Читать книгу Respect the Dead - Shawn McLain - Страница 25

The garage door rose too slowly. Gerry revved the bike’s engine impatiently. Rolling his shoulders and neck he readied himself. The hastily attached tree trimmer shook across the handlebars, the twine, taught and straining. Slapping down the visor he checked the machete duck taped to his arm extending past his hand. Heavy kitchen knives were strapped to his knees and boots.

The door was halfway up now. He could see several pairs of legs approaching, drawn by the sound of the opening portal.

“Vreee Vreee, pllt plllt plltt.” The bike purred. Zipping up the camouflage jacket a smile broke across his face. Finally! Finally after years of playing the games, after years of being told he was wasting his time he was going to prove them wrong. He would survive, and why? Because he had been playing the games, training for just this day.

The door was all the way up. He grinned as he watched them were moving toward him. Graying skin stretched over tight muscles, teeth bared. His smile grew bigger, “just like in the games.” With the open door came a cool fall breeze. Unlike the games came the stench. His eyes began to water behind the visor and his lunch jumped into his throat. The putrid stink of excrement and rot threatened to overpower him. "God," He gasped, "How did you get so smelly so fast?" Fighting through the urge to vomit he slipped the bike into gear. The engine whined and rear tire squealed. Gerry kicked out at the undead as he passed.

The air in the helmet cleared. The stink was still there but in the open he could at least breathe. Blinking away the tears he regained control of his stomach. Not being overwhelmed with the urge to hurl his euphoria returned. Seeing another undead ahead he leaned toward it. Making contact with its right leg the serrated bread knife ripped free of his shoe. It stuck into the thigh of the zombie he passed. It took no notice as it tried to follow him. He turned the throttle leaving the ghoul with only the knife and his laughter.

He sped down the road. “Ten points! Ah we can do better…” He searched the street for another target. “Oh yeah, gonna be a head shot!” he cried pumping his fist in the air. Gerry smiled up at the blade of the machete strapped to his arm. Twisting the throttle he leveled the blade. Eyeing the female coming across the grass ahead, he adjusted the height. “This is gonna take your head clean off.” He grinned.

Pain like he had never known shot through his arm and shoulder as his fist snapped back hitting him in the kidney. Stars exploded before his vision and his lunch returned to his throat again. Wobbling dangerously he fought to control the bike. Pulling his arm forward he tried to put it on the handle bars. Fire shot through his forearm and fingers.

Eyes streaming, he only caught a glimpse of the limping man before the tree trimmer hit him in the midsection. The trimmer ripped free of the handle bars hitting the kill switch as it dislodged. The rear tire seized into a skid. Panicked he flipped the switch back to run. He flailed his broken arm attempting to to pull in the clutch. Bike and man crashed to the ground.

Lights again exploded before his eyes as his helmet smacked on the ground. Screaming in agony he tried to push himself up with his broken arm. Bloody battered knees protested the attempt to stand. A zombie was limping toward him. It had his tree trimmer halfway buried in his torso. The woman he had tried to kill decapitate was approaching too. Her head wobbled on her slashed neck. Every step she took tore it further. The closer she got the more it threatening to fall off completely.

Terror drove him. He clawed at the ground trying desperately to escape. More pain shot through his leg. Rolling over he kicked off the small boy who had appeared out of nowhere. Blood and a piece of leg fell out of the child’s mouth as the boot and knife smashed the little skull. A bite on the shoulder, one on an arm, more in the legs, screams amplified in the closed helmet. Blood spurted over the visor as his head left his body.

The wobbly neck barely held on as the woman looked down at the helmet and head she had in her hand. Moaning, she dropped it, the limping man stood up dropping the liver he held. He looked at the woman, she stared back, together they moaned as they began to wander down the road.