Undead Fleshcrave: The Zombie Trigger (26 page)

Maybe she knew, or was privy to something else Mark himself wasn’t, some mysterious escape plan or unbelievable stunt that was about to be pulled off by Black, but really, Mark didn’t see that happening. He saw no sign or indication this situation was about to be reversed any time soon. Perhaps Subversion and the women were somehow accustomed to violent and rapey scenarios like this, though that was possibly one of the most illogical notions Mark’s feverish brain could stumble upon.

Nope, cut down to the bare bones of the matter, it was simply a case of their luck finally running out, the end of the line was here and his original assertion that they were all fucked was spot on the money. In fact, so spot on that it meant some of them were going to be fucked quite literally very soon.

With Scarlett trapped between them, wearing that face so devoid of emotion it looked like she’d donned a mask eerily akin to her own features, Haines and Harris frogmarched her toward the Tundra.

Boss stood with his gun in hand, his paunch jutting out as though he’d swallowed a watermelon whole, and Brenner, whilst keeping a wary eye on the row of lined up prisoners, ducked down alongside Heather.

“Hope you’re starting to get wet for me, Blondie. I love me a smooth entry and if I have to ram and shove ‘cause you’re all dried up, let me tell you that shit’s going to hurt you more than me.”

His free hand thrust up under her skirt, feeling around with beefy fingers that looked like hairy sausages. She tried in vain to clap her thighs together.

“Brenner,” Boss interrupted his digital molestations. “You best be keeping both eyes on these zombie fuckers.”

“Well, you better hurry up and get yourself a piece then, Boss, the rest of us are itching to get us some too, and I don’t fancy Blondie turning into a walking corpse. Necrophilia ain’t my thing as far as I know. Besides, it’s against the law, isn’t it?”

The pair of them traded hearty guffaws, deep resounding belly laughs that were full of malicious glee.

So is rape, you fucking sick degenerate poor excuses for police
, Mark seethed inwardly, picturing how fast he would get a gun stuffed up his ass if he chose to voice that aloud.

Haines and Harris forced Scarlett up into the back of the Tundra, pushing her backwards into the tray so she sprawled out onto her back, each one of them holding her legs now.

Boss unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers and, with a little difficulty, dropped them right where he stood, pushing down an off-white pair of briefs with them, stepping out of them all entirely, regardless of his brown wingtips. For a moment his erect penis was visible, a short stubby hard shaft that jutted out at a forty five degree from a nest of wiry black bristles closely resembling the caterpillars above his eyes and under his nose, before the long tails of his uniform shirt dropped down to cover the sight.

His bare ass was a hairy white wobbling mass as he shambled across the lane towards the truck.

“Okay, peawits, get your asses back over here and make sure none of these fucks tries to get smart. If anybody turns zombie, I don’t need to tell you to blow their faces in.”

Haines and Harris did so, albeit with some reluctance on the part of Harris. Clearly the cop with the lesbian ex-wife was somehow hoping to catch a few glimpses of the wondrous Scarlett being violated, or at least in a state of undress prior to that. It would sure beat the unwelcome sight of a bare ass Boss hulking his considerable bulk over there to do the violating, his stump of a penis prodding out through his hanging shirt.

Boss clambered up into the Tundra with huffing breath and a bit of difficulty, his gun still clasped in one meaty paw. His face glistened with a sheen of eager perspiration and he licked his lips, his tongue sliding along the bushy pelt of his moustache.

“How about you get your fat fucking ass the hell down out of that truck before you get your pig face blown the fuck in?” A harsh voice cut through the desperation and vile lust of the situation.

Seth Tanner walked around the corner of the service station, aiming a 12 gauge Remington 870 shotgun.

“Get the fuck away from her, fatboy!” Seth warned, his glare steelier than Mark had ever witnessed, resolute, piercing, and somehow malevolently chilling.

Harris and Boss both snapped their guns up. Seth already had the buttstock of the weapon locked into his shoulder, the nose of the gun zeroing in on Boss.

As the chief of the rapist police raised his head and brought his gun hand swinging around Seth pulled the trigger and the Remington roared a deadly blast. Fragments of skull and a bloody red mist puffed off the head of Boss as it was blown apart.

The front door of the service station crashed open and Tempest came out in a whirlwind of violent activity, also triggering a shotgun, twin to the one Seth fired right now, the Subversion drummer’s blast only a second or two behind Seth’s.

Harris ate a whole face full of shotgun shell, the lead shot destroying his visage entirely, ripping into him with a gory spray that decorated the ground behind him in blood and brain matter. He went down like the classic marionette puppet separated from its strings, with his legs doing a spastic dance and his own unfired weapon dropping with a clatter onto the concrete.

Seth lined up the face of Brenner, still crouching, frozen beside Heather and Tempest, drew a bead on Haines. Haines pissed himself, the inner leg of his trousers becoming dark with a stain of liquid.

Black vaulted to his feet as if he were spring-loaded, and Blizzard, Roxana, and Lizette weren’t far behind.

Haines dropped his pistol to the ground and punched both hands skywards, grapping two big fistfuls of air, his stunned face captured in Tempest’s sights.

Mark launched himself off the concrete in a beeline for Brenner, smashing into him with a forceful tackle that drove him out of his crouching position and into a sprawl across the ground, spilling his gun as well. His actions were only split seconds before Blizzard scooped up one of the downed mass of bladed instruments with designs on laying the knife along Brenner’s throat.

The other women moved to Miranda and Heather, righting their clothing, assisting to pull them up to their feet as well, consoling words murmured as the duo with shotguns kept the wannabe rapists in check, the sudden barrage of violence sinking in.

The loose gun which came away from the grip of Brenner ended up in the extremely dangerous place that was Black’s hand. The one formerly clutched in the mitts of Haines became the property of somebody else who could easily have been considered lethal brandishing it. Seeing the weapon come free and clatter away onto the concrete, Dax wasted no time in scrambling across the ground to seize it.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO-FUCKED WITH A KNIFE

Seth could see the two remaining rapists and would-be killers masquerading as police officers were no longer in any position to present any threat at all to his companions. With their fallen police issue weapons in the hands of two treacherous and possibly unhinged individuals in Black and Dax, those cops who were still alive weren’t about to cause any issues that couldn’t be contained by those two, Tempest, or any of the others, currently regathering their confiscated bladed weapons.

He lowered his Remington, the weapon he’d discovered stashed handily underneath the counter right inside the service station along with the same one Tempest now hefted and kept zeroed in on the piss-soaked cop still standing.

Seth cast a cursory glance around the scene here, where Blizzard held a gleaming blade to the throat of the muscular cop and Mark disentangled himself from the situation to hasten and check on Miranda, where Black held the obtained pistol nonchalantly in a manner belying how lethal it could be in his big fist. Dax wore an expression of supreme smugness blended with malevolence on his visage as he too wielded one of the fallen firearms.

Roxana, sweeping over to snap up the gun that toppled from the nerveless fingers of Harris, Lizette with a comforting arm around the shoulders of the sobbing Heather.  The firebrand, Tempest, keeping his shotgun as steady as a rock, now aimed at Haines.

They had the situation well in hand here, so Seth departed the immediate area and strode across the shaded concrete to the Tundra where the bloodied corpse of Boss slumped, half in the tray, his naked lower portion with hairy pale buttocks protruding obscenely, the ruins of his head not immediately visible.

As he reached the Tundra, Scarlett was adjusting the clothing the two underlings started to helpfully remove for the benefit of Boss before he’d barked at them to get their asses back to keep watch on the others. She spied him arriving and an uncharacteristic smile broke out on her face, spilling more beauty over what was already a dazzling countenance. Her black hair hung in slight disarray, wisps and trails of it sweeping across her face and into her dark eyes, but in no way did it detract from her exquisite features.

“Wow,” she said. “Damn, that was you? You blew this cretin’s head off?”

“Yeah,” Seth nodded solemnly, the whole concept of what he’d just done not anywhere near to sinking in. The guy may have been a lecherous, son-of-a-bitch, pervert rapist with designs on violating Scarlett and then any of the other women he got a chance to, and then plans to kill them all right here, but he was still a cop. Seth scrambled his brains with a shotgun blast. This wasn’t shooting zombies, or stabbing undead monsters coming to rip shreds of flesh from his bones, this was aiming a loaded shotgun at a living breathing human—a police officer, no less―pulling the trigger and shooting his face into a bloody flesh soufflé.

He didn’t feel in any sort of shock, he didn’t feel a shred of remorse, and nor did he feel at all cloudy or fogged in the brain from the big swallows of fiery alcohol, he only felt grim satisfaction and a perverse sense of joy. He suspected it had already sunk in as far as it was going to and he wasn’t about to feel any remorse about it later either.

Scarlett vaulted over the side of the Tundra’s back, landing on the concrete with her boots slapping solidly on the hard surface. In her right hand she brandished the gun formerly clasped by Boss as he hauled his corpulent half naked form up into the tray.

“Here, give me a hand with this fat chunk of smoked pork,” she said to Seth as she headed around behind the vehicle. She checked the pistol, ensured the safety was on, and then jammed it down the back of her black jeans, the motion of her doing that immediately making Seth’s eyes follow her hand and stop on the shapely oscillation of her ass. He stared at it for a lot longer than he should have, and she glanced back over her shoulder at him.

He snapped his head up so abruptly he almost gave himself a mild case of whiplash, though she didn’t appear to notice his roving eyes and transfixed stare.

“Grab this motherfucker’s other leg,” she advised and he moved up alongside her, doing as she bid, feeling the hirsute fleshy limb in his hand like some fat dead animal. He tried to avert his eyes from the saggy white globes of the guy’s bare butt, those great sacs of hairy meat wobbling in the fashion of a couple of bowls of grotesque jelly as he and Scarlett hauled the blue clad blimp down the plane of the Tundra tray.

It was easy enough not to stare at the obscene sight or the shrivelled scrotum between the chunky thighs, fortunately, with the accompanying appendage underneath the fat of the body because Boss’ head made for far more fascinating viewing. This busted apart melon cranium left a long streak of gore trailing right down the tray as the duo hauled the corpse out, smears of pulped brain also evident, spilling from the ruptured skull in random patterns. Aside from the presence of ears hanging loose and sections of wiry black hair, it barely looked like a head of any note. Seth perversely wondered how much more damage would have been done to the pig skull of Boss if he’d detonated the shotgun at point blank range. He guessed there wouldn’t be an abundance of head left whatsoever, and a tiny malicious part inside him wished he’d been able to see that outcome. Maybe he’d get the chance to witness it with one of the survivors. Maybe that muscled son-of-a-bitch trying to ram his fingers into Heather, planning on sodomizing her with his baton among other choice acts. Then he supposed he’d probably have to wait in line for that privilege; over there seemed to be a bunch of people with some evil things in mind for that particular upholder of the law.

When the bloodied mess that comprised what was left of Boss’s head came free of the tail end of the Tundra, both of them yanked on a three count instigated by Scarlett, hauling him right out and away, and then dropped his dead figure with an ungracious thump, landing the body in a meaty tangle on the concrete.

“Look at the damn mess this piece of shit has left in the Truck,” Scarlett mused. “Should get those others to clean it up.”

“Guess I should,” Seth spoke up. “I made the mess.”

“Are you kidding? Damn, Seth, you saved my ass! You saved
me
, you know?”

“Well…I did owe you. You…saved me once too.”

“Yeah. Hey, listen, Seth, I’m real damn sorry about having to kill…well, you know…”

“You didn’t kill her,” Seth said shortly. “She was already dead. She was dead long before then, before we even got there. She was already dead. Undead.”

“Still…”

“Doesn’t matter. You saved me from joining her in undead limbo.”

“And you saved me from being unwillingly porked by the porkchop. I’d much rather save that pleasure for somebody who isn’t a fat ass piece of shit with a two inch cock.”

Seth laughed, the involuntary guffaw bursting from him with an energy that surprised. First time he’d laughed in…well, he couldn’t exactly recall. Days, at the least. Ever since…no, back before all the Julietta bullshit. Way before then, because shit turned grim long before she became a zombie girl intent on masticating his brains and face.

Scarlett touched him lightly on the back, gently turning him away and directing him back to where the others assembled, a pack of vengeful black metallers encircling the two rape-happy cops, leaving the bloody slump of Boss behind on the pavement.

Over there, the unfortunate urinator, Haines, was being subjected to a barrage of questions from Black and Tempest with the outcome seeming to be that the proprietor of the service station, some individual referred to as ‘old man Childe’, had indeed stepped away from his post for a quick errand, not seeing fit to leave any message behind or lock up the place in his absence. On his return, he spied a black truck disgorging suspicious satanic looking people, metalheads, the scourge of society right now in essence, believed responsible for the downfall of populaces on the coast, the reason for undead uprisings.

A hasty return to a friend’s nearby property meant a quick call to report the matter to the police, hence two carloads being despatched to quell the possible zombie apocalypse emerging at the station.

“Where’s old man Childe now?” Black queried. “Hiding in wait somewhere? Watching the drama unfold? Waiting to see the zombies get smoked by you absolute pinnacles of the law?”

“Laying low until he gets the call that all is safe to return,” Haines said. “Listen, I knew this was wrong, I told them, you heard me tell them this was a bad idea.”

“Which bit? Raping the women or killing all of us folk about to mutate into fleshcraving undead?”

“The…” Haines hesitated, lapsing into an uneasy silence as the eyes of Brenner fixed on him with a menacing glare.

“You really believe we’re about to suddenly turn into zombies? Do we fucking look like undead monsters to you? Have we just completely devolved hundreds of years into the Dark Ages? You fucking idiots call yourselves upholders of the law? Sworn to serve and protect? They teaching classes on how to rape and kill at the Academy now?”

“None of that shit matters now!” Brenner suddenly barked. “Because you pack of motherfuckers are fucked, you hear me? Fucked! You’ve just slain two officers of the law in cold blood, the whole damn county, and the next county over―shit, every fucking police officer under the sun—is going to be coming after your metalhead asses, best believe that!”

“Cold blood? How about self-defence fuckstick?” Tempest said. “Every police officer under the sun has bigger fish to fry than two dead rapist cops. I’m sure it hasn’t missed your attention that this world is fast going to hell in an undead handbasket, since you and your desperate buddies were fit and busting to kill yourselves some prospective zombies before they brought Armageddon to your neighbourhood. As for the truth of the situation, and how those two came to be pushing up daisies, well, your pants pissing bud over there is going to call it in. And he is going to say what happened. Exactly as it happened. Or you are both going to die too.”

“You know what? You know what, you deviate bastard? I don’t know metal like these guys, but I do know a song by Cannibal Corpse that suits you!” Heather suddenly screamed at Brenner. “It’s called Fucked with a Knife! It isn’t really a baton, but let’s see how you like it, you filthy prick!”

Before anyone could comprehend what she was doing she had one of the originally confiscated knives gripped tight in both white knuckled fists.

She lunged at Brenner, who was kneeling on the pavement with the nose of Black’s gun pointing towards him while Blizzard stood just off to the side, the knife he’d had to the muscleman’s neck before still in plain view, and thrust the blade between his buttocks, ramming it through the material of his uniform and whatever he wore underneath, right into his anus. As a strange agonised utterance, part high pitched shriek, part deep gargling grunt tore out of Brenner, Heather completed the stabbing motion and plunged the wicked blade straight up, shearing through his rectum, slamming in to the hilt.

She yanked it back out with a splash of blood and then repeated the process, plunging it back into the aperture, the rear of the blue trousers staining red with a widening spread of blood. Brenner howled, the sound a horrendous one, and then Heather was insane with a frenzy of stabbing, well and truly fucking him with a knife.

“How does that feel, you pervert? You like that, do you? You fucking like that?” Her violent screams of fury almost drowned out the strange strangling gibberish pouring from the knife assaulted Brenner in a horrendous litany. “Yeah, you like it don’t you? Feels a lot better than a baton doesn’t it?”

“Jesus!” Mark gasped from where he hunched over behind Blizzard and Black, with Miranda sitting on the concrete, arms wrapped around her upraised knees. Miranda herself looked horrified beyond belief, stunned by the unbridled rage of the attack.

Over on the other side, just adjacent to the petrol pumps, Scarlett and Seth paused where they were, stopping and staring as everyone’s attention was captivated by the visceral violence. While Haines fell onto his hands and knees on the concrete and began to dry retch and expel thin jets of vomit laced with bile, Seth lost count of how many times Heather stabbed the blade in.

Finally she must have lost all the strength in her arms and she slumped backwards, letting the completely blood enveloped weapon clatter onto the ground, the pale colour of the concrete beneath her and Brenner, bloodier than an abattoir floor, with more splashing out of Brenner’s ruined hindquarters.

Sanguinary loops and fleshy coils were flopping out of the man’s destroyed rear end, the mass of wounds there making it look as though he’d been fucked by a mutant cactus, or headbutted in the ass by Pinhead. The innards spilled in a hideous flood amidst gushing blood, the savage assault literally tearing not just the one standard hole wide, but creating many others. There was virtually nothing left of Brenner’s buttocks but raw slabs of meat hanging off, as if Heather had attempted to chop them up into some bizarre form of ass steak.

Unbelievably, he was still alive, even as his intestines and other offal fell out of his ass to slop on the concrete, splashing in the rivers of blood already staining the light grey plane red.

“Fuck,” Black said succinctly, then swiftly stepped in, drew his blade across the man’s throat and mercifully slit it from ear to ear, putting a sudden cessation to the hideous scene. “Let’s just wrap this up here.”