Read Online Zombie Ascension (Book 1): Necropolis Now by Vincenzo Bilof - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vincenzo Bilof
Tags: Zombies
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was Bob's problem? They didn't have a choice. The entire lobby was crawling with hostiles, and she had no desire to end up like them.
Her sense of fatalism was gone, and for once, Vega felt mortal.
Bob rubbed his beard and nodded his head. "They're already dead, aren't they? We should make 'em deader. Fuck it. Light 'em up!"
MINA
Detroit's latest asylum, Eloise Fields, was partly named after another historic asylum that was a part of the city's history.
Mina had been one of its first occupants since it opened, and she was relatively pleased with her treatment there. When the fire alarm sounded and several of the cell doors were opened electronically from the master control console, Mina stood in her room for a long time, unsure what to do.
Was this another ruse, some kind of test the doctors thought valuable to unraveling her fragile mind? Where were all the security guards? Why would the doors suddenly open?
Lately, everyone on the staff made fun of her. They looked at her as if they knew a secret and wanted her to know they were complicit. One of the orderlies, Jake Wells, let it slip because he often confided in her.
One evening, Jake simply asked, "You know the Artist, Jim? He keeps telling people to send you a message. He says he wants you to know he's thinking of you. Says it all begins and ends with you, whatever that means."
Now, the hospital staff wanted to tease her with freedom. It was better inside, anyway. She'd been out there, and as a runaway orphan, institutions suited her better. The smell of bleach and antiseptics was comforting.
The sudden shrieks from other people in the hospital accompanied the sound of the fire alarm.
Mina ran her hand through her long, tangled red hair. She stepped lightly into the corridor as the alarm howled. Her white shirt and pants hung loosely over her shriveled, pale body. They tried to feed her no matter how many times she tried to explain that the same nourishment regular people needed could do nothing for her.
Her stomach growled while she watched several inmates rush past her. Some of them leapt into the air with glee, while others carefully checked the corners, confident there would be some surprise the doctors had in store for them.
Either way, she was quite pleased with her opportunity to feed.
It was the only way to make the nightmares stop. She'd suffered for so long—even when they fed her raw meat, it wasn't enough. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was a witness to the horror inflicted upon mankind by those monstrous movie creatures.
The living dead.
Her fragmented consciousness suffered at the hands of those gaping, putrescent caricatures of undead flesh. She would feel each finger digging into her skin; every horrifying sensation imaginable that could be suffered at the hands of corpuscular cannibals was hers to endure. Even when Mina's death at their hands should have been enough to shove her back into reality, she was forced to watch and feel her limbs being ripped from her body and enjoyed as morsels within the hungry jaws of the dead.
"Stop! Please! You're hurting…"
Mina walked past a cell in which another inmate was successfully bashing on another. Blood sprayed the walls as the victim's protests abated. She couldn't see the weapon, though she was familiar with the killer.
Out in the real world, they called him the Artist.
With one hand planted against the wall, Jim Traverse gasped, his head against his shoulder and his mouth split with a toothy smile. He nodded at her. Jake Wells always said that Jim looked like a statue of Chevy Chase, with dark hair that was combed over his forehead and distant eyes that never seemed to be looking at anything.
"Hey there," he said without any emotion. "Hang around for a minute. I'm going to turn his face inside-out. I think it will look pretty. If you like butterflies or unicorns, you might want to stay and check this out."
Mina shrugged. "It's time for my medication."
Jim nodded. "Sure. Okay.
Her sense of fatalism was gone, and for once, Vega felt mortal.
Bob rubbed his beard and nodded his head. "They're already dead, aren't they? We should make 'em deader. Fuck it. Light 'em up!"
MINA
Detroit's latest asylum, Eloise Fields, was partly named after another historic asylum that was a part of the city's history.
Mina had been one of its first occupants since it opened, and she was relatively pleased with her treatment there. When the fire alarm sounded and several of the cell doors were opened electronically from the master control console, Mina stood in her room for a long time, unsure what to do.
Was this another ruse, some kind of test the doctors thought valuable to unraveling her fragile mind? Where were all the security guards? Why would the doors suddenly open?
Lately, everyone on the staff made fun of her. They looked at her as if they knew a secret and wanted her to know they were complicit. One of the orderlies, Jake Wells, let it slip because he often confided in her.
One evening, Jake simply asked, "You know the Artist, Jim? He keeps telling people to send you a message. He says he wants you to know he's thinking of you. Says it all begins and ends with you, whatever that means."
Now, the hospital staff wanted to tease her with freedom. It was better inside, anyway. She'd been out there, and as a runaway orphan, institutions suited her better. The smell of bleach and antiseptics was comforting.
The sudden shrieks from other people in the hospital accompanied the sound of the fire alarm.
Mina ran her hand through her long, tangled red hair. She stepped lightly into the corridor as the alarm howled. Her white shirt and pants hung loosely over her shriveled, pale body. They tried to feed her no matter how many times she tried to explain that the same nourishment regular people needed could do nothing for her.
Her stomach growled while she watched several inmates rush past her. Some of them leapt into the air with glee, while others carefully checked the corners, confident there would be some surprise the doctors had in store for them.
Either way, she was quite pleased with her opportunity to feed.
It was the only way to make the nightmares stop. She'd suffered for so long—even when they fed her raw meat, it wasn't enough. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was a witness to the horror inflicted upon mankind by those monstrous movie creatures.
The living dead.
Her fragmented consciousness suffered at the hands of those gaping, putrescent caricatures of undead flesh. She would feel each finger digging into her skin; every horrifying sensation imaginable that could be suffered at the hands of corpuscular cannibals was hers to endure. Even when Mina's death at their hands should have been enough to shove her back into reality, she was forced to watch and feel her limbs being ripped from her body and enjoyed as morsels within the hungry jaws of the dead.
"Stop! Please! You're hurting…"
Mina walked past a cell in which another inmate was successfully bashing on another. Blood sprayed the walls as the victim's protests abated. She couldn't see the weapon, though she was familiar with the killer.
Out in the real world, they called him the Artist.
With one hand planted against the wall, Jim Traverse gasped, his head against his shoulder and his mouth split with a toothy smile. He nodded at her. Jake Wells always said that Jim looked like a statue of Chevy Chase, with dark hair that was combed over his forehead and distant eyes that never seemed to be looking at anything.
"Hey there," he said without any emotion. "Hang around for a minute. I'm going to turn his face inside-out. I think it will look pretty. If you like butterflies or unicorns, you might want to stay and check this out."
Mina shrugged. "It's time for my medication."
Jim nodded. "Sure. Okay.
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