Read Online The Z Club by J.W. Bouchard - Free Book Online
Authors: J.W. Bouchard
Tags: Horror
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more like this. Brainsss! ” Derek said, drawing the word out in a long guttural hiss, doing his best impression of the zombie woman.
“Granted, there was something obviously not right about her, but she wasn’t a zombie.”
“Yeah, she isn’t now because Rhonda killed her.”
“It was self-defense,” Rhonda said.
“Derek,” Kevin said, “ shut it . You think she’s a zombie because we were talking about them last night. That’s your problem. You live in make-believe world. You have to learn to separate fantasy from reality. You’d be a lot better off.”
“Then what’s your explanation?” Rhonda asked.
“I don’t know, but I do know she’s isn’t a damn zom –”
There was a loud crash outside. They looked through the store’s plate glass windows. A car had plowed straight through the bench and the glass enclosure which served as a bus stop at the end of the plaza. A group of kids were pulling an old woman out of the car through the driver’s side window. Kevin, Rhonda, and Derek watched in horror as the kids lowered the elderly woman to the ground and began tearing her apart. One of the kids – from a distance, Kevin thought he couldn’t be older than thirteen – picked up a shard of glass from the wreck, jammed it into the old lady’s forehead, and used it to pry the top of her head open.
“Jesus,” Rhonda said.
“We can’t help her,” Kevin said.
Derek stared at Kevin, waiting.
“Okay,” Kevin said, “it might be zombies.”
The plaza’s parking lot was huge, at least three hundred yards across, and the gang of adolescent zombies was on the far end of it, but one of them stood up and began doing slow circles as he sniffed the air. Suddenly, the kid stopped and he was staring in the direction of the comic shop.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kevin said.
“He can smell us?”
“Not us ,” Derek said. “Our brains .”
“Derek, just stop talking.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Start boarding the place up,” Kevin said.
Chapter 10
If there was one thing Fred’s father had taught him, it was how to make money while maintaining a sedentary life style. In almost all respects, Fred Jr. was the spitting image of his late father; all the way down to the beard and the beer gut.
And Fred hadn’t really had to work for it, either. Fred Sr. had been best known for his infectious foghorn of a laugh and for growing a successful business despite what could be classified as a lackadaisical attitude. When he had suddenly slipped off the proverbial mortal coil four years ago, Fred Jr. had been an aimless man-boy residing in his parent’s basement, having never moved on after graduating high school. His daily routine had consisted of video games, movies, food, and jerking off (though not necessarily in that order).
Perhaps Fred had known, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, that this would be how his life ended up. He had spent every summer since he was nine helping his father make house calls, and although he had never really enjoyed that line of work, no one could argue over the fact that he was good at it. Maybe it was destiny; maybe it was bad luck. Either way, the expectation that he would one day take over the family business had always been there. Fred had been determined to fight his fate, even if it meant doing nothing was the only alternative.
It was on his mother’s insistence that he had reluctantly taken up the helm. “Do it for your father,” she had said. “You’re the only one that can carry on his legacy.”
She almost made it sound romantic; as though he had been born into the world solely for that purpose. After the funeral, she had laid on the guilt extra thick. And when that hadn’t worked, she had threatened to throw him out of the house. “You wanna sit on your ass and be a slob all day, well then you can damn well do it someplace else.”
Esther Klemt considered it
“Granted, there was something obviously not right about her, but she wasn’t a zombie.”
“Yeah, she isn’t now because Rhonda killed her.”
“It was self-defense,” Rhonda said.
“Derek,” Kevin said, “ shut it . You think she’s a zombie because we were talking about them last night. That’s your problem. You live in make-believe world. You have to learn to separate fantasy from reality. You’d be a lot better off.”
“Then what’s your explanation?” Rhonda asked.
“I don’t know, but I do know she’s isn’t a damn zom –”
There was a loud crash outside. They looked through the store’s plate glass windows. A car had plowed straight through the bench and the glass enclosure which served as a bus stop at the end of the plaza. A group of kids were pulling an old woman out of the car through the driver’s side window. Kevin, Rhonda, and Derek watched in horror as the kids lowered the elderly woman to the ground and began tearing her apart. One of the kids – from a distance, Kevin thought he couldn’t be older than thirteen – picked up a shard of glass from the wreck, jammed it into the old lady’s forehead, and used it to pry the top of her head open.
“Jesus,” Rhonda said.
“We can’t help her,” Kevin said.
Derek stared at Kevin, waiting.
“Okay,” Kevin said, “it might be zombies.”
The plaza’s parking lot was huge, at least three hundred yards across, and the gang of adolescent zombies was on the far end of it, but one of them stood up and began doing slow circles as he sniffed the air. Suddenly, the kid stopped and he was staring in the direction of the comic shop.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kevin said.
“He can smell us?”
“Not us ,” Derek said. “Our brains .”
“Derek, just stop talking.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Start boarding the place up,” Kevin said.
Chapter 10
If there was one thing Fred’s father had taught him, it was how to make money while maintaining a sedentary life style. In almost all respects, Fred Jr. was the spitting image of his late father; all the way down to the beard and the beer gut.
And Fred hadn’t really had to work for it, either. Fred Sr. had been best known for his infectious foghorn of a laugh and for growing a successful business despite what could be classified as a lackadaisical attitude. When he had suddenly slipped off the proverbial mortal coil four years ago, Fred Jr. had been an aimless man-boy residing in his parent’s basement, having never moved on after graduating high school. His daily routine had consisted of video games, movies, food, and jerking off (though not necessarily in that order).
Perhaps Fred had known, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, that this would be how his life ended up. He had spent every summer since he was nine helping his father make house calls, and although he had never really enjoyed that line of work, no one could argue over the fact that he was good at it. Maybe it was destiny; maybe it was bad luck. Either way, the expectation that he would one day take over the family business had always been there. Fred had been determined to fight his fate, even if it meant doing nothing was the only alternative.
It was on his mother’s insistence that he had reluctantly taken up the helm. “Do it for your father,” she had said. “You’re the only one that can carry on his legacy.”
She almost made it sound romantic; as though he had been born into the world solely for that purpose. After the funeral, she had laid on the guilt extra thick. And when that hadn’t worked, she had threatened to throw him out of the house. “You wanna sit on your ass and be a slob all day, well then you can damn well do it someplace else.”
Esther Klemt considered it
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