Read Online Zombie Bitches From Hell by Zoot Campbell - Free Book Online

ALBICORN CONVENT with a pretty
gold cross surrounded by a halo or some might say a wreath of corn
still in the husk.
    “Tim,” I whisper. “This is a goddamned
convent…a nunnery, dude. Bitches and nothing but.”
    “Now what?” he asks.
    “How the fuck do I know. Maybe they’re gone.
Maybe they’re holed up. Get the guns and don’t fire till you see
the pink of their nipples,” I say, more a fool today than I was
yesterday, less a fool than I’ll be tomorrow. Tim jumps over the
side of the gondola and does the tether thing, dimming the flame to
an idle.
    “I hope they have some butter and salt and a
goddamned popper, because I’m not leaving until the show is over,”
he says as he starts walking toward the convent. “Forgive me
Father, because I might have to sin. But I sure hope not.”
    I hate to do it, but I tie MG loosely to the
inside of the balloon. It’s hard enough for him to jump in and out
and right now I don’t want to have to carry him.
    We approach cautiously and notice that the
fancy wrought-iron gate in the middle of a ten foot high brick wall
is not locked. I’m thinking this is like one of those lobster traps
like where you put a piece of lobster food in the back of a cage
and leave the door open. The stupid lobster thinks someone forgot
his lunch and the next thing he knows he’s bright red, covered with
butter and deader than Abe Lincoln.
    “I don’t think this is safe,” I say to
Rick.
    “Sure, boss, but what are we going to do
about supplies? I think that MacDonalds is only serving breakfast
and I’m hankering for some chicken Maccrappits.”
    “Well, let’s be careful.”
    “Sounds like a plan, chief,” says Tim.
“Careful is one of my middle names. The other is ‘Stupid.’”
    The big oak door of the convent is locked
tight and looks like it’s been that way for a few centuries. A sign
near the door says, DELIVERIES IN REAR. I wait for some inane
comment from Tim, but he’s looking more serious now.
    We circle the building, crouching every time
we go by a window. Around the back is an orchard and apples and are
all over the place, stinking like mad and covered with a bazillion
yellow jackets. The last window is slightly open and I hear a moan
from inside.
    “Tim… shhhhh ,” I whisper. “Someone’s
inside.”
    Tim circles a huge rose bush and gets low to
the sill and peeks over. I do the same. The room is dark except for
some shafts of light streaming through a stained glass window about
ten feet up. There are wooden chairs in neat rows and a crucifix
against the wall. We watch for a while and see or hear nothing.
Then, another groan.
    I shade my eyes with my hand and scan the
room. Nothing. Then I see the crucifix move and figure it’s a trick
of the light. We circle the building carefully crouching beneath
each window. There is no one there, but there is a crucifix in
every room. We circle again and still the same. There is moaning
from one of the rooms. We look inside carefully and now realize
that the crucifix has a live dude on it. It’s just too dark and
shadowy to see exactly what is going on.
    “Let’s go in,” says Tim.
    “What for?”
    “He’s alive.”
    “He’s two minutes from death and even if he
farts a prayer up to Heaven and manages to live we can’t carry
around a burden like that.”
    “Then let’s get some supplies. And maybe
there are other guys in here.”
    “What are you going to do with guys?”
    “Save ’em. Just because the bitches are
animals doesn’t make us animals. Right?”
    I just look at him and think that maybe the
sun has baked his brain. I follow him to the back door and sneak in
behind him as it creaks open. Flies are buzzing and it smells like
garbage that hasn’t been taken out in six weeks.
    The kitchen is huge but nothing is used. It’s
as if everybody up and left in a hurry. There’s a little cross over
the door leading to the rest of the convent and a stitched sampler
with the Lord’s Prayer done in