ZOMBIE'S DOOM? "Chronicles of Jack Doom" (23 page)

So without farther ado, I decided to find some reasonably secure digs and rethink my approach to exterminating both menacing zombies, and humans of all different varieties.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, but the timely rethink of my
modus operandi
was going to save my life before nightfall.

I was coming up fast on Nashville Tennessee as the sun was beginning to set. I wanted to bed down for the night and tackle the unknown dangers that Nashville had to offer in broad daylight, instead of risking traveling through a large metropolis during the night.

Journeying even close to a large city was dangerous enough during the daytime, but to try to traverse a major metropolitan district in the dark was a death wish waiting to happen.

Although I had done it on several occasions, traveling at night in any area was not something that I would endorse. It's a good way to get yourself killed, and I only did it then because of the life and death circumstances at the time. In other words, I had no choice.

I slowed my truck down to a crawl and began to search the landscape for a suitable place to spend the night.

My idea of a suitable place to spend the night was a mobile home, a manufactured house, a trailer, what some might call a tornado magnet.

Many times, they are isolated to some extent, and being in a rural locality, the odds of that were pretty good.

They are built flimsy (especially the older ones) when compared to a building with a foundation under it, and considering that I would be spending only one night there, flimsy was what I was looking for.

You see trailers (except for the doublewide ones) are just a long rectangle with one exterior door. Although not very good for deflecting the unwanted advances of rogue humans (that's where the isolation comes into play), but when zombies pay you a visit in the middle of the night, it is rather simple to kick or chop a exit door through the back wall while your company is busy beating down your front door.

Believe it or not, finding a mobile home in rural Tennessee is not really too hard to do.

Therefore, my search had ended within a couple of miles as I spotted a nice cluster of three trailers perched on top of a small hill among some trees, and setting back off the road a hundred yards or so.

An access road, which was really only two dirt tire tracks mostly covered with weeds, led me passed an old dilapidated barn and a few rickety livestock shelters that had long since lost their odor of the animals that they had once housed.

"Probably abandoned years before the eaters came along," I mumbled to myself.

The evening was well into dusk as I parked my truck at the far end of the first trailer.

Vowing to clean up my act and be more vigilant of my surrounding and less lackadaisical in my efforts to stay alive, I gathered up some of my equipment that I had let be scatter around the cab of my truck, and I began to try to get organized.

My Glock was still under the seat on the passenger's side, along with my trusty tomahawk, and my tactical vest and M-4 were still crammed behind the seat, all were where I had stashed them before entering Cassandra's sister's house.

I retrieved my rifle and then my vest; I put on the vest, then pulled my two weapons from under the seat and placed my Glock into the integrated holster on the front of the vest and slid my trusty tomahawk through the makeshift wire loop I had manufactured for quick access to that weapon.

With my right hand firmly clutching the pistol grip on the suppressed M-4, my left hand seized the machete that I had used to put down the raging bull earlier in the day, and I set out to clear the trailer and the area around it of any and all unwanted trespassers.

I had hoped that being as far off of the road as this batch of tornado magnets was, that the only thing that I would have to deal with would be the occasional hoot owl or two interrupting my sleep, and maybe a undomesticated forest zombie making its way amongst the scattered trees.

However, as usual my hopes and dream were quickly dashed on the rocks below. For as I exited my vehicle and rounded the corner of the first trailer (my chosen sleeping quarters), I ran head long into a solitary female zombie.

This member of the legion of the undead looked malnourished (of course most of the seasoned ones do), although there was a clue that this particular piece of rotting meat had once eaten its fill many times over.

With its crestfallen look and sunken indigo colored cheeks, I figured that it had been dormant for quite some time now, but as I approached, it was very excited to see a free meal wandering by.

I had inadvertently supplied the stimulus to motivate this ravenous undead maniac by accidently slamming the door of my truck, and it wasted no time taking advantage of my presents.

Besides the fact that this particular ghastly female cannibalistic fiend was not wearing a shirt. And her sagging bluish-green tinted tits with dark, almost black spider veins reaching out from her mold covered nipples were hanging down and flopping against the full and leaking colostomy bag that was hanging off her right side. Which by the way, looked as though it should have burst three weeks ago.

Seeing a flesh eater in the flesh is of no consequence.

Pay no attention to the odd occurrence of seeing a
lone
zombie on the prowl.

Forget about all of that, and remember this.

Miss Constipated Colostomy 2002, was moving fast, faster than I'd ever seen a zombie move, and it was patently obvious that this raunchy cunt was
jonesing
for my tasty flesh covered bones.

Her lanky stature and her rotting muscles and tendons were not hindering the pursuit of her prey (me) in any of the usual ways.

Although she still stumbled and swayed as she approached me, just as hundreds of the undead had done prior to her arrival, this one was different.

The maniacal murderous rage in her eyes was the same as I had seen countless times before, and the swarm of flies that encompassed her stench like an aura was still abundantly apparent as well.

The elongated maggot filled drool that oozed from this thing's mouth was nothing that I hadn't had to deal with many times in the past either.

However, the speed mixed with the smooth supple movements at which this attacking monster was descending upon me was something that I'd not previously had to contend with.

Closing the fifteen-yard gap between us swiftly, and almost before I knew it, the ravenous cannibal was upon me.

I leaned back, and with a quick twist of my body to the right, I narrowly avoided the feminine cadaver's first deadly lunge.

As the zombie whizzed by me close enough to pepper me with her contrail of orbiting flies. The adrenaline fed muscles in my hand tightened even more on the pistol grip and trigger of my M-4 causing me to unintentionally light off a 5.56 caliber round into the living corpse's hip.

The bullet slamming into the zombie's pelvis bone and collapsing part of the skeletal support structure on the right side of its body, caused the running road kill to dip down slightly as it passed by me.

The new angle of the half-naked female's body generated even more of a pendulum effect on her sagging shit stained tits that bounced against her over inflated and dripping colostomy bag as she turned and galloped back toward me.

The consequence of this new physical imbalance being demonstrated by the shirtless monster, was as the swaying breasts wagged toward me, the horizontal hold I had on my machete across the front of my body was at just the right angle to cleanly slice off one of the attacking cannibal's swinging mammary glands.

Even as the epinephrine coursed through my veins at the moment of the attack, the whirling tit spiraling around as it headed for the ground, reminded me of Cassandra, and the salted tit in the plastic bag I had left on the seat of my truck.

"
Hewed another one off at the root
," I thought, as I stepped backwards to regain my own balance.

However, my nostalgic memories were short lived as the severed booby hit the ground and belched out a clump of wiggling fly larvae onto the grass.

Not to mention the fact that the extra weight had now been lifted from the collapsed side of the furious womanly stiff, and she had regained her newly acquired speed and hunting prowess.

An almost perfectly performed pirouette in the fading sunlight brought me back completely from my session of reminiscing, to the dire straits at hand.

The increased speed that this zombie was demonstrating was nothing to be trifling with, so I flipped the selector switch on my M-4 rifle to full auto and quickly raised the weapon and pointed it at the charging zombie.

I employed the spray and prey method of annihilating the enemy, not necessarily through instinct or choice, but mostly because of the lack of time that I had to deal with the rapidly approaching threat and the
rare
panic that had gripped me.

In the low light of the fading day, I could see the dim flashes of expanding gases from the ignited gunpowder as they exited the suppressor that I had attached to the muzzle of my rifle.

I watched the excessively packed colostomy bag explode, flinging in all directions (including mine) the fermented and discolored zombie feces that was inundated with some kind of plump round tan colored worms that resembled pale-white night crawlers, when my bullets ripped through the somewhat opaque flesh colored plastic shit container.

The worms had been encapsulated in the colostomy bag and most likely in the zombie's intestines too; they were still alive and feeding on the shit as they were unknowingly being marinated at the same time by the food source they craved.

They were bigger than the traditional maggots that were prevalent in the older zombies, and had the yellow tint of a tapeworm.

Their skin, if that's what you want to call it, had bumpy ridges on it like a grub worm, and was wrinkled like finger tips that had been submerged in water too long.

However, the most disturbing thing about these burrowing invertebrate animals, was the fact that now they were crawling on me and still nibbling on the splotches of undead diarrhea that dotted my clothes.

Unfortunately for me, hurling zombie shit all over myself
and
fuck's creation, didn't do much to stop the onslaught of the overly aggressive dead body that was now at arm's length from me.

My finely honed reflexes were the only thing that was to come to my aid that night, as I jammed my rifle into the charging beast to block its arms from reaching me.

Even without a bayonet attached to the front of the gun (I don't think one would be of any use with the silencer sticking out a good nine inches passed the bayonet lug anyway) I could feel the suppressor imitate one, as it sank several inches into the rotting flesh where the sagging right yabo had been extracted.

The M-4 stuck in the chest of the zombie slowed its momentum and kept the fiend at bay long enough for me to raise my machete and part her hair, just as I had done to Cassandra's bull dyke-ish alleged sister.

Miss Colostomy dropped on the grass in front of me like the afore mentioned high school class, taking her swarm of flies with her, at least the ones that weren't swarming around my shit splattered carcass.

"God damn it, talk about holy shit," I whispered, not wanting to attract any more dormant zombies that might be lurking in the area, as I looked at the speckled pattern of defecation that now adorned my uniform. "Leave it to these fucking eaters to fuck things up for me again. How in the hell am I supposed to sleep now, hell I can't even get back into my truck and leave until I clean this stinking shit off me, God damn it."

It was bad enough just to have shit slung all over me, but the slew of crap that was splattered all over my equipment and me was not just ordinary shit. This stuff was
premium
zombie shit, made from the finest human body parts this undead cannibal could ingest.

Just the thought of this sickening shit being sprinkled all over me (not to mention the worms) was enough to induce me to upchuck the meager meal I had consumed earlier in the day, but somehow I managed to chock back the vomit and continue my quest for a good night's sleep.

With night now upon me I walked to the front door of the chosen trailer.

"I guess I can clear this cracker box and see if there is a change of clothes inside," I murmured to myself as I shooed away some hovering flies.

I twisting the doorknob and pressed against the door, a crackling sound was heard as the door peeled away from the weather stripping that sealed it to its frame.

The sound of the sealed door being opened told me that nobody had entered or exited through that opening for a very long time, however that didn't necessarily mean that the humble abode was devoid of danger.

"Watch for eaters Jack," I mumbled softly, as I leaned on the door, and peeked through the ever-widening gap made by my pressure against it.

I could smell a vague musty odor through my own shit stained stench, however, there was no sign of movement that I could see, and no resonance of flies buzzing throughout the dwelling, except of course for the stragglers that were trailing in behind me.