and the creatures began to barge the door. More and more they pressed against the wooden portal until it gave out. Stephen moved to the couch. He stopped and threw his coffee mug at the approaching red eyes advancing on him. “Wrong house assholes!” he exclaimed as took the lit cigarette from his lips, took a few drags, and then threw it onto the gasoline trail. Stephen didn’t know how well his plan had worked, but he knew he needed to get out of there. He grabbed a chair and threw it out the window. He then crawled out the window cutting his hand on the cracked glass stuck in the frame. The attackers began to hurdle into the living room chasing him. Stephen found the ladder and climbed onto the shingled roof with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
He knew the fire was getting close to the paint cans by now. Soon the house was going to be demolished under his feet. He took the time to pick off some of the creatures in the street. He aimed down the sight to pick his targets. Being an army sniper, his aim was true; being an old man, it was fuzzy, but he could still pick out friend from foe. After well-placed rounds, Stephen noticed that the noise was bringing the creatures into the house. He didn’t know if the fire was having any effect on them, but by now he didn’t care. The house under him let out a quick roar followed by another.
Black and white smoke began to bellow out from under the roof. Then a small explosion happened. Followed by a quieter one. Then suddenly there was a familiar sound. A sound that Stephen had to dig deep in his memory to triangulate; it brought him back to his days in Vietnam, the sound of rapid gunfire. Stephen leaned over the side of the house and saw twelve distinct bullet holes in the next-door neighbor’s house. Holy shit, it worked , he thought as he gave himself a smirk. “Come and get me, you Charlie sons of bitches!” Stephen expelled as he reloaded his rifle and began firing wildly into his new audience of red-eyed listeners. “You’ll never take me alive!” he shouted as he reached in his pockets to find more ammo.
He had only one round left. He loaded it. “ Do I
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