Read Online Wake Up Dead - an Undead Anthology by Adam Millard, Guy James, Suzanne Robb, Chantal Boudreau, Mia Darien, Douglas Vance Castagna, Rebecca Snow, Caitlin Gunn, R.d Teun - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adam Millard, Guy James, Suzanne Robb, Chantal Boudreau, Mia Darien, Douglas Vance Castagna, Rebecca Snow, Caitlin Gunn, R.d Teun
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the corner to meet her as she crossed. His plan was to ask her directions and then grab her and drag her off behind the dumpster on the side of Burger King.
She was walking briskly, her eyes darting in every direction. She was holding her pocketbook in front of her and under her arm. She was definitely aware of her surroundings. Streetwise , he thought. He would have to act swiftly.
She began to veer to the left, away from him. He quickly moved after her.
"Excuse me ma'am," he said. His voice was still soothing. The woman stopped and decided to hear what he had to say.
He took a few steps towards her and stopped under the streetlight. "I was wondering if you could..."
He was interrupted by her scream. She sprayed his eyes with mace, and then he screamed. He crumpled to the floor as she ran away.
Moments later, when the burning had somewhat subsided he stood up. What made her scream?, he thought. Then lifted his twisted right hand to his face and felt the horror that the woman had seen.
His face was covered with large, oozing sores. I probably look like a monster, he thought. He would never himself be able to see the horror of what he looked like. He even began to forget what he had looked like before he became a Vampire. In fact, it had been well over two hundred years since he had seen his own reflection.
Slowly, his sight began to return to him, and he could see the woman on the next block. She was telling her story to big man in a stained tee-shirt, standing in front of a pizzeria. The man looked in Randy's direction and disappeared inside the pizzeria. Moments later, three men came out, followed by the big man. They all piled into a battered Duster and started it up.
In some other life, Randy could have, would have, torn an army to shreds. Now, he had been defeated by a wino and a petite little woman. He felt hopeless.
He knew those men would hurt him. Any injuries would not be fatal, but they would not heal. His leg still never fully healed after he'd been beaten by a runny-nosed kid with a baseball bat, over six months ago. The kid hadn't liked the way Randy had looked at him.
All things considered Randy decided that it would be in his best interest to flee.
He turned, ran down the avenue, and crossed the street. When he turned the corner, he ducked down behind the overflowing garbage cans between a six-family house and a gutted building.
The car skidded and turned down the block where he hid. It did not stop but continued down the narrow street.
He thought of going inside the building to hide out for a while. However, he knew that if he rested, even for a moment, he might fall asleep. Randy could not remember the last time he had done all of this walking and running.
After waiting several minutes, to be sure they were gone, he got up from his spot behind the garbage cans. He heard his bones crack with the strain of movement as he stood and stretched.
He took a laborious step and then another one. Suddenly, he heard a slight noise, and he was bathed in light.
Slowly, he turned, shielding his eyes from the glare with a hand covered with angry red, puckering sores.
That was when he noticed that the disease had spread. He brought a hand up to his face and felt them - large and warm, secreting puss.
He turned away from the glaring lights. He tried to run, but came up against a wall of immovable flesh.
The big man in the greasy tee-shirt stood in front of him with a baseball bat in his hand and a smile on his face.
The lights got brighter as the Duster crept up the alley where the two figures stood.
The three men got out of the car. A tall thin man, who didn't look much like a man as he did a pimply-faced kid, resembled the baseball fan. He was carrying a tire iron. Another short, stocky man wearing a black tee-shirt with a white peace sign held nothing.
The third man from the car, actually the fourth man in all, stood by the car, reluctant to join his friends. He was behind the headlights' glare, and
She was walking briskly, her eyes darting in every direction. She was holding her pocketbook in front of her and under her arm. She was definitely aware of her surroundings. Streetwise , he thought. He would have to act swiftly.
She began to veer to the left, away from him. He quickly moved after her.
"Excuse me ma'am," he said. His voice was still soothing. The woman stopped and decided to hear what he had to say.
He took a few steps towards her and stopped under the streetlight. "I was wondering if you could..."
He was interrupted by her scream. She sprayed his eyes with mace, and then he screamed. He crumpled to the floor as she ran away.
Moments later, when the burning had somewhat subsided he stood up. What made her scream?, he thought. Then lifted his twisted right hand to his face and felt the horror that the woman had seen.
His face was covered with large, oozing sores. I probably look like a monster, he thought. He would never himself be able to see the horror of what he looked like. He even began to forget what he had looked like before he became a Vampire. In fact, it had been well over two hundred years since he had seen his own reflection.
Slowly, his sight began to return to him, and he could see the woman on the next block. She was telling her story to big man in a stained tee-shirt, standing in front of a pizzeria. The man looked in Randy's direction and disappeared inside the pizzeria. Moments later, three men came out, followed by the big man. They all piled into a battered Duster and started it up.
In some other life, Randy could have, would have, torn an army to shreds. Now, he had been defeated by a wino and a petite little woman. He felt hopeless.
He knew those men would hurt him. Any injuries would not be fatal, but they would not heal. His leg still never fully healed after he'd been beaten by a runny-nosed kid with a baseball bat, over six months ago. The kid hadn't liked the way Randy had looked at him.
All things considered Randy decided that it would be in his best interest to flee.
He turned, ran down the avenue, and crossed the street. When he turned the corner, he ducked down behind the overflowing garbage cans between a six-family house and a gutted building.
The car skidded and turned down the block where he hid. It did not stop but continued down the narrow street.
He thought of going inside the building to hide out for a while. However, he knew that if he rested, even for a moment, he might fall asleep. Randy could not remember the last time he had done all of this walking and running.
After waiting several minutes, to be sure they were gone, he got up from his spot behind the garbage cans. He heard his bones crack with the strain of movement as he stood and stretched.
He took a laborious step and then another one. Suddenly, he heard a slight noise, and he was bathed in light.
Slowly, he turned, shielding his eyes from the glare with a hand covered with angry red, puckering sores.
That was when he noticed that the disease had spread. He brought a hand up to his face and felt them - large and warm, secreting puss.
He turned away from the glaring lights. He tried to run, but came up against a wall of immovable flesh.
The big man in the greasy tee-shirt stood in front of him with a baseball bat in his hand and a smile on his face.
The lights got brighter as the Duster crept up the alley where the two figures stood.
The three men got out of the car. A tall thin man, who didn't look much like a man as he did a pimply-faced kid, resembled the baseball fan. He was carrying a tire iron. Another short, stocky man wearing a black tee-shirt with a white peace sign held nothing.
The third man from the car, actually the fourth man in all, stood by the car, reluctant to join his friends. He was behind the headlights' glare, and
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