tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20987007820807797952024-03-14T00:20:10.155-07:00The Living DarkRobert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-89692537375868335872020-07-27T23:46:00.005-07:002020-07-27T23:46:56.598-07:00The Living Dark: Chapter 3: An Ounce of PreventionThe Living Dark Chapter 3 is available for free on WattPad!<br />
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https://my.w.tt/uZt9WEZXt8<a href="https://my.w.tt/uZt9WEZXt8">The Living Dark Chapter 3</a>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-78116231411044388732020-07-27T23:44:00.000-07:002020-07-27T23:44:32.787-07:00The Living Dark: Chapter 2: Fact CheckThe Living Dark Chapter 2 is available for free on WattPad!<br />
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https://my.w.tt/njvzxSJXt8<a href="https://my.w.tt/njvzxSJXt8">The Living Dark Chapter 2</a>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-25407171838662711032020-07-27T23:41:00.001-07:002020-07-27T23:41:15.957-07:00The Living Dark: Chapter 1: The Beginning of the EndChapter One available for free on WattPad!<br />
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-90384774714404176682020-07-27T23:38:00.002-07:002020-07-27T23:38:33.958-07:00The Living Dark: Prologue The Living Dark lives again on WattPad.<div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-27141668390762301202015-01-11T20:43:00.000-08:002015-01-11T21:36:45.178-08:00Chapter 48: Out of the Mouse Hole<br />
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48: Out of the Mouse Hole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since talking to General O’Malley over the
radio, the survivors in the bloodied Sheriff’s cruiser were now aware the
entire central United States was minutes away from a total solar eclipse.
Private Sarah Lockett steered the big white car clumsily over a grassy shoulder.
The car eased back onto the road after going around a tangle of wrecked brunt
out vehicles. Depressing the gas pedal the car accelerates up the incline
towards the farmhouse. They headed full speed to the place where the rest of
their group had taken refuge from the undead. Sarah recognizes the pile up of cars
they passed. It is the same one they had passed while searching for Chip and
Belinda. Lawrence Faulkner’s directions were spot on even though Sara had
serious doubts about the man’s mental capabilities. However, he did know his
way around his particular slice Nowheresville. As they peer off to their left Ben
and Sara notice the smoldering remains of the Clow Oaks subdivision. Every home
now reduced to blackened ash and scorch marks. The burnt concrete foundations
look like rows of rotted teeth. Ben James smirks “Man you sure know how to
drive down property values.” In Sarah’s mind, she recalls tossing a grenade
into the bed of White Magic’s pickup truck. Fortunately, for them the ensuing
explosion covered their escape from a teaming mob of zombies. To the ebony
skinned soldier this full circle of events seemed like a lifetime ago. Private
Lockett noticed Ben’s mood improving like a cancer patient told they were in
remission. The prospect of seeing his family had seemingly lifted a pal of
gloom from over Ben’s head. Soon Ben, his wife and kids would all be reunited.
The group would be safe underground when the sun temporarily relinquished its
hold on the day. This would give the Trotters an opportunity to unleash their
undead fury on unsuspecting survivors of “The Event” a few hours early today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
stow the battered police car besides the old red barn. Ben and Lawrence begin
to drag Willie O from the car’s rear seat. They do so with all the tender care
of rodeo clowns wrestling a steer to the ground for applause. They hustle to
the front porch tiptoeing up the warped wooden steps. As seemingly, endless
minutes drag by those on the front porch shuffle from foot to foot the way
children who have to use the bathroom do. Ben and Lawrence support Willie O’s
noddle limp body between the two of them. Meanwhile Sara stands cradling the
group’s weapons clumsily in her arms. Her head moves side to side as if it were
a sprinkler. Scanning for signs of the undead, she feels the anxiety of being
out in the open exposed. “Don’t move!” They all spin at the sound of Carson’s
voice from besides the porch. “Son of a bitch it’s them!” He exclaims into a
small walkie-talkie. Smiles spread across Ben and Sarah’s faces Carson slings
his M-4 and hops onto the porch. He steps over the banister face contorted in
by a mask of equal parts joy and relief. Sarah leaps into the big soldier’s
arms without thinking. “Cody!” She exclaims catching movement from the corner
of her eye. “Oh my God!” Carlita rumbles up the front steps in full combat
fatigues. She throws herself over Cody and Sarah like a blanket. “Mr. James …”
Carson yanks himself away from his unit mates. The brawny young man claps Ben
on the back so hard he almost drops Willie. “Damn fine to see you Sir!” Carson
stands before Ben both men displaying those awkward movements that men do when
gauging weather to hug each other. “Who is this?” Private Medina asks pointing
down at Willie. Carson blurts “And this” he says hooking a thumb in Lawrence’s
direction. Sara interrupts “introductions later guys we need to get inside
now.” Carson looks around in a panic “what we got zombies about?” He pulls his
rifle off his shoulder going back to the edge of the porch. There a mile or two
in the distance he sees a lone ragged walking corpse. It shuffles aimlessly
through the parched barren cornfield its’ feet kicking up tufts of dry soil.
“No worse.” Lawrence says sheepishly. “Gone be an E-clipse.” He pronounces the
word as if it is two separate words with his “good ole boy” country accent.
“Huh?” Private Medina shakes her head. Sarah intercedes “Medina what happens
when the sun goes down?” Carson comes back into the conversation. “The Trotters
come out and … get …” His words trail off. “All smart and lethal” Private
Medina finishes in a low voice. The heavy brown front door of the old farmhouse
house suddenly filings open startling everyone. “Ben ….” Anne James sobs diving
into her husband’s sturdy arms. He forgets himself and all the last few days of
hell as he squeezes her. The sound of Willie O’s head bouncing off the wooden
porch makes everyone but the James’ wince. Sara smiles then her instincts kick
in. “Carson grab Willie ….” She starts by pushing Sara and Ben in the doorway.
“And everybody else get the fuck in now!” Her words shock the group onto
action. As the survivors clear the door, it closes with bang. The figure standing
peering from a slit between the barn’s doors grins to himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colonel grunted like a bull as he pushed
the base of the barn doors open. The burly man takes his time so as not to
dislodge any of the pins in the grenades attached to a belt adorning his ample
chest. He manages to wiggle himself free dragging his scuffed M-16 behind him. He
makes sure to leave the green duffle bag of C-4 behind. Peering up at the sky
Colonel is completely unaware of the impending eclipse. He moves low in a
cautious combat waddle scurrying over the gravel to the bottom step of the
porch. Colonel watches for signs of the undead creeping up on him. Satisfied he
climbs the creaky wooden steps with the grace of a wily combat veteran. Drawing
a large gleaming military styled gladiolus Colonel presses forward. He tries the
doorknob to find it lock but he can feel play in the old weathered wooden door.
The blade comes up as the old-timer uses it like a pry bar to pop the decades
old lock free. He smiles to himself “over confident fools.” The words rattle
around his fractured mind. Muffled voices float up like dust mites in the timeworn
house. Sheathing the big knife Colonel crawls into the foyer closing the door
softly as he enters. He nudges the battle scared helmet back over his
sweat-slicked baldhead. He follows the sounds of laughing scuttling through the
dimly lit house. Coming to a worn white door, he peeks through seeing an
ancient unpainted wooden staircase descending into the musty darkness. With the
barrel of his rifle, Colonel prods the door open. The floor beneath him
vibrates as something rattles on metal tracks from the basement. The voices
belonging to those he is tracking start fade further in the distance from
below. Letting his weapon take point Colonel quickens his pace down the stairs
into the fusty basement. The rattling comes again as he whirls about eyes
adjusting to the darkness. His mind does not immediately process the fact that
the wall across the room in being lowered. Dashing toward the faux wall, he
stretches out his damaged hand. Colonel catches the bottom of the wall slamming
his shoulder against it. Bracing himself pushing up hard with his thick legs,
he catches the person on the other side off guard. As the wall bangs back
upwards, Colonel unsheathes his blade thrusting it out in one savage motion.
The smooth blade penetrates Private Carlita Medina’s abdomen through her
fatigues. Carlita was blindsided by the swift vicious attack caught defenseless.
The girl falls backwards to the floor spitting up blood. Carlita’s jet-black
hair comes undone from its ponytail splaying wildly around her face. She lays
there on the damp earthen floor her life slowly leeching from her body. Colonel
steps over her raising a finger to his lips silencing her as a disapproving
teacher would. Ahead of him down a short tunnel, light pours from a rusted
partially open door. He slides the bloodied knife back into its sheath
silently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben’s thick dark arms encircle his brood so
fiercely he risks tipping Chip from his wheelchair. “Daddy” Belinda squeals in
that way only little girls can. “Dad” Chip speaks softly into his father’s ear.
“Without you to carry me I was thinking I would hold everybody back.” Chip
relays to him in a childlike wavering tone. Ben pulls his teenage son’s head
back from his shoulder pushing the long curly locks of hair out of his eyes
“that’s nonsense son.” Ben James allows the tears to cascade freely down his cheeks.
“Touching heathens …” A deep male voice calls out over the joyous scene. All
heads turn in unison as if they were deer who heard a twig snap somewhere deep
in the forest. The survivors cast their gaze upon the broad-shouldered man
standing in the doorway. He sports a mismatched assortment of military fatigues
covering his decades in the service. “Now before we do anything rash ….”
Colonel cautions. His disfigured left hand minus its pinky and ring fingers clutches
an olive green hand grenade minus its safety pin. In his right hand, an old yet
dependable M-16 waves about. The barrel sweeps back and forth menacingly as he
moves. It points in the general direction of the cluster of terrified people
just inside the doorway. The smile on his tough face is one of madness as he
speaks. “This place is old and I could bring it down with one or two of these.”
He jiggles the grenade scanning the room. Ben stands up defensively shielding
his family turning to face Colonel. Belinda refuses to release her daddy whom
she had feared was gone forever. The tiny sandy haired little girl looks like a
cape dangling comically from his back. Anne James gently moves to pry her baby
loose from her father. “Mr. James …..” Colonel brings his hand down to the dual
rows of hand grenades dangling like lethal Christmas tree ornaments on his
torso. “You decide Sir how this will end.” The old jarhead steps further into
the room. “Simple all you adults except for the unconscious convict...” he
points to Willie O “… and the Olmstead’s Grandson will accompany me back to
First New Faith.” With a grand sweep of his hand Colonel continues. “You all
and the cripple in addition to the good ole’ boy over here” he says nodding at
Lawrence. “You all leave with me and we lock this place up tight.” He rolls his
solid shoulders feeling a twinge of pain from his early morning brawl with
Private Carson. “Leave<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>...What ...?” Ben
stumbles over the word. He just fought his way back to his family. All the
while Ben’s internal mantra “I’ll never leave them again” was playing on repeat
in his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Private Carson takes an angry half stomp half
step forward. “Where is … Medina?” He shouts. Colonel’s cold eyes cut back the
way he had come from down the dank tunnel. He had just stepped into the hidden
room after leaving the dying girl on the dirt floor. “She’s bleeding to death
down the tunnel.” Colonel responds cocking his head with a sneer. Gasps of
shock and horror erupt from around the room a sad chorus comprised solely of
heartache. “Now….” Colonel begins attempting to bring the survivors focus back
to him. His eyes dance over the main threats to him in the room. Ben James is
more concerned with his family but Carson he notices. The young buck’s chest heaves
with emotions as he clenches his big hands into fist knuckles cracking aloud.
The boys is angry and in his rage looks, as though it is about to come
untethered. “Now …. Drop all your fucking weapons.” The demented Colonel snarls.
“Any funny shit and I toss this grenade into the crowd and step back out the
door.” He intentionally lets his gaze fall to the children huddling behind the
adults. “Weapons on the floor now” Colonel motions with his rifle. Private
Lockett steps forward still wearing the clothes procured from Lawrence’s filthy
kitchen. “Are you fucking crazy Colonel?” She screams spittle flying from her
lips. “There’s going to be a total eclipse any minute now.” Colonel says
nothing instead; he tightens up on the black rifle in his grip. The survivors draw
back from the big man in fear. “I won’t ask again.” Colonel takes several
deliberate steps forward. “You are a liar!” He spits at Sara. “Now …” He says
swallowing hard “You sinners have a debt to pay The Sin Preacher and so do you
Judas.” He shouts jabbing a finger in Brother Gustavo’s direction. Ben steps in
the man’s path they meet eye to eye like gladiators. “She is dead you lunatic”
Ben informs the zealot. “Sara and I saw her and the rest of your cult.” Ben
glances back at his family. “The dead got to them …” Ben lowers his voice.
“Every last one of them was either dead or undead to be precise. When we went
there zombies were flowing out your church like bees from a hive.” Colonel’s
smile freezes Ben’s soul causing his testicles to draw up. He speaks aloud with
devious twinkle in his eyes. “You think being among the Unclean will stop The
Sin Preacher?” He snorts, “It was her plan all along. She will rule this new
breed of man. Once she gets into that military base she’ll use the Unclean to
bring an end to all man’s sinning.” The dank underground bunker falls silent as
a tomb. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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motions towards the open door. With the exception of an unconscious Willie O
and White Magic, the adults shuffle from the room. Heading single file down the
earthen tunnel Private Sara Lockett begrudgingly takes the lead. Each of them
shuffle dejected and weaponless as their feet scrape heavily on the dirt floor.
Ben carries Chip in his arms his wife Anne follows closely in the darkness her
hand on his back. Colonel stops in the doorway throwing a disgusted glance at
White Magic. The young Caucasian with his blond grimy dreadlocks moves between
the crazy man and the children. Colonel smiles slyly like a great white
watching a seal attempt to stand up to it. “Humphrey” Colonel’s growls in his deep
gravelly voice his back turned to the boy calling him by his given name. “For
once in your pathetic life do something right.” He says using the hand
clutching the grenade point. He locks White Magic in place with a contemptuous
stare. “Remember this one thing I gave you a pass because of your grandfather.”
Colonel’s hard eyes shift downward and at first White Magic thinks, he is
looking at the children. “Carlita!” A shrill agonizing wail echoes from the
cramped tunnel. Magic watches, Colonel as he steps over the pile of weapons on
the floor slowly realizing the truth. The man had been staring at the dirty
bandage on his forearm. That bite that he sustained all those days ago which
left him tainted by this new world’s standards. Disappearing through the rusted
doorway Colonel’s back is to those staying behind, he leaves Magic with some earnest
advice. “You’ve never been to bright boy. So don’t go getting’ no ideas about
being a hero.” With that, the vault like door slams shut as it is pushed closed
from the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You motherfucker …” Private Cody Carson’s
eyes blaze with a white-hot hate so intense Colonel swears he can see it
through the darkness of the tunnel. He watches the strapping soldier’s silhouette.
He notices Carson is so tall it is difficult for him to stand up to his full
height in the tunnel. Carson moves towards him like a wild animal freed from
its cage seeking revenge. Carson’s lips drawn back in a sneer of pure rage “I’m
gonna ….” Colonel raises his damaged hand up crisply stopping Carson’s charge.
“Boy …” Colonel steps forward. “Do you know what a grenade would do in such
close quarters? I assure you the cave in would bury everyone and bring this old
house down on top of us.” This sudden declaration stops Carson in his tracks.
“Let my thumb come off this lever foolish boy …” Colonel screams. “And we will
all find out together!” Carson stands frozen in places the wheels in his head
calculating the odds of survival like a savant. “Step away from her now.”
Colonel orders the cluster of whimpering survivors kneeling around Private
Carlita Medina. When his words go unheeded, the brutish man dramatically lifts
the hand bearing the grenade in the air. Ben James stands shifting his
paraplegic son his arms. “Ok … ok” Ben pleads grabbing Carson by his belt
yanking him backwards tears glistening in his brown eyes. Colonel lowers his
arm with a diabolical smile. “Let’s go” Ben chokes up shoving Carson forward
they step over Private Medina. Ben pauses briefly stooping down gently taking
his sobbing wife by the elbow. He helps her to her feet conscious of the foot
she had injured in the van days earlier. One by one, they stand glaring at
Colonel before moving in the direction of the stairs. Sara is the last to rise
her outdated acid washed jeans and jacket covered in Carlita Medina’s deep
crimson blood. “Move …now” Colonel prods standing over the dying soldier. Sara
moves begrudgingly not wanting to leave her unit mate, her friend. She feels
large hands clasping her shoulders turning her around the same way one pulls a
mourner away from an open casket. Finding herself letting go as she crests the
first creaky wooden stair, Sara gives in to her emotions letting the tears
flow. Standing in the mouth of the tunnel Colonel stares down at the girls
laying in a widening puddle of her own blood. His mind betrays him pulling him
backwards in time through a vortex of memories. Colonel finds himself staring
into the face of a young Vietnamese girl sprawled on the floor of a dirty hut.
She too reaches a blood soaked hand up to him weakly. He kicks the girl’s hand
away zipping his pants as he steps over her. Looking down back in the here and
now of the zombie apocalypse Colonel shakes his head to clear out the unwanted
memories. At his feet, Private Medina claws at his pants leg smearing it with
blood. “Go ahead and die little girl …” He tells Medina “just be lucky I’m not
zipping my pants up” he chuckles. Colonel makes his way up the darkened stairs holding
the grenade to his chest like a crucifix.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colonel catches up to Lawrence who
struggles maneuver his girth up the stairs. “Move it chubby.” He tells the
portly man who wheezes through gritted teeth. Lawrence recoils feeling the
gun’s unforgiving metal barrel is jammed into his meaty back. “Hold tight.”
Colonel shouts into Lawrence’s ear just as he fills the doorframe with his bulk.
“I want to hear everyone other than this guy is on the porch.” For added
emphasis, he drives an elbow into the big man’s back. “If I even think one of
you is waiting to ambush me. I will empty my clip into this clod hopper’s back and
the make my way back down stairs to the kids.” His threat hangs in the air like
lonely dust motes. He listens as the footsteps clap across the warped wooden
floor. The group does as Colonel has ordered slowly shuffling out the doorway
into the waning daylight. “Is it clear?” Colonel’s raspy thick voice bellows
from behind Lawrence. “Umm yes … yes sir it is.” Lawrence responds with the
type of calm one can only achieve through the ignorance of one’s own mortality.
“Move …” Colonel prods Lawrence Faulkner getting the man moving like an obese
human glacier. They move in unison through the dimly lit living room. The old
hand keeps his head on a swivel his eyes peering into the darken recesses of
the room. Every cautious step the pair takes moves them closer to the open
front door. A thin shaft of muted sunlight beckons them forward. “Nice and easy
big boy” Colonel cautions as they step onto the porch. The survivors are all
standing at the base of the steps Ben James with his son in his arms. A short
sigh of relief escapes Colonel’s dry lips while he counts of each of the
adults. He follows their gaze upwards not seeing Lawrence who teeters going down
taking each step one at a time. “And the Sun became as black as sackcloth.” Brother
Gustavo utters craning his long neck skyward shielding his eyes looking about.
Orange ribbons of cosmic light dance about the shadowy sky. Everyone is cautious
not to look directly at the eclipsed sun. Colonel’s mind is lost in a haze as
thick as the dark shadow overtaking the Sun. “Wha …..” He mumbles walking up to
the edge of the porch pushing the scuffed helmet back on his head. Sara Lockett
breaks from Cody’s soothing embrace spits a cold venomous whisper “We told you
dumbass!” Colonel drops his befuddled gaze from the heavens like a man coming
down from a euphoric high. He has the look of a man who has suddenly
experienced a mind-clearing bout of lucidness. He opens his mouth to speak but his
words will never to be spoken the weight of a human body collides with him from
behind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colonel thrown off balance teeters comically
on the top step his arms failing. “Rotter! …” He shrieks like a woman seeing a
mouse scurry across the kitchen floor. A pale bloody hand slaps the side of his
face. “Let me… help you …. Unzip.” A weak voice strains barely audible in his
ear he catches a glimpse of Private Medina’s anguished filled blood smeared
face practically glowing with hate. Her hair is a wild nest of dirt and blood
caked about her head. Before he can react, the dying soldier on his back yanks
down snatching the pins out of several grenades affixed to the rig on his burly
chest. “Grenade” screams Private Carson causing the group at the base of the
porch to dive for cover. With the last strength, she can muster Private Medina
shifts her weight. Melina rides Colonel like a toboggan down to the packed
gravel below. The hefty retired soldier lands hard knocking the breath from his
lungs and pinning his hands underneath him. The white light that ushers Colonel
and Carlita Medina into the afterlife is brilliant enough to make the eclipsed
Sun jealous. The explosion is somewhat muffled buy the three hundred plus pounds
of human meat atop it. The ground still shakes while chunks of Carlita and
Colonel pelt and slap the ground all around the survivors. A distant wail
pierces the air. Cody pushes himself off the ground pulling Private Lockett to
her feet roughly. “Carlita ...” He whimpers. The crushed white gravel is a
decorated Rorschach pattern of varying colors derived from the pulverizing of
two human bodies. “Shit” Sara says staring past Carson dismissively. The source
of the scream was now evident to Sara. The Rotter from earlier had been
wandering the field alone in its solitary unrest charges across the dry loose
dirt. The blotting out of the Sun had awakened zombie’s feral lust for warm
human flesh. “Ok … ok Shit.” Carson stammers in confusion, he raises his only
weapons. Taking a boxer’s stance Carson yells back over his shoulder “get in
the house now. I’ll take care of this one.” The zombie closes the distance fast
an instable hunger propelling it. The undead man dressed in grimy blue
coveralls is missing his right eye. Teeth marks rim the jagged hole where the
man’s eye had been. His scream carries across the calm stillness of the
interrupted day. Carson draws in a deep breath calming himself. The zombie hits
the packed gravel picking up speeding. Carson cocks a punch ready to unleash
his soup can sized hand with as much might as he could muster. Private Lockett
blindsides the charging ghouls with the butt of Colonel’s M-16. The blow sends
the lanky Trotter pinwheeling sideways in a tangle of limbs. She absently
wrenches Colonel’s clenched hand from the rifles grip tossing it into the dirt.
Moving with a purpose Sara stomps down into the dead man’s chest while flipping
the weapon’s safety off. The lone gunshot takes the back of the zombie’s skull
off in a shower of red and black. Brain matter splatters the ground with a wet
slap. The survivors rise and scamper toward the safety of the house’s basement
like mice caught outside of their hole. “Carson let’s go.” Sara yelps checking
their surroundings obsessively for more Rotters. The darkness plays tricks on
their vision all but Carson who has long had great eyesight. “Carson.” He hears
Sara her voice coming from miles away even though she is now at his side. “Car
…” Sara’s words fail her as she watches Carson’s face through hazy muted
sunlight. He trembles as if being electrocuted the thick muscles that make up
his body rippling with fear. His beefy right arm comes up like a child pointing
at a caged zoo animal. Sara follows his the line of his finger. In the murky
distance, a figure emerges from the tree line. The lone form holds its arms out
walking slowly into view mimicking a mock messiah. The Sin Preacher smiles
under her blood caked hair sweeping her arms forward as if she were a choir
director. Her undead congregation burst from the trees reminiscent of a
barbarian horde screaming a chilling battle cry. Zombies of every imaginable
shape and size make for the house emboldened by the darkness of the eclipse.
“Oh God” Sara prays aloud to herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> Alright after some technical glitches The Living Dark is back and ready to conclude. We meet back up with our survivors where we left them at White Magic's old farmhouse. An unwanted visit from Colonel seeking revenge is unfortunately timed with a total solar eclipse. It seems as though an even worse fate awaits our survivors as The Sin Preacher reappears as a Rotter bringing her undead congregation with her. We will see how it all plays out in the next chapter of The Living Dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> As usual follow me on Twitter @TheLivngDark visit me on Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark">www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Sincerely </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Living Dark</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-70621874522309840792014-07-21T22:03:00.000-07:002014-07-21T22:03:30.236-07:00Chapter 47: Inside Operation Bullfrog
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
47: Inside Operation Bullfrog<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look Doctor Redstone I see your point
but<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>...” The athletically built tall woman
is acutely aware her words have no effect on the other woman seated at the
table. That woman’s scowl alone makes her words feel about as meaningful as a
recipe for butternut squash in the winter. She chews on her full lips in
frustration at the others woman’s bully tactics. She catches herself staring
down at the crease in the pants of her fatigues. They sit in a vast sterile
white conference room. The room is identical to any one of a thousand
nondescript such rooms in America. The one exception being is this room is part
of a fortified installation sitting more than two thousand feet below ground. There
is huge computer console against a wall to their left. The massive black screen
dominates the room like a gaudy painting. A meek young soldier in fatigues and
a black t-shirt sits bolt upright in a chair at the console. There is a wireless
microphone perched on his buzz cut head. One a female scientist and the other a
career solider the women sit eying each other with the unease of a pair of
scavengers coming together over a carcass. At the far end of the table, four
men in pristine white lab coats sporting clipboards flank the heavyset woman. “This
isn’t a maybe Major Castleberry ….” The brutish woman at the opposite end of
speaks with the air of a Wall Street executive. “ …. This isn’t a discussion
this is me telling you and you doing it.” The last phrase comes with an open
palm slap to the large faux mahogany table at which they sit. Doctor Redstone’s
meaty hand moves up to push her thick black glasses back upon the bridge of her
nose. “Doctor Redstone …” Major Donna Castleberry puts on her best diplomatic
face. This buys her time to stifle the rage bubbling its way up inside her. The
pressure increasing with every second she has to speak to this cow of a woman.
Her instincts are urging her to stand up vault over the table and clamp her
fingers around Dr. Redstone’s doughy neck. Major Castleberry’s emerald green
eyes settle on the immense woman packed into the leather office chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Major Donna
Castleberry was not about to be bullied by some egghead from the CDC. “I assure
we will offer you whatever help we can with your research doctor.” She pauses
as the two women’s eyes lock somewhere near the center of the table. “One thing
I can assure of is this Doctor.” Major Castleberry leans up onto the table
feeling her brown hair in its no fuss ponytail tickle the back of her neck.
“You are correct this discussion is not up for debate.” She says her breath
exiting her lungs with such force her nostrils flare. Doctor Redstone leans
back in her chair causing its metal spring to emit an almost helpless groan. “Doctor
Redstone under no circumstances will we bring what you call specimens or what
we call Rotters, Trotters or zombies into this secured base.” Doctor Redstone’s
face is an unmoving mask of angry red blush rising up into her jolly pink
cheeks. She maneuvers her meaty frame forward huffing angrily like an
antagonized bull elephant. The highly intelligent Virologist despises having to
wastes time dealing with soldiers. The Doctor starts to formulate a plan as the
idea grows so does the smile on her face. Soon the devilish grin slides across
her thin pink lips. “Look honey why don’t you run along and get your handler”
the doctor says condescendingly waving a contemptuous hand towards the soldier.
The dig clearly meant to antagonize the Major. A chorus of chuckles erupt from
the men in white lab coats behind Dr. Redstone. They have the look of a high
school chess club in the midst of giggling at a private joke. She uses her near
genius level intelligent to turn the tables on the pretty Amazonian Barbie doll
across the table. Major Castleberry’s eyes cut briefly to the young soldier
sitting at computer console. Castleberry the decorated soldier fights to
maintain her composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Attennnnnnhut” The door to the conference
bangs open behind the Major. The anger drains from her face like water flushing
down a toilet, as she stands bolt upright. Castleberry steps to the side
snapping a crisp salute. “General O’Malley” as disembodied male’s voice shouts
out. An old grandfatherly looking man strolls confidently in almost on cue. The
General’s facial features are hard like granite. Weathered brown sunken eyes
appear alert under pure white eyebrows, which is the only hair on his otherwise
clean-shaven face. His fatigues neatly pressed and ornately decorated with
patches and ribbons rustle as he strides in. On his feet, a pair of highly
polished pair of black combat boots reflect the sterile white light in the
room. He returns the salute to Major Castleberry passing the statuesque woman.
The old man slips right into the seat his subordinate had previously occupied.
“At ease” he says watching the young man take his seat at the monitor with the
keen eye of a high school principal. The Major falls into a parade stance her
well-toned arms behind her back. The door slams shut behind him “My apologies
Dr. Redstone …” General O’Malley clears his throat. “I couldn’t attend your
hastily called meeting earlier I was busy.” Across the long, table Dr. Redstone
rolls her eyes in contempt adding a snort for good measure. “General O’Malley
it’s no wonder your subordinates don’t take my mission seriously.” She huffs
“clearly they see you do not place any importance on it.” Dr. Redstone spits.
The two ranking members of the factions occupying the bunker square off as they
usually do. If one were to remove the zombie threat, bunker, uniforms, lab
coats, and place the pair in the kitchen of a rural farmhouse. They would look
more like an old married couple. “Doctor I assure you I take your mission
seriously.” Helping you research this plague and increase our understanding of
what we face is one of my top priorities.” “There is where you are wrong
General …,” Dr. Redstone blurts. “It should be your only priority!” General
O’Malley’s lips press together in a sneer as he leans back in his chair. He glances
up at his second in command. By the tension in her jaw, muscles he can tell the
doctor must have been giving her hell. O’Malley feels a slight twinge of guilt
at sending Major Castleberry into the lion’s den on his behalf. His thoughts go
back to the young Private he’d spoken too over the radio. Then a spike of remorse
drives itself into his heart turning it ice cold. Here they were placating this
scientist and her desires around curing death. Meanwhile outside the dead were consuming
more and more people every day. He had reached his fill of this woman and his
orders from the President were clear when he took his post. Operation Bullfrog’s
primary objective in the event of a total electrical failure was to help open a
line of communication covering the entire continental United States. This
Operation would allow for communications with U.S. forces and other humans
across the globe. The five Bullfrog units would be strategically deployed
Pennsylvania to California. “The Event” as they were calling it had all but
crippled the entire global. Anything not running or in their case buried
several stories underground was sparred. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Major Castleberry what was the current topic
of conversation with the good doctor before I arrived?” Brigadier General
O’Malley speaks running his tongue around the inside of his cheek eagerly
waiting his answer. Castleberry responds barking her words aloud. “General Sir
Doctor Redstone believes that soldiers here do not take the mission here
seriously Sir.” The old man huffs crossing one leg over the other. “General Sir
she believes as stated previously the reason soldiers do not take the mission
seriously is because the General does not take the mission seriously Sir.”
O’Malley turns to his subordinate in mock surprise. “Do tell …..” He muses.
“General Sir her words not mine Sir.” Major Castleberry says her face a stone
mask of discipline. “General Sir Doctor Redstone also demanded that we bring
her team infected specimens from the surface for further study.” Deep down
inside the undisciplined part of her soul Major Castleberry was enjoying this.
She tells General O’Malley of the doctor’s transgressions with all the glee of
a child telling her father about her evil stepmother’s indiscretions. “General
O’Malley if you wanted to know what I said you could just as easily ask me.”
Dr. Redstone calls from the end of the table. “Oh I’m getting to you Alberta,”
he says throwing down a gauntlet with his intentional breech of etiquette by
using her first name. “Please tell me what you think our mission is. Share with
me why you think the government built this bunker and the Bullfrog unit?” The
General speaks with all the grandeur of a condescending host at a family Christmas
dinner. The look on Doctor Redstone’s face said it all. She was a seething
cauldron of bubbling ire. She had finally met the one man in all of her fifty
plus years of life who was immune to her tactics. “My orders were clear our
goal is to find a cure for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>...,” “Wrong”
O’Malley shouts repeatedly stabbing an accusing gnarled finger in the doctor’s
direction. “My mission as ordered by the President of the United States was to
ensure the deployment of the communications array atop the Bullfrog unit
first.” He sits forward holding the finger aloft as if counting off a list. He
now adds a second finger up with the first. “Second we were to assist and or
rescue any civilians we could in the event of a national emergency.” The dull
sound of the wheels echo off the carpeted floor as General O’Malley pushes the
chair back rising to his feet. “They threw you eggheads in from the CDC at the
last minute like unwanted houseguests.” He adds coming around his end of the
tablet. “Washington was hoping we could cure this thing whatever it is but you
can’t cure death can you doctor?” He says passing the kid at the console who
squirms in his seat. Doctor Redstone looks thunderstruck for a moment her
supreme confidence waivers. She settles back and says, “I wouldn’t know doctor
you haven’t given us the opportunity to see what we are up against” with sarcastic
a smile. “We don’t even know if we have a national emergency on our hands or
not. We sit down her sequestered with only your word as to what is happening
top side.” She continues as the officer gingerly closes the distance. “No you
don’t doctor I do.” Stopping turning back to face the nervous teenager seated
at the console against the wall besides him. “Corporal Jones I want the live
feed from the Bullfrog’s drone we launched earlier today?” “Sir yes Sir.” The
boy croaks startled into action. His hands be move with a well-practiced grace
flowing over the large console before settling onto a large black joystick. Within
seconds, he has taken over control of the drone from its autopilot. “Major the
lights if you would.” He motions over to his subordinate. She moves over to the
light switch with a silent nod. The room goes dark like a movie theater light
casts off the massive wall sized monitor bathing the room’s occupants in its glow.
“We purposely took the drone up this morning before the solar eclipse.” The
gravelly voice calls out from the darkness. “We looked for the nearest major
population center as instructed in our immediate vicinity.” He continues after
clearing his throat. “Which was Pueblo Colorado forty four miles North, North
East of our current location.” Slowly the General’s shadow materializes off to
one side of the monitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clouds filter across the screen as the color
starts to sharpen and come into focus. The view looks down on what they all now
know is Pueblo Colorado. At this height, the lay of the land looks like it does
from any transcontinental flight cross the middle of the country. The patchwork
quilt of terrain that makes up southern Colorado farmlands and national parks
give way to the city of Pueblo. Black smoke wafts up from several dozen unchecked
fires partially obscuring the view from the drone’s camera. “We are minus two
minutes and counting until the beginning of the eclipse.” He narrates the
images before everyone gathered in the room. “Corporal maintain your current
holding pattern and I want you to zoom in with the camera. I don’t want any
civilians to hear the drone and compromise themselves believing this to be a
rescue.” “Sir Yes Sir” Corporal Jones responds. The ground slowly comes into
focus the lens of the camera adjusting in slight jerking motions. The air near
the ground is clearer. The scene that greets them is a chaotic post-apocalyptic
nightmare. Hundreds of figures shuffle aimlessly though wreck-strewn streets. They
can see bodies littering the landscape in various states of desecration. Limbs
lie torn from sockets scattered about like a demented little girl’s doll
massacre. They witness large mobs hunched over shapeless mounds of once human
meat. The entire scene before them had the look of a Jackson Pollack painting.
The only difference the spatters and spays adorning almost everything in this
macabre masterpiece were all a single color blood red. Corporal Jones feels the
telltale sensation of a cold sweat dripping from the crown of his head. He
absently wipes his clammy palms on his fatigues. He struggled to stench the
flow of bile attempting to fight its way up his throat. From somewhere in the
room comes an audible gasp “one of her peons no doubt” Castleberry thinks to
herself. Although she herself could not blame whichever bespectacled, nerd had
made the utterance. Based on what she knew from her discussions with the
General. This scene in all of its brutal high definition color surpassed even
what her imagination had concocted. She did not know about the others but her
thoughts went to her parents. She prayed they had made it to their assigned Bullfrog
bunker in rural Pennsylvania. A fact she would not able to confirm until they
got their relay up and going. “Notice the large number of Rotters Doctor
Redstone.” General O’Malley starts. “Infected General if you please?” The old
man glances off in the darkness towards the woman’s voice. “Well I do and
please don’t interrupt me again Alberta.” He says turning to the screen. “The
limited intelligence we have received in the wake of the first three Bullfrog
units’ successful deployments is as follows.” The old man folds his arms across
his chest. “For reasons yet unknown these things …. These zombies cluster
together.” He points to the screen at a large pack of the dead. They appear
like confused humanoid insects meandering through Pueblo’s small downtown
district. “Near as we can tell they don’t retain the ability to intentionally
organize as a group in their current state. We believe the presence living
humans and their individual drive to consume said humans is their driving
motivation. This alone we feel allows the individuals to work together for a
common goal.” Pausing to crane his neck to take in more of the giant screen
General O’Malley continues. “However some of these walking corpses turn feral
and display patterns of hyper aggression when the Sun goes down.” The pack of
zombies seem to be in a constant motion. They bump into each other changing
course only to repeat the same process over again. By his glowing watch face
General O’Malley can see the eclipse has begun. “Now Pueblo is just a small
city of over a hundred thousand people. Near as we can tell best case estimates
have over eighty percent of the population is infected, turned or whatever we
are calling it.” Blackness seeps into the picture becoming slowly visible on
the outer edge of the camera’s field of vision. “Imagine how bad the
destruction is New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles tightly packed metropolises
once full of life. They now team with the undead like cockroaches not afraid of
the light and emboldened by the night.” The camera grows darker still.
“Corporal decease altitude by half” he orders. On screen, the effect is
immediate as the unmanned aircraft’s nose begins to dip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Uh General Sir” A nasally male voice chirps
from the darkness. “Sir what is the point of all this?” “We need to see their
behavior during this rare chance to study them. We will pair what you with what
we learn today.” He answers. On screen, the eclipse reaches its brief climactic
total stage. In the gloom, they watch as sporadic zombies pulse to life from
amid the horde. Like random frenetic kernels of exploding popcorn, they leap up
pushing and shoving their slower kin about carelessly. “Now team I give you our
enemies secret weapon the Trotter. A zombie menace complete with the powers of
speech, coordinated movement, blood lust and most dangerous of all thought.
They pursue humans with a relentless energy born from lungs that don’t need oxygen
to breath and muscles that don’t fatigue.” The air in the room is suddenly
stuffy, as those gathered there stare transfixed at the horror. The camera pans
around catching a cluster of Trotters tearing away from the edge of the great
teaming mass of zombies. From its perch above the undead, the drone buzzes on
unable to render aid in any way. The Rotters turn on decayed limbs slowly
stumbling behind the Trotters like nosy little brothers and sisters. Over a
dozen of the corpses emboldened by the early gift of fleeting daylight descend
upon a tiny red building. “What is that?” the General asks to nobody in
particular. “General Sir it appears to be a fire station Sir?” Major
Castleberry answers the rhetorical question. Surrounding the red brick building
on every side the Trotters begin tearing at barricaded doors and boarded up
windows. “Jesus there must be survivors in there.” The General moves to a spot
in front of the screen to get a better look. He steals a glance down at his
watch. The totality of the eclipse would end in seven minutes they had just passed
the halfway point. Soon the dull Rotters join their intelligent kin in the
assault on the tiny firehouse. The zombies attack the structure with the
ferocity of unbridled feeding frenzy. Until with all the pressure of a dam
bursting, the dead exploit a weak point gaining entry through a front window. “Good
Lord can we help them?” A voice cries out. Major Castleberry breaks discipline
turning her head towards Doctor Redstone’s voice. “The drone is unarmed.” Jones
utters in a panic looking up to General O’Malley. On screen, the futility of
their compassion plays out in stomach churning horror. Terrified frantic figures
appear in various windows on the second floor. The wretched souls toss
themselves out of the windows landing in the roiling horde below. They met
their demise with gut wrenching silent screaming up turned faces. Putrid hands
slowly pull the ensnared humans down devouring them alive in seconds. Zombies
topple out the windows like lemmings behind their fleeing victims. The dead
crash onto the pavement dragging themselves on decimated limbs towards the
slaughter. They all lust for scraps of human meat. The firehouse is vomiting
Rotters and Trotters out of the top floor as the dead pour in from the bottom.
Without warning, the front door of the fire station explodes outward in a
jagged spray of metal and splintered wood. A massive red fire truck with its
lights blazing through the gloom plows from the building battering a swath
through the walking dead. A few intrepid Rotters cling to the metal battering
ram seeking the people inside. The truck makes a wild turn throwing some of the
flesh leeches off in the process. The truck and its inhabitants break free of
the densest part of the herd. It speeds towards the edge of town without
stopping. As suddenly, as it had begun the eclipse’s hold on the town of Pueblo
loosens. The Sun pulls itself slowly from behind the moon’s dark cloak. The
dead short circuit whatever triggers that had been lighting up their
decomposing brains ceasing for the time being. They stare skyward as the
darkness fades some of them perplexed by the tiny flying object in the sky. The
zombie’s diseased and decaying brains are unable to comprehend the meaning of
the drone overhead. “Stay on that truck Corporal that’s an order.” The General
screams. Jones nods he is too scared to speak. “Find the Pueblo’s emergency
frequency list and try them all until you raise whoever’s in that truck.” He
says leaning in so close he can see the red pores on the boy’s clean-shaven
face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lights” The General barks blindly. Most of
those present squint furiously blinking away the spots before their eyes.
“Major Castleberry” General O’Malley does not let up. Major Castleberry falls
in before the General her body a rigid statue hands at her side. “How many
scientist are there here in my bunker?” He quizzes “General Sir there are Sixty
Sir.” O’Malley stares a hole into the doctor now “And how many soldiers are
there in my bunker Major?” He stops crossing his arms over his muscular but
bony chest once more like a kid daring another to hit him. “General Sir there
are twelve hundred twenty soldiers with Operation Bullfrog in this bunker all
under your command Sir.” He slowly moves on his heels towards the end of the
table. He squats by Dr. Redstone’s chair. “Now doctor tell me again how you
don’t think this is a military operation.” He smirks “I want the Bullfrog
prepped and ready to move within the hour is that clear Major?” His eyes never
leave the bulbous woman at the end of the table. “Sir yes Sir.” Castleberry
responds and with a dismissive salute, he sends the soldier on her way to do as
he instructed. “Doctor Redstone ….” He speaks wet spittle on his lips. “Alberta
you are more concerned about bringing the dead into my bunker than the living.”
The scientist and her cadre of yes men look around at each other. A few men
vigorously shake their heads “no.” “Think about it all of you do you really
want what we just saw down here with you in a locked bunker?” As with most
“smart people” General Patrick O’Malley believes they are too smart for their
or anyone else’s good. “Get this straight your mission and the mission of your
dancing monkeys is to do as I say understand?” He looks around not seeing the
response desires. “Okay let me put it this way is anybody ready to go top side
and see how long they last?” One-man recoils back into the dry erase board
behind them that his glasses topple to the floor. “Good I thought so.” The
General gingerly stands up on his aching arthritic knees. “Doctor I made
contact with a Private who was with the unit assigned to guard St. George’s the
day after the turn. She says she is hold up with a few soldiers from her unit
and some civilians.” His voice and tone are softer now. “By God I pray they
survived this eclipse nightmare. Because if they did I will be bringing them
back here once, we set up that array.” He places a hand on the woman’s thick
shoulder. “I need you to stow all you data and samples. Form this point on you
and all your people will be on medical detail is that clear?” Alberta Redstone bows
her head in understanding and rakes her fingers nervously though her thick black
hair. “Yes Patrick it is.” She speaks chest hitching with emotion. She claps
her hand over his “For all of our sake Patrick put down anyone that gets bit
don’t bring them back here.” She says all the pride gone from her face.
“Finally doctor something we can both agree on.” The General exits the room
without another word. On his orders, the bunker has become a beehive of
activity. All around him, all soldiers hustle about making ready for the rescue
mission. For the first time since “the Event,” they will be going topside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Well now we know something more about the folks heading up Operation Bullfrog!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Stay tuned for chapter 48 and as usual follow me on Twitter @TheLivingDark</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">and on Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark">www.Facebook.com/TheLivingDark</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Sincerely</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Living Dark </span></div>
Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-65433019159795155412014-06-15T19:30:00.000-07:002014-06-15T19:30:36.833-07:00Chapter 46: Double Time<br />
Chapter 46: Double Time<br />
<br />
He pulls his battered body up to the back door of his house. Colonel felt the aches and pains of age on his tweak his bones. More so he felt the pain for the “ass whoopin’” the muscular young soldier has laid on him. His head throbbed the pain emanating from a tender swollen bump between his eyes. The blow to his head had slowed his reaction down to a near zombie like state. Colonel’s mental faculties moved about slowly as if in a thick sea of pudding. He thought to himself that this fact alone had served him well. He had traversed the back roads home after narrowly escaping the slaughter back at the church. A nosy Rotter now appears in his peripheral vision. The woman has had her scalp peeled back like a banana. The loose meaty clump of hair and skin sways across the back of her neck like a ponytail. He thinks he recognizes the ragged woman from the neighborhood. She closes in on him one unsteady step after another her dull cloudy eyes fixing on him. Colonel thinks he may have given himself away. He kept a slow and steady dead like gait as he shuffled home passing clusters of zombies with no problems. However, the sight of his house had invigorated him causing his pace to quicken. He knew any unwanted attention would cause more zombies to congregate around his home thus slowing his plans for revenge. He makes his movement’s quick and precise dropping down seizing a hefty brick in his calloused hand. The bear sized man launches himself at the slack-jawed fetid corpse. With the crunch of fine china, breaking Colonel slams the brick home. Dispatching the zombie with such brute force her moan caught in her throat where it will remain forever silent unable to alert more of her kind. Panting his husky chest heaving the old soldier takes a brief instant to scan the open backyard. With no sign of further Rotter encroachment Colonel rummages a blood cake hand through his pants pocket. He winches from the pain in his groin “damn bitch” he thinks back to the little Hispanic female soldier and the kick she delivered to his nutsack. Once he hooks a finger around the key ring. Colonel nimbly opens the rear door of his humble non-descript house and steps inside. <br />
<br />
Familiar smells greet him some new some decades old. He steps over one-step that he knows will emit annoying creak in one giant stride. He moves through the kitchen, dining room and into the living room. The front of the house is pristine decorated with furniture from the late seventies. The casual observer would have no clue of the cataclysmic events that have befallen the world outside. Still playing the key ring in his hand as he marches down a narrow hallway. The gooey zombie blood drying on his fingers like syrup from some long ago breakfast. Having never married he turns the key in the lock of the only bedroom he’s ever known. Not counting the barracks of untold military bases across the globe, he had called home temporarily. The room in his parents’ home has grown with him over the decades. Today in the midst of everything, he enters a place as familiar to him as his own skin. Now he heads towards a place in this sparsely decorated bedroom that is a little less familiar his closet. Colonel sighs his heartbeats erratically in his chest he unlocks the heavy doorknob. The thick metal door he installed after returning for service in Vietnam groans on it’s hinges. A smile begins at the corners of his mouth Colonel lets his eyes wash over the shrine before him. This had once been a simple closet. Colonel had remodeled the cramped dank space into a vault paying homage to his military service. He feels around in the dark finding the cheap dollar store light he mounted years ago. A tiny round battery operated light buzzes to life casting its weak beam upon several dress uniforms spanning his time in the Marines. Photos cover a black shelf on the rear wall of the closet. Colonel pauses briefly at each one of the half dozen photos. The face of a young burly boy holding an M-60 in the jungles of Vietnam greets him. Moving from top to bottom, he ages forty years in a manner of seconds. There the last picture of him arm in a sling his newly mangled hand wrapped with so much white gauze it resembled a big Q-tip. He recalls The President having to reach up to pin his Purple Heart and Medal of Honor on his chest. Colonel thought he was going to cry right there in front of his parents, the President and the world. His emotional state was not due to his injury. It was due to that I.E.D he spotted as he and his men patrolled that stifling hot wretched town square in Iraq. Without thinking, without fear he tossed the bag containing said device away from his troops mere seconds before it detonated. His actions after losing most of three fingers and the wounds he sustained in ensuing firefight had earned him the Medals. The last medals he knew, he would ever receive as Marine. They forced him to retire. Left with no others options than to drag himself back to this derelict outpost of tobacco chewing humanity. He was about to reach out and caress the sash of medals that twinkled in the dim light like ornaments on a Christmas tree. A new sound found its way to his ears along with an even more familiar smells. “Mom …” he gripes like a teenager demanding privacy. <br />
<br />
Colonel cocks his head ever so slightly. He sees his small mother standing in the doorway to his room. A post she had taken more times than he can remember in her eighty-five plus years of life. A thick white bandage adorns her left forearm, he had field dressed her wound himself. “Bradford Beasley” she kept calling him by his legal name and she was the only human he allowed that privilege. She had done this an attempt to sooth him and forestall the inevitable explosion of his legendary temper. The frail white haired woman who walked with the aid of an old weathered brown cane stood swaying side to side in the doorway. Her cane now absent as her dull milky white orange-flecked eyes settle on his warm flesh. Colonel had found the man who attacked his mother and bit his mother. He staggered about mulling aimlessly at the end of their driveway that day. In fact, the man’s corpse still lay at the end of said driveway. Colonel didn’t know it then but the man whose head he had viciously twisted almost a hundred and eighty degrees on his shoulders was a Rotter. “Momma …” he heard himself croak as the only woman Colonel had ever loved came at him. Her feeble arms were outstretched a string of brackish saliva dangled from her chin. The elderly woman’s false teeth fell clattering comically to the floor with the opening of her mouth. Colonel steps forward pinning his undead mother’s arms to her side. He lifts the small woman up like a baby. In life, he had gotten all of his massive size and girth from his father. With a violent whipping motion he slams his mother’s head into wall sending shard of plaster raining down on them both. The second blow rattles the walls with a wet snapping sound his mother going limp in his embrace. Colonel throws his mother’s body back out the doorway. It lands in a heap resembling dirty laundry and old belched white dough. Colonel turns his attention back to his closet. Suddenly he feels something wet hit the back of his hand. “Blood … she bit me …” his panicked mind, screams. <br />
<br />
Colonel staggers over to the closet jabbing his hand into the light. There on the back of his hand a tiny droplet of clear liquid trails off. Initially Colonel is confused until he reaches up touching his cheek. “A tear …” He mutters to no one. The sudden appearance of humanity and useless emotions within him fills his chest with a burning rage. The mere thought of showing what he considers weakness pushes whatever is left of his soul back into the vault he kept it locked in for so many years. Colonel grabs his sash of medals tossing them to the floor. He does with all the grace of a man throwing change in to a beggar’s cup. The snarls erupting from his mouth would freeze a Rotter in it’s tracks. He grabs both sides of the small black shelf yanking it free. He propels it over his head not even bothering to look where it lands with a crash. There hanging on the wall is his true uniform a dull faded sandy mixture of camouflage patterns. The left side of it tattered and bloodied from the explosion that day so long ago. Above it sits his olive green helmet from yet another conflict still covered in frayed netting. One of the first thing the Marine Corps had ever issued to him. On the wall mounted next to it were weapons that had served with him in combat. A black batter M-16, two .45 caliber pistols, and a long polished bayonet all decorate the closet’s back wall. Beneath that, hanging from a hook is a chest harness with three egg shaped grenades on either side. On the floor is as much ordnance as one could sneak home during forty years of military service. Colonel was ready for war and he had the tools to wage one if he so desired. He would as of yet meet his end on the battlefield. His mind let go of everything except one fact, he knew the rats were hiding at the old Olmsted farm. He would get them out the same way he got “Charlie” to come out of his hidey-holes dug into the soft jungle floor by blowing them apart. <br />
<br />
“Ok ... Ok…” Sara steadies herself as she navigates the police car back down the road towards Lawrence’s house. “We get Lawrence to tell us how to get back to White Magic’s place.” Ben nods leaning forward in his seat willing the car to go faster. His family was safe for now and every minute he has spent apart from them in this hellish reality weighs heavily on him. “Can we just raise them on the radio?” Ben points at the dash mounted unit in the Sheriff’s car. Sara steals a quick glance down hesitantly taking her eyes off the road. “Not sure ….” She says returning her attention to driving around wrecks and avoiding the Rotters now littering the roads. “Flick it on Mr. James and hand me the handheld mic.” She says. Sara notices far more zombies crowding the once wide-open country road than she did on their way to the church. “We brought them out Mr. James.” She points taking the mic as Ben slaps it into her palm. “Yeah I think you’re right.” Ben replies looking at all of the dull creatures shambling after the speeding car. Coming up in the center of the street, they see the biker’s corpse they’d dumped in the road surrounded by zombies. The dead almost appear to be investigating the body their now singular thought process unable to comprehend its sudden appearance. “Let’s just not be here when the sun goes down Sara,” Ben says nervously. “Agreed Mr. James” Sara tells Ben holding the mic up and pressing the lone black button on its side. “Hello is there anybody listening over?” Sara tries the last radio station used by the car’s previous occupant. Static bursts of white noise assaults their ears filling the car causing the pair to recoil. Sara gives Ben the most common military frequency she can think of. She knows that White Magic had a military radio in his bunker. “This is Private First Class Sara Lockett come in farm house over.” She calls into the mic again. She uses her military rank and title just in case. “Watch out!” Ben screams pointing to a large hunting pack of Rotters flanked by burnt out cars on either side. Sara drops the mic clamping both hands on the steering wheel. Sara swings the car onto the sidewalk brutally bowling over a trio of walking corpses. Entrails and blood baptize the car as they narrowly miss the blackened husk of a minivan. “Shit that was close.” Ben sighs. “Here’s Lawrence’s street.” He continues noticing they had indeed brought the dead out with their noisy exit. “Drive on the grass around back.” He instructs Sara as she guides the car around a large house. <br />
<br />
Ahead of them in the distance is Lawrence’s house. Ben glances across the field they had traversed earlier. He can see the river and railroad trestle in the distance. “You stay on that radio I’ll get Lawrence and Willie.” Ben shouts as the car bounces over the uneven earth. The car fishtails to a stop a few feet from the back of the rickety back porch. Ben is out running across the gravel with the big shotgun clutched tightly to his chest. He moves with the focus of a football player who sees only open field and the endzone before him. Ben hits the porch hard twisting the knob he realizes its locked. Gazing back, he sees Sara now standing with the idling car’s door open. She hold the mic in one hand AR-15 in the other the way cops on TV do. She stares back in the direction they had come then she speaks “Umm better make this shit quick!” Ben turns leaning further off the porch coming for them is a phalanx of Rotters. The undead pour around the house at the end of the block like concertgoers pushing towards a stage. “Lawrence ….” Ben screams as he pounds the door feeling it rattle in it’s frame. “Lawrence ….” His blows continue to assault the thin door. It takes less than two minutes for Lawrence Faulkner swing the door open. To Ben however it drags out like an eternity before he sees the man’s flushed and terrified cherub like face. “Lawrence get in the car.” Ben orders. “I … I can’t leave ...” Ben interrupts “I can’t get back to my family unless you tell us how Lawrence.” Ben implores. “Lawrence there are zombies coming for us.” Lawrence steps past Ben grabbing his shovel. “Now Mister James we can handle zombies.” He brushes past Ben “Now how many do we got?” Lawrence says stepping down from the last step. “All of them Lawrence we fucking have all of them.” Ben says with a sarcastic smile from the top step. The shovel drops from Lawrence’s hand and for brief second Ben thinks the man is going to turn and run. “Mr. James go now I got him.” Sara urges Ben on as she grabs Lawrence’s fat elbow escorting him to the back seat of the cruiser. <br />
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Ben bounds up the ladder frantically yelling “Willie!” Cresting the stairs with all the grace of a slapstick comedian Ben scurries over to the prone man. “What …” Willie squeaks out of his dry lips. “Great you’re not dead.” Ben blurts flatly, “We got to go Willie.” Sweat pours from his baldhead in the muggy attic. “Sorry Willie.” Ben tells the man as his sizes his long lanky frame up. “Wha ... whas wrong wit you man.” Willie’s eyes flutter between pain induced grogginess and confusion. Willie O gets his answer in the form of white-hot agony as Ben drops the tactical shotgun on his chest. In seconds, the streetwise criminal blacks out from the pain. Ben drives both hands under the injured convict using a much rougher technique than he did with Chip. A pang of guilt hits his heart as he lifts the man up. Ben feels as though he hasn’t seen his children in forever. His body cannibalizes this feeling of guilt converting it to will power. His legs move him to the small ladder leading out of the attic. The sound of gunfire begins to echo up from outside. Ben decides to take the express route down. The throws himself forward legs outstretched like a man at the mouth of a waterslide. The ride down is painful as his tailbone slaps each wooden plank rattling his teeth. A pile of trash unceremoniously ends his ride abruptly. With his knees, protesting Ben huffs twice rocking himself to a standing position. He stumbles through the trash heaps balancing Willie and the gun on his chest. Ben notices thin tendrils of fresh blood coloring the edges of the bandages on Willie’s lower midsection. Mercifully, Ben makes it to the open backdoor. Immediately a zombie coming up the stairs greets him with a low growl. Instinct drives Ben’s leg out and into the big festering corpses chin. He feels the kick break bone as it lifts the zombie up tossing it backwards down the stairs. Ben doesn’t hesitate leaping down the two remaining stairs as the Rotter and two of his kin wallow about on the ground attempting to stand.<br />
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Sara engages the horde approaching them from the rear. The soldier stands a few feet from the open car door giving herself room to retreat. She drops zombies with short three shot burst only to watch as half a dozen more take their brethren’s place. The air around her fills with blue smoke. She is in her zone placing bullets in eye sockets, foreheads and otherwise decimating facial features of the once living. “Someone was on the radio.” Sara’s eyes never leave her targets as she shouts out. “Com’on!” Lawrence barks waving to Ben his shovel in hand again. Lawrence defends their flank between his house and that of his neighbors. The same narrow space that Ben and Sara had used as an escape route earlier. The chunky man pounds a Rotter comically in the face and in the same motion, he shoves the rounded handle into a dead man’s eye. Ben hunkers low running for the safety of car’s open rear door. He is blindsided by a pair of Rotters. Their probing hands grabbing for open exposed flesh. Ben whirls throwing a smaller child zombie in a Boy Scout uniform into the dirt. Over his shoulder, Ben feels cold undead saliva pelting his neck. Fear digs into his gut as he awaits the inevitable bite. He feels the blade of Lawrence’s shovel breeze by his cheek. “Got’em” Lawrence reassures Ben James grabbing him by the shoulders. Lawrence Faulkner rides Ben and Willie into the back of the car as if he were a Secret Service Agent. “Go!” Ben wheezes from under Lawrence’s bulk. He feels something warm soaking into his shirt struggling to breath. “Come in I say again over.” A man’s voice calls from the radio’s microphone. Suddenly Ben feels as if the weight of the world has lifted off his chest literally. Lawrence sits up stretching for the door. The instant he grips it cold hands grasp his wrist. The car lurches forward chewing up gravel and grass in a cloud. The Rotter’s hands slip harmlessly from Lawrence’s arm as a dead postal worker sinks it’s teeth into thin air. <br />
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Ben rights himself noticing the Rorschach pattern of blood on his white shirt. He winces looking at an unconscious Willie. The blood on Willie is now more evident coating his arms and bandages. Ben sits the man up pulling the shotgun onto his lap. “This is Private Locket over.” They hear Sara from the front of the car. “Was it them?” Ben asks a look of hope flickering in his eyes. “No Mr. James I tried that channel.” The car bounces roughly Sara fights to hold on to the wheel. “Lawrence can you tell us how to get to the …” Sara snaps her fingers caught in a bout of absent-mindedness. “They called it the old Olmstead Farm.” Ben interjects. Lawrence stares ahead still breathing heavily. He rubs his smooth meaty chin. “It’s near a subdivision called Clow Oaks I think.” Ben adds his mind travels back to the sub-division they had more than likely burned to the ground. “Is it atop a hill all out by itself?” Lawrence holds a sausage like finger in the air. “Yes … yes …. Yes” Ben shakes the fat man with gusto. “I know where it is!” Lawrence stares blankly out the window as they crash through a small thicket of trees onto a road. “It’s back the way we just came from.” The hope drains from Ben’s face like air leaving a tire. “I say again this is Sara Locket speaking to whoever answered earlier over.” Sara grips the microphone in one hand and the car’s wheel in the other. “Sara ... Sara.” Lawrence slaps at the mesh cage separating them. “What?” She calls back clearly frustrated. “Gone back down this road I know another field we can cross up the road a bit.” Sara spins the big Crown Victoria about and rockets the other way as instructed. “This is Brigadier General Patrick O’Malley Private Locket over.” The hoarse voice is different from the one she heard at the house. Sara almost drops the mic as she attempts to respond. “General O’Malley Sir exactly where are you stationed at Sir?” Sara is practically shouting the question. “Never mind that Private Locket that’s top secret where are you and where is your unit over?” The grizzled electronically tinged voice responds. Sara licks her lips steering the car down a twisting country road. “Ms. Sara…” Lawrence bangs on the mesh gate from the backseat again. “Gone and cut cross this field here.” The man hooks a big thumb in the general direction of a green flowing pasture stretching towards the horizon. Sara doesn’t protest hoping the cruiser over a slight gulley. The car immediately begins to chew up the soft grass ejecting dual pinwheels of dirt. Sara gives the unknown General on the other end of the radio the information he requested. “General O’Malley Sir I was with the unit assigned to St. George’s.” She breathes deeply fighting for control of the car like trying to ride a bucking horse. “We were under the command of Staff Sargent Glass’ detachment sir.” The radio goes silent as Private Lockett powers the big V8 engine mashing her foot on the gas pedal. “Private Lockett how many are you?” General O’Malley’s voice sounds more urgent. Sara imagines the old General sitting closer to the microphone wherever he is. “Sir there are three of us remaining and a group of civilians Sir.” The General’s voice blares from the microphone. “Private are you outside now?” His voice crackles. “Sir ….. Yes we are Sir over” The confusion more than evident in Sara’s voice. “Private you and your people need to go to ground now over.” Sara feels the mic vibrate in her hand as the General’s words explode into the cabin of the police car. Sara is not sure how to answer which is irrelevant. General O’Malley voice booms out an ominous warning. “In approximately nineteen minutes the entire central United States will experience a total solar eclipse.” Sara’s hand begins to succumb to a low electric tremble. Her blood has gone stone cold suddenly she struggles to breath. “Whys that a problem again?” Lawrence muses a smile of ignorance on his face. Ben grabs his shotgun off his lap swallowing the bile rising in his throat. “Cause I assume the Rotters will flip their switches and go all hyper smart on us.” Lawrence turns to Ben his jaw slack open wide enough to catch stray bugs. “Aww now that aint even fair its day time!” Lawrence protest. Sara’s mind pushes the only word it can find free from her lips. “Fuck …” She trails off staring blankly ahead.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Well it looks like the James family is in for one hell of a family reunion and they will have more than a few unwanted guests.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Come back the week of July 6th for the next Chapter of The Living Dark <br />
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As always "Like" me on Facebook <a href="http://www.facebook.com/thelivingdark">www.facebook.com/thelivingdark</a><br />
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Sincerely:<br />
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<br />
The Living Dark Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-75768888548931598322014-05-04T22:04:00.000-07:002014-05-04T22:04:41.278-07:00Chapter 45: Back in the Game
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45: Back in the Game<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawrence peeked under the thin bed sheet
covering Willie O apprehension clearly etched on his face. The lean man
fidgeted in the grip of a restless sleep under the thin veil of cover. Almost
the entire right side of his chest covered in white gauze. Lawrence shakes his
head unsure of Willie’s true condition. He gently lays the cover across the
man’s sweaty chest before standing. Lawrence walks over to meet a now clothed
Benjamin James. “Ben he might need more help than I can give’em.” Ben sighs as
Sara exits the bathroom. “Lawrence doesn’t think Willie is doing well.” Ben informs
her taking in the outfit Lawrence had provided her. She has tied a white t-shirt
up in a knot and pair of blue boxers with which she had repeated the knotting process.
He thanked the Lord he fit the roomy grey sweat pants better than Sara did. The
white shirt he wore and plain white sneakers were at least clean. “Lawrence I
don’t know what to say my friend” Ben leaned in. “I need to get back to my
family and the church pronto. Willie …. Well he’s not my problem Lawrence.” Lawrence
rubs his head reminding Ben of “Curly” from the three Stooges. The wheels in
Lawrence’s head seem to turn just a bit slower than they did with an average
person. “Ben don’t worry he can stay here with me. If he makes it well Willie
can leave when he’s ready.” Lawrence feels beads of sweat popping up across his
forehead. His stomach in knots he didn’t usually like company. “Where’s your
family and friends Ben … Which church they at?” Ben draws a blank “Ummm.” He
looks to Sara confused. “First New ….” Lawrence breaks in. “First New Faith aww
hell y’all done run cross The Sin Preacher.” “Yeah that’s her” Ben all but barks.
“Well she and her people are crazy as shit house rats’ buuuuut ….” Lawrence
smiles rubbing his chin recalling his family’s past with The Sin Preacher. “I’m
guessing y’all already know that.” Sara snorts she brings her new found pistol
into view. “Well Lawrence tell us how to get there from here.” Lawrence mulls
over the questions. “Its bout ten or eleven miles from here you go up the
street make a left just head out you’ll see’em signs everywhere.” Ben shakes
with rage. “We’ve already wasted two hours or so. Now we’ve got to hustle
through ten miles of zombie infested cornfields.” Ben gives Sara the once over.
“You don’t even have shoes fuck!” His frustration boiling over Sara makes to
grab his arm. “Well now Ben you just need a few things.” Lawrence steps back.
“Sara there are bags of new women’s clothes downstairs.” Lawrence turns from
the conversation. “My mom she just shopped and shopped. She bought thangs she
had no need for; she couldn’t even fit most of it.” They were staring at the
darkened ladder that led back down stairs. “Sara …” Lawrence points to the
girl. “You still got the keys you took off Sheriff Lee?” Sara nods. “Well then
we need to get you some clothes then.” Sara can hear Lawrence Faulkner’s
breathing as he pulls them close. “Sheriff’s car is parked up the block.
There’s ya guns and ya transportation.” “Does it drive Lawrence?” Ben moves his
hand up slowly. “Yes sir her drove down here to check on everyone the day after
everything went haywire.” He clears his throat. It took Ben several seconds in
the dim light to see the man holding a fat arm aloft for a well-deserved high
five. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several minutes later, the trio is standing on
the cramped back porch. Sara and Ben hold battery powered plastic green lanterns.
The oil lit lantern with its dancing flame dancing swings in Lawrence’s grip.
Light filters through various points in the old rickety house. The lanterns do
little more than push the darkness back a few feet. “Ok Lawrence what the hell
are we doing here?” Sara ask holding her lantern up. She scans the wall of
garbage with a disgusted sneer. “Well now Sara there are bags and bags of clean
new clothes piled up’n the kitchen.” Lawrence motions over the mountains of old
newspapers and assorted trash. “I don’t know about this, we are really in a
hurry my friend.” Ben breaks in waving his lantern around like a magic wand. “I
preciate that you want to get to your family Ben but Ms. Sara …” Lawrence turns
bashfully pointing to the young woman. “She can’t be much help to you runnin’
round mostly naked.” Ben could see his point. “Plus the more skin she shows the
more she risks gettin’ bit by one of them zombies.” Ben gestures with his head
massaging his temple. “Lawrence …. What’s …. Fastest … way to do this.” The
last words trail from Benjamin’s mouth dripping with anger. “Well now Ben don’t
be mad but I’m too big.” Lawrence stutters. “Y’all need to climb up carefully
then just stay on top’a dem piles straight through to the kitchen.” Ben places
the handle of his lantern between his teeth. Then hefts himself clumsily up the
nearest dusty pile of refuse. The house is dank and heating up as the Sun bakes
the rancid trash. Ben feels sweat break out all over his dark skin. Sara
reluctantly hands her pistol to Lawrence before following Ben up the nearest
pile. Ben gingerly makes his way across the trash heaps finding himself in the
kitchen. He places each hand testing the trash heaps. The smell if stifling Ben
feels woozy as the stench crawls down into his lungs with each breath. He gags
causing the lantern to pin wheel from his mouth. Ben reaches for the lantern in
a desperate attempt to keep his only source of light. He finds himself tumbling
down in an avalanche of rubbish. “Ben!’ Sara shouts from behind him. Ben comes
to rest flat on his back suddenly aware of something running across his ankle.
“Fuck …” Panicking Ben’s mind races through the possibly. “Rats, spiders,
roaches who the hell knows in this dump.” He scampers over seizing the softy
glowing light. “Jesus ….” Ben whispers breathlessly his words barely heard as
they fall from his trembling lips. He watches as dozens of filthy black rats
scatter. The light illuminates a feeble zombie pawing helplessly at the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben watches the zombie pinned beneath what he
thinks is at least a decade’s worth of faded nature magazines. The dead man’s
skin is molted and grey there are rat bite marks all over its dead flesh. Something
moves near Ben’s other hand. He quickly shines the light down where he is
sitting. “Shit!” Ben snatches his hand away seconds before a decaying woman
closes her teeth around it. He clamors to his feet in a frenzy. Looking around
the kitchen Ben stumbles over to a window ripping down a shade. Light bathes
the area in front him. He looks up to Sara trembling. “Lawrence …” She calls
the hostility in her words more than evident. “Yes” his voice comes back
muffled by the wall-to-wall trash. “When you said your family was gone did you
mean they left or that they are dead?” She rolls her eyes awaiting the man’s
reply. “Umm well they’re gone cause they’s dead Ms. Sara. They got bit and
turned into zombies after they died.” Sara huffs from atop the stack. “Lawrence
what happened then?” The silence drags out as Ben presses back against the
window. He sucks in stale air in big gulps. “Well I couldn’t put’em down so, I
done pushed a bunch of stuff on’em and hid out upstairs. “Ohhhhhh.” Sara
screams in anger. “And he didn’t think this was something we might fucking need
to know?” She snarls at Ben. “Lawrence how many were there?” Sara shouts back
into the darkness. “Three Ms. Sara my ... my mom.” “That’s all I needed
Lawrence.” She cuts the man off. “This whole fucking town is nuts.” Sara brings
her voice down just enough for Ben to hear. “Ok watch out Mr. James there’s one
unaccounted for.” Sara Lockett whips her head around frantically scanning the
immediate area. She sees no signs of their missing zombie. Her eyes land on a
pile of bright yellow see through plastic bags. “Jackpot” Sara mouths. Ben did
not know why he had frozen in place. He felt sweat cascading off his bald head
down his back. Ben teetered on a mound of trash seized by vertigo. “Mr. James
…. Ben!” Sara leaps down from her perch on the trash mound. Sara takes care to
avoid the pawing arms of the two zombies. Their mouths move but no sound escape
from their dead compressed lungs. Sara stumbles over to Ben steadying herself by
grabbing his beefy forearm. “You ok bug guy?” Sara asks placing a hand on Ben’s
chest. “I … I” Ben stammers. “It almost bit me.” Ben pines his eyes watering.
Sara hands Ben her lantern as she untucks the shiv from the waistband of her
boxers. She takes several unsteady steps over to the first zombie that had laid
in wait for them. She plunges the metal into its empty left eye socket with a
twisting motion. The undead eyeless man falls still in his trash littered
grave. Sara wastes no time stomping over to shriveled dead female corpse. She lay
pinned under the weight of garbage up to her neck with one arm exposed. Sara
grits her teeth stabbing down hitting the zombie square in the center of its
forehead. She leaves the crude weapon stuck in the woman’s forehead. Sara
storms over to the pile of tied up bags sitting in what was the ram-shackled
house’s kitchen sink. “Mr. James get back to Lawrence and watch your footing.”
She calls out. “We’re still missing one.” She wishing the big rats scampering
around the floor were their only concern. Sara rips into the first she bag and
does not look back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sara Lockett stood face to face with Lawrence
Falkner twenty minutes later. She was dressed in blue jeans with a matching
denim jacket, white shirt, and gym shoes. Sara was closing in on twenty years
of age but even she knew one thing. Every piece of clothing she now wore was a
throwback relic from the nineties. They itched and smelled like her
grandmother’s attic but the beat being naked. “Again I’m sorry.” Lawrence wipes
his face nervously. “I could put down a hundred zombies but not my Ma and Pa.
Not my family I couldn’t do it.” She had stifled a deep desire to punch fat
man. Once both she and Ben had crawled back over the trash to where Lawrence
stood. “I understand Lawrence.” Ben looked at Sara hesitantly. Ben looked at
the backdoor then back to Lawrence. “Look stay away from that open window
Lawrence” Sara speaks up. “We are going to find our people then we’ll come back
for you and Willie.” Lawrence raises his lantern letting the light wash over
his face. “I appreciate it really I do but I’m home guys.” Ben nods his
understanding. He is unwilling to debate the man any further. The only thing
Ben James wants is his family and a generous helping of revenge. Sara moves to
the backdoor hand on the knob. “Take care my friends” Lawrence smiles holding
out a meaty hand. Sarah turns back to the man. “Thank you Lawrence you saved
our lives for sure.” She tells him ignoring everything within her. Sara takes
Lawrence in a polite embrace much to his surprise. “Yes thank you and we will
be back my friend.” Ben shakes Lawrence’s free hand vigorously. “We’ll take
care to deal with any zombies hanging around.” Sara releases the embrace. “This
way they won’t work their way back to you guys.” She slowly pulls the pistol
twisting the doorknob cautiously. “Ok and remember you go round the house’n
down the block Sheriff Lee’s car is down the block middle of the street.”
Lawrence covers his eyes as the light invades the dark cluttered house. Sara
looks about no zombies coming over the field from the river. She also sees none
in the immediate area around the back porch. She moves down the small steps
blinking as the sun assaults her eyes causing them to water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
warm fresh air washes over the pair. Ben follows quickly behind her his hands
empty. Pivoting his head Ben desperately looks for something he can use as a
weapon. “God I don’t like being empty handed.” Ben whispers fiercely the round
the house crouching. “It’s ok Mr. James.” Sara says as she scurries forward
pistol at her side. “If what Lawrence says is true you should have a weapon
pretty soon.” They come to rest on a large tree. “There we go Mr. James past
the wreck.” Sara draws Ben’s attention down the block to a white police car. “I
don’t see any zombies” She looks both ways up and down the block. “Yet” She
adds sarcastically. There are cars by the dozen strewn about the spacious
street. They can see a multicar crash that blocked the street between them and
the patrol car. “We move low Sara and stay away from the wrecked cars.” Sara
nods holding her pistol up at eye level. Together they move hunched over always
on the lookout for the undead. “Almost there” Sara calls back to Ben they pick
up the pace. Sara pulls the ring of keys from her pocket. “Mr. James I’ll drive
and we’ll stop down the road and check the car for weapons.” Ben swings wide
around the front of the car. He stares at the mangled cars. Ben’s mind goes to
his son Chip. He wonders what he and Belinda must have gone through during their
ordeal. He vowed to himself at that moment that he and his family would never
be apart again. Sara whips her door open sliding into the car. She takes a
split second to pop the lock on Ben’s Side. “Let’s go.” She slams the doors as
Ben does the same. Stabbing the key into the ignition and turning it. Every
flashing light in the car comes on followed a wailing siren. “Fuck turn it off”
Ben panics. Sara slaps at the dashboard hitting the switches marked “siren” and
“lights.” “Oh no” Sara cries looking out the car’s windshield. The dead came
meandering out of hiding in droves. They came from houses, alleyways, parked
cars and the shadows all along the street. A deep moan erupts from the back
seat as the pair turn. In the back of the squad car sits a large biker zombie.
The dead man with the long blood stringy black hair slams his head into the
steel mesh between the front and back seat. “Shit” shouts Sara dropping the
pistol to the floor. The dead thing growls again flinging itself forward again.
Ben is so distracted he doesn’t see the walking corpses shamble up top his side
of the car. The ghouls proceed to pound on the car seeking the soft warm flesh
inside. “Sara we need to go now.” Ben recoils back from the window then slumps
into the seat. “There’s a damn zombie in the back of the car.” Shouts Sara. She
observes a growing mass of zombies slowly surrounding the car. “He’s handcuffed
Sara get us the fuck out of here.” Needing no further prodding she throws the
cars in reverse taking great care not to lean back against the metal grate.
They clip a parked car as they take off down the street. Sara backs over
several zombies lumbering up on their rear. With a yank of the car’s steering
wheel Sara spins the car around. “Lawrence said end of the street the head
left.” Ben reminds he panting as he cast a nervous glance at their snarling
passenger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They rocket down the center of the road. Sara
expertly dodges stalled and wrecked cars strewn about the two-lane road. Ten
minutes later, they find themselves encircled by empty open fields. “Look” Ben
speaks up pointing to a plain white wooden sign. The black script reads “First
New Faith 2 miles ahead.” The car skids to a stop sideways as Sara jams the
breaks down. She is out of the car before Ben realizes it. Taking two strides
Sara grabs the rear driver’s side door snatching it open. The sound of the
gunshots startles Ben. The big zombie in the backseat slumps to the floor it’s
brains splattered on the window of the opposite door. “That bastard was
irritating the shit out of me.” She snaps. Ben takes the keys from the ignition
and exits the car in a rush. He heads for the trunk of the long white car. As
he opens the trunk, he watches Sara drag the dead body from the back of car. He
looks down into the trunk and smiles. Ben takes up a tactical shotgun
chambering a round. “Yes Lord thank you.” Sara says now besides him placing the
pistol in her waistband. She unclips the AR-15 from inside of the trunk’s lid.
“Grab the bands of shells.” Ben is glad to see Sara smiling again as she
speaks. He takes the belts of shells as instructed and loops them across his
chest. “It’s about noon Ben.” Private Lockett states looking skyward breathing
deeply. “Let’s go Sara.” He tosses her the keys. They climb into the car and
make their way towards The Sin Preacher’s house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roads begin to look somewhat familiar
from their drive in what seemed like forever ago. “Now remember Mr. James I get
to bash that bitches head in.” Sara chuckles. Ben opens his mouth to speak but
his words trail off. They watch the zombie dragging itself clumsily down the
center strip of the road. The dead man is huge “as much as I’d love to run it
down.” She looks to Ben “I think it will damage the car.” Sara turns the car
wide around the burly walking corpse. The dead man stumbled on listlessly
moving on heavy booted feet. “What the hell?” Sara can’t believe her eyes as
they drive slowly past the big zombie with its head down. “Ben that’s that big
old bastard” She points snapping her fingers. “Colonel … that was his name
Colonel.” She swallows hard understanding the implications. Blood covers the
front of the old soldier’s clothes. His face is an unrecognizable mask of lumps
and bruises. The car’s occupants slowly realize the sinister implications of
the dead man wandering down the road. “Ben …” She gazes back in the man pained
face. “They got in Ben the church got overrun.” Sara feels her heart race her
chest begins to burn. Ben’s eyes cloud over with pain. The car lurches forward
as Sara mashes the gas pedal to the floor. Ben sits his mouth agape in shock. “Don’t
worry Ben.” She calls him by his first name for a change. Sarah uses her free
hand to place the two extra clips for the AR-15 into her lap. To her right Ben
wrings his hands around the assault shotgun. Sara hopes he doesn’t cause the
weapon to discharge in the car. They arrive just on the outskirts of the church
property. “I don’t see any other zombies.” Sara takes her hand from the wheel
and catches Ben by the arm. The big man stops one foot out the door. “Ben we do
this the right way. We take care, we find out what happened to our …” She
didn’t expect to choke up. The idea of having lost everyone washed over her
unexpectedly. Ben takes Sara’s hand in his. They meet each other’s gaze “We
take our time and do this right.” Sara says shaking her head. Sara’s eyes never
leaving the white building in the distance sitting encircled behind a high wire
fence. Sara takes the lead after thumbing the safety off her weapon. The pistol
sits tucked in her pants. “Let’s head around back.” She whispers heading behind
a tree. “Ben watch our back for Rotters.” Sara waves a hand dismissively at the
dense wooded area. They begin to work a long wide arch around the back of the
church. Ben and Sara keep to the tree line using it as cover. “Shit, shoot,
damn.” Sara calls out in frustration upon seeing the rear of the property. The
carport that they had entered that first day stood wide open. All of the cars
once parked in the long barnlike structure were now gone. “That’s our way in.”
Ben taps her on the shoulder noting the open doors were in line with the fence.
They scamper across the open area Sara keeps her weapon held high. They both
draw up against the interior wall of the dark carport. “Door’s open.” Ben
motions with his shotgun. A thin shaft of light sneaks its way in via the door.
They make their way to the door stealing a quick glance out. The rear of the
church property is empty except for an unmoving female zombie. The body lays at
the base of a small porch with its head caved in. “Looks clear ….” Sara starts.
“Don’t ... don’t” a man’s voice croaks up from the darkness across the carport.
They spin in unison bumping the door closed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Who’s there?” Sara calls raising her rifle
inching towards the voice. “Wait” Ben grabs her shoulder. He fumbles his hand
up the weapon’s muzzle. With a snap, he flips on small flashlight affixed to
the muzzle of the shotgun. He aims the beam into the darkened corner. There he
sees a thick-bodied middle-aged Hispanic man. Ben uses the light on his gun to
scan the man. There is a gaping tear along his right forearm. It makes the nasty
bite leaking blood from his neck look like a cat scratch. “Who are you?” Ben
asks the man whose skin is a sickly greasy yellow hue. “Don’t matter now.” The
man struggles to speak holding up his wounded arm. Blood rolls down the man’s
arm soaking his shirt. “You’re with that family and the soldiers?” He was
having great difficulty breathing. His chest rose and fell unevenly but that
didn’t stop Ben from moving over to his side. “Yes we are have you seen them?”
Ben asks eagerly. “They … they got out.” He points with a pistol in his other
hand. The man’s arm dangles weakly. He looks to Ben like a puppet whose master
is tugging his strings ever so slightly. Ben’s eyes light up with hope. “They …
uhhh” He contorts in agony before coughing up a wad of deep red blood. The
dying man spits clearing his mouth. “They left in … a big ice...” He trails off
weakly dropping his head to his chest. “Ice cream truck?” Ben shouts moving
closer to the man in the corner. “Slow down Ben be careful.” Sara cautions Ben
untucking the pistol bringing it to bear on the man. Ben notices the man’s
sickly eyes seem dull and distant unable to focus on any one point. “I …. Was
making sure …. Everyone got out.” He struggles to stay conscious. “Heard …. screams
from other side of church. There were …..” He swallows pain etched on his face.
“Somehow zombies were closed up in there with them.” His voice strained as he
forces the words out. “They got to …. Me” The man says forcing himself to
laugh. “I held door let …. Others es…. Escape.” Ben stares back at Sara. A look
passes between them as they realize this man had been a hero. From the trees,
they hear the crunching of leaves. The sound is as loud as a gunshot. “Shit.”
Ben snaps his eyes going to back the way they had come. Ben counted at least
six corpses making their way slowly towards the open end of the carport. “Ben
we …” Mangled arms reach through the open door grabbing Sara’s long hair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben moves without thinking. He plows into the
door hearing the crunch of bones as he lays his full weight into the door. Sara
fights loose rolling backwards on the ground. She struggles to compose herself
slowing her breathing. She sights down the AR-15 firing three quick bursts
dropping the Rotters entering the carport’s open end. Undead guttural moans
rise up from behind the door Ben struggles to hold. “There are more coming from
the woods Ben.” She shouts they both know if they don’t move now they’ll die
here. The weight pushing against the door begins to cause Ben’s shoes to slide in
the dirt. “Go …” The man croaks from the corner. Sara raises her pistol aiming
at the tortured dying man. Ben releases the door sprinting for Sara; he
snatches her up causing her shot hit the wall above the man’s head. Ben drops
Sara the door behind them slamming open. She takes a quick look at the man in
the corner. He lifts the pistol up to his temple just as the first walking
corpse drops to it’s knees before him. Ben throws the butt of the big black
shotgun forward crushing a zombie’s face. He skirts the wall out of the carport
Sara trailing him. Rounding the corner their need for stealth gone they hear
one lone gunshot from inside the carport. “We’re the only game in town now
Ben.” Sarah says prodding Ben onward. They head left into the sunlight running
along the fence. “Ben it’s her ….” Sara’s words trail off. Ben turns back
following Sara’s line of sight. He is dumbfounded at the sheer number of undead
pouring from the church basement. The Rotters shuffle in formation line ants
one after the other drawn to the sounds of the living. Near the front of the
crowd almost lost is the Sin Preacher her throat torn out. “You deserved worse
bitch!” Sara screams enraged she aims at The Sin Preacher wobbling among the
crowd of zombies. The Rotters shuffle in unison heading for the fence. “No time
for that now!” Ben grabs Sara pulling her with him as he heads for the
Sheriff’s cruiser. The undead seem to come from everywhere now but they have a
straight shot to their way out. They cover the distance sprinting the dead
hounding them every step of the way. “I got the keys.” Panting Sara shouts opening
the driver’s side door hopping in. Ben throws his gun in the car before sliding
in. Sara takes a quick peak in the rearview as she starts the car. She knows
the Rotters will soon overtake the car from the front. The last thing Sara
wanted was to back into a tree and end up lunch for the rampaging rotten horde.
“Go .. Go ...” Ben beats on the dashboards. The car lurches backwards out of
reach the zombies. “If they are with the ice cream guy, I think they went back
to the farm with Magic.” Sara shouts as the car bounces back on to the road.
Ben smiles for the first time in recent memory. Sara prods the car down the
road heading back the way they had come. The dead burst forth from First New
Faith and the surrounding area. The last thought in their diseased putrid
brains is the living flesh in the car. They follow on decaying limbs shuffling down
the road long after the car disappears from sight. “If I get home, I will make
them pay.” He chants to himself in his head repeatedly. Colonel drags his
bruised body across a dry field of wild grass. An evil sneer races across his
face like a jagged bolt of lightning. With his head down, he slouches past a
pack of zombies. He gives them a wide berth not changing his stance so as not
to arouse their interest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ben and Sara get back into the game attempting to locate the rest of the group. They make it back to the church only to find things have taken a turn for the worst for the members of The First New Faith Church. Even the Sin Preacher herself has met with a grisly fate. <br />
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Comeback soon for the next Chapter of The Living Dark.<br />
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-78549086465274822542014-03-30T20:19:00.000-07:002014-03-30T20:19:54.277-07:00Chapter 44: Coming to a Head
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
44: Coming to a Head<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miriam cannot stifle the yawn pulling her
jaws apart. She stands facing out the back window of her church on a small
wooden porch. The Sun teases the horizon tinting the retreating thunderclouds a
breathtaking shade of magenta. A few stray beads of water on the glass catch
the early morning sunlight each creating brilliant miniature rainbows. Miriam
smiles broadly at the wonderment before her. Behind her, she can hear her own
voice softened by a closed wooden door. A tape-looped sermon is playing over
the loudspeakers in the church’s nave. This would pacify her flock until she
could return to them tonight. The “Unclean” as she had labeled them were the
least of her concerns. Miriam was finally able to breathe a deep sigh of relief
upon seeing two shadowy figures emerge from besides the church. “You did not
come straight back I see” She says aloud through the screen door. Even though
she is fully aware zombies, intelligence has retreated with the rising of the
Sun. They both turn towards the sound of her voice. The dead men stumble about
milky eyed ensnared by the effects of the new day sun. The zombies are each
soaked in rich crimson blood. She knew they would disobey her word but she did
not care. For as long as the Benjamin James and Sarah Lockett were dead. The
Sin Preacher had no fear of any reprisals. Those of their party she held in the
basement were now at her mercy. Still she ponders to herself “you were both
disobedient, and my word cannot be broken.” Speaking audibly now “For that
Brothers Lawson and Hobart” Miriam opens the screen door. “You will not enjoy
the morsel of flesh I had promised unto you.” Her attention finds its way to
the bastardized infant sleeping in her quarters. Miriam moves onto the porch grasping
the rain slicked railing. She is not afraid of her wayward sheep as they stagger
about well within the locked gated of the church’s compound. Miriam had given
Lawson a key before he left to complete his ordained task. She clears her
throat ready to speak her hypnotic words to these her most useful of sheep. Miriam
did not see the third Rotter that had remained unseen hidden in shadows until
it pounced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My Lord” The Sin Preacher cries out. Snatching
her hand back off the white banister, the female zombie’s mangled teeth
narrowly misses her hand. Miriam slips down the two small stairs plowing into
Lawson. The bald zombie tumbles backwards knocking his undead sidekick to the
wet ground with a grunt. Miriam loses her footing on the damp grass and falls
on her backside. “My child … my child” She says calmly to the growling walking
corpse making its way around from the other side of the porch. “Listen to my
voice for it is I who the Lord almighty have allowed to hear your cries and
ease your suffering.” The Sin Preacher implores her arms outstretched; her
palms turned up like a beggar. The Rotter snarls a ropy mixture of blood and
saliva spilling from its blackened maw. Miriam does not panic she is more
concerned with the dampness seeping through her robe. “It will have to be
cleaned before tonight.” She ponders to herself. “Please my child” Miriam’s
voice breaks ever so slightly. She steals a glance back at Lawson and Hobart
each ghoul struggling to his feet. Her face sports a mask of disapproval. Same
way a mother does when she catches her son with a girl whom she does not care
for. “You brought this Jezebel to my house.” She barks through clinched teeth.
The Sin Preacher whips her head back around facing the zombie. “Do you hear not
my words foul heathen?” She asks the feral hissing decaying walking corpse.
“For you are truly lost then child.” Miriam scoots back on her rump a few
inches waiting for the Rotter to lung once more. When the dead woman does
Miriam kicks out her leg catching the zombie under her chin. The thing’s teeth clack
together as it reels backwards landing face up on the bottom step of the porch.
The Sin Preacher is on her feet trudging forward towards her unwanted guest.
Her wet dirty once white robe billows out behind her. “There are the workers of
iniquity fallen” She huffs breathlessly. Moving to a standing position over the
undead woman Miriam places a hand on either side of the woman’s head. It is
like holding a squirming alligator swaying in a vain attempt to get loose and
strike. “They are cast down, and shall not be able to rise.” The rage bottled
up in the darkest recesses of Miriam now bubbles over. She lets her fingers
slide over the jellied white eyes of the zombie. Miriam slowly pushes her
thumbs into the thing’s eye sockets. Her digits sink deeper into the mushy
wetness as she clasps her fingers behind the corpse’s skull like a spider’s
legs. The zombie’s eyes pop like overripe fruit but it still snarls sensing the
warm flesh hovering above it. The Sin Preacher lowers her forehead down to the
creatures. Miriam does not shy away from the damp rotten smell wafting up from the
zombie. “You are banished from this place.” She rages leaning in Miriam slams
the Rotter’s head against the bottom step. The Sin Preacher repeats this
process until the zombie ceases its relentless attack. Miriam has lost herself in
the sight before her eyes. The sun now beams brightly from the East. She smiles
raising her hands gooey matter plops from her fingertips onto the ground. “Now
my sons” she speaks without turning to face Lawson or Hobart. The ghouls sway
in place made more docile by the fullness of daylight and The Sin Preacher’s
voice. “Let us seek shelter for tonight you will make amends to me for your
transgressions.” Miriam leads the zombies up the stairs and into First New
Faith’s rectory. She does so pushing and prodding the dead men as a mother with
unruly teenage boys. She has no idea Brother Gustavo has just witnessed her
coming unhinged for the second time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Under the small porch, kneeling in the dirt
Gustavo raises old metal hatch. Chills blossom up his spine as the Sin Preacher
along with her undead soldiers pass overhead. He holds his breath staring down
at the baby girl in his arm. She was gorgeous her little blue eyes meet his. Baby
Cammy grins showing her tiny pink gums. For the first time in a long time, he
does not feel like he is a bad person. Above him, he hears a door lock. “Please
God be with us” He whispers his first genuine prayer in recent memory. Brother
Gustavo climbs down a spider wed metal ladder into the darkness. “We have to
hurry” the thought runs frantically through his mind. He pulls the closet door
open less than a minute later. Bianca Fullerton is running full tilt towards
him. Her arms are open almost as wide as he eyes. Gustavo holds up a finger to
silence her a cold sweat has settled upon his skin. “We have to go now.” He
says with as much emphasis as he can muster without raising his voice. He
surrenders the baby girl to her mother’s embrace. Bianca weeps softly Dakota
sits by her mother’s immediately she finds herself swept up into a hug. “Please
we need to go now,” Gustavo urges pulling Bianca to her feet. They disappear
into the closet Anne James hustles Brandon and Belinda along to the hidden
tunnel. Any other day they would look like typical sleepy kids ushered around
by a mother with a schedule to keep. Private Medina checks her pocket for the
handheld radio. Overnight she had briefly spoken with White Magic. Unlike their
initial meeting, he would be waiting for them today. She cocks an eyebrow at
Private Carson clutching her ribs. They both look down at a Chip sitting on the
floor sans his wheelchair. “Come on bro spare me some dignity.” Chip says just
above a whisper. “Don’t let the chick carry me please I’m begging” He chuckles.
“Besides I got the only gun” Chip produces the revolver waving it around like a
toy. “I got him go Carlita.” Carson lowers himself to the floor scooping up
Chip. The boy rakes his shoulder length sandy curls back with one gloved hand.
The pair head for the exit watching Private Medina as she vanishes into the
dark tunnel. “What the fuck!” Private Carson hears as Chip draws the hammer
back on the pistol next to his ear. Carson knew the owner of the deep overly
harsh voice. They had not heard the door open behind them. Chip kept the pistol
leveled at Colonel’s chest. The two young men he had assigned to guard the door
flanked him on either side. “Drop your weapons or Colonel Mustard gets two in
the chest.” Chip orders. Colonel ignores the two cowards who show no hesitation
tossing their guns to the floor. “You too big man” Carson says to the old
soldier. “You look like the type of pussy who’d leave without saying good bye
Son.” Colonel spits the barb designed to bait the younger man. He squats
placing his heavy pistol gently down on the floor. Chip and Private Carson
exchange glances hunching their shoulders in unison. “Oh no Sir we were just on
our way to see you.” Carson grins he walks over to one of the tables setting
Chip down. “Now you Chip points to the guard on the right close that door and
lock it please.” Chip uses the gun like a pointer. “You …” Carson points the
second guard. “Bring those weapons over to my friend on the table here.” Carson
pulls off his camouflaged uniform shirt flexing his shoulders. His physique is
even more impressive as the olive green t-shirt fits tight against his chiseled
chest. The smaller of the guards sheepishly deposits the guns on the table next
to Chip. “You boys go ahead and take a front row seat on that couch over
there.” He tells the pair pointing to the battered old couch that had been a
bed the previous night. All the while Colonel stands breathing in deeply
cracking his knuckles. An evil grin etched upon his harsh features. He never
takes his eyes off Carson. “What the hell is taking …?” Medina burst back out
the closet. “Aw fuck.” Her eyes bug out comically as her jaw hangs open. “Go
Medina” Carson orders now refusing to drop his gaze from Colonel. “We’ll be
along in a few this won’t take long.” She looks to Chip who gives her thumbs up
with a toothy smile. “Run along missy this is man’s business.” Colonel laughs.
Medina backs her way down to the tunnel entrance. “Carson ….” She calls out.
“Yeah what up Carlita?” He responds staring down his foe. “Will you please beat
that sadistic motherfucker to death for me?” Private Cody Carson licks his
lips. “Sure thing Kid” he assured her as she goes up the secret tunnel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cody stood unblinking sizing up his opponent.
He knew the man was older but the bulk of his weight was muscle. In the Army,
they had drilled into his head that with age came wisdom. This he knew meant
Colonel was a better tactician than he was. This fact alone let him know that
he could not get into a brawl or a wrestling match with the grey haired former
Marine. The scars Colonel bore on face and arms were a testament to his
toughness. Cody was so lost in thought he blinked twice before he realized
Colonel was rushing him. Colonel came stomping forward head lowered making it
tougher to land a shot to the face. Private Carson spun out of the way of his
charging foe. He stopped facing Colonel’s side as the man’s momentum kept him
from stopping on a dime. Carson delivers a swift kick to the back of Colonel’s
leg dropping him to his knees. He follows up with a spinning backhand to
Colonel’s exposed face. The Colonel’s nose breaks with a “crunch” the sound
carries across the room. Colonel pitches face first on the floor Carson and he
have switched places in the room. Carson dances on his feet nimbly. He allows
Colonel slowly get up to a standing position. “Carson don’t stop fuck’em up.”
Chip shouts motioning towards Colonel with the gun. “Nah bro gotta do this
right prove a point to this motherfucker.” Carson responds looking at the other
two men sitting stunned on the couch. “I …..” Colonel wheezes sucking back some
of the deep red blood flowing from his nose. “I forgot they don’t teach you
Army girls how to fight a man straight up.” He spits a wad of blood on the
floor moving his hands up like a boxer in front of his face. “Come on princess
let’s see all that trendy dancing Jap shit y’all call fighting now.” Colonel
was well aware he had underestimated the young bull. He was also knew the boy
had made a mistake not finishing him off when he had the chance. The two men
slowly encroached one another guard up in a pugilist stance. Colonel saw the
private holding his guard high covering his pretty face. He delivered two quick
brutal body shots. The first catches Carson on his left side the next punishes
his right side driving the air from his lungs. Carson throws a feeble jab
connecting with Colonel’s chin. It was more of a love tap with no force behind
it. Carson cannot draw a breath he does not see the savage upper cut coming.
For a brief moment, Private Carson feels as though he has left his feet. Before
he knows it, he is reeling backwards his vision doubling. The only reason
Carson does not hit the floor is the support pole he slams into back first. Colonel
bares down upon him his eyes are calm and distant like those of a shark. To him
this is a natural as eating nothing personal just nature. Colonel throws a right
hook Cody blocks the punch ducking in the same direction as he catches movement
to his left. The two guards who were sitting on the couch are sneaking up on
Chip. The boy sits on the table eyes glued to the fight. “Chip look out!” he
cries out. The distraction allows Colonel to pivot up a knee into his gut.
Colonel has him trapped and takes the opportunity to land a solid left hook.
Carson gets his bearings focusing on Colonel. He fights through the pain
whipping his elbow straight up smashing it into Colonel’s exposed chin. Carson
exploits the opening pulling the Colonel’s head down into his own knee. When the
two meet Colonel’s arms go limp he is out on his feet. Carson sidesteps the
groggy man teetering on the edge of consciousness. Taking Colonel by the back
of his head Carson slams the man forward. Colonel’s head connects with the
support pole with an audible “dong.” The Sin Preacher’s enforcer slides down
the brown steel pole until the man simply slumps to the floor unconscious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woozy Carson turns his attention to Chip.
“Alright bro” Chip grins. Carson’s confusion clearly etched on his face. Chip
sits with holding the back of one guards head. He has the revolver placed just
inside the man’s open mouth. The other guard stands behind him his hands raised
comically in the air as if he was on some old cop show. Carson follows the
man’s wide eyes gaze back to its source. “Good work pretty boy lets go.” Medina
says. She keeps her weapon in on hand pointing at the man. She tosses Carson
his M4 assault rifle. Carson catches the weapon nursing his ribs as he steadies
himself. “Boys we need to go we’re loaded and waiting on Brother Gustavo.”
Private Medina says crossing the room. “Let’s go,” She says pointing her rifle
at the two men. Carlita takes the pistols off the table by Chip with her free
hand. “Carlita what are you doing?” Chips asks. “I’m being a good Christian by
not holding a grudge. Now open the door,” She orders waving the rifle one of
the Sin Preacher’s men. Chip and Private Carson look to each other confused. “Carson
you and Chip head up the ladder and follow the footprints in the dirt under the
porch. Head for the big ratty shed across the yard I’ll be right behind you.”
Medina cranes her head looking out the open doorway. “Is he dead or out cold”
Private Medina looks to Carson tilting her head in Colonel’s direction. “Um out
cold I think,” he says unsure of his answer. Carlita unleashes a kick aimed
between Colonel’s legs. The man emits a low weak groan, she marches the two men
hands held high out into the midst of the captives. Carlita ignores the stunned
faces as they had ignored her the day before as she passes them. Standing in
the middle of the room her eye catches the hole in the wall made by her body
yesterday. “Listen up people” she speaks to no one in particular. “Fortunately
for all of you my mother raised me to be compassionate or I’d leave all you
cowards here to die.” Private Medina drops the three guns in the middle of the
floor. “I suggest you formulate a plan to get the fuck out of here.” She kicks
the back of each man’s knees they drop to all fours. “You need to be quite head
back through this room. There is a back way out in the closet you need to get
to the carport all your keys and vehicles are there.” She looks to each face
stopping on the chubby Hispanic man who spoke up when Anne attempted to rally
them. “I suggest you fight like your lives and the lives of those around you
depended on it because they do.” She does not look away from the man until he
drops his head. “These two I leave up to you.” She says prodding one of the men
with her gun. Medina heads back down the hallway stopping briefly. “Oh for any
of you planning on staying you should know one important thing.” She extends
her index finger pointing upward. “Your great benefactor the Sin Preacher has a
legion of zombies locked in the main part of the church. She fancies them her
personal army.” Shocked gasps swirl around the room. Medina turns back with a
television game show host smile. “Have a good life” She mocks sprinting through
the back room up the ladder and to her people in the shed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miriam
toughly enjoyed her hot shower. She had thanked God daily that the church was
standing empty when ‘The Event’ had happened. In the wake of the cosmic
onslaught, everything electrical that was without power that night still
functioned properly. She stood before the foggy mirror now dressed in jeans and
a flannel shirt. She has her hair wrapped in a towel and left to dry. Miriam
swiped a hand over the mirror cutting a swath through the condensation. She
could not help but smile at herself after last night. Her flock was ready; she
had gotten rid of the Son of Lot, which she had found personally invigorating.
Tasting the blood of the sinner had left her in an almost euphoric. She had the
traitors dealt with and the fatherless child would be done away with tonight. “By
this time tomorrow I will lead my flock on a cleansing purge through man’s
army.” She told her reflection knowing the military would never expect a
coordinated attack from a mass of zombies. Miriam strolls carefree from the
bathroom back into her office drying her hair with the towel. “Good morning
Miriam.” She jumps startled at the sound of the voice. She knows its owner all
too well “Good morning Brother Gustavo.” Miriam Jacob answers tossing her damp
hair back out of her face. Brother Gustavo sits in her chair behind her desk.
His hair is all over his head; his once pristine white uniform is filthy
covered in dirt from head to toe. What troubled her the most? The smile
plastered on the man’s long face. “Please have seat Miriam” He gestures towards
the chair Benjamin James had taken during their initial meeting. “Brother
Gustavo why are you in my seat?” Miriam lowers herself down into the chair. She
glances over at the pile of blankets on her cot. “Brother Gustavo where is the
bastard child?” Gustavo rakes his fingers through his hair leaning back.
“Brother Gustavo have you sunk back to your sick ways?” Miriam brings her head
back around in a slow mechanical manner. “Miriam I assure you the child is safe
and as for my ways.” The man swallows hard leaning forward his palms planting
on the desk. “Years ago I told you I felt like a child on the inside.” He trembles
as if he caught in the grip of a chill. “When I told you that I was molested as
a child you used it and my faith against me. All you wanted was a sheep to do
your bidding.” He wiped a stray tear from his eye. “All I wanted to do was to
relive my youth one where I wasn’t hurt. One where I was not demeaned and
degraded you ….” He stabs a long index finger in her direction. “You are not
woman of God. This is no house of God. Sin Preacher …” He scoffs. “I saw you
last night.” Gustavo snarls he shakes barely able to contain his rage. The Sin
Preacher’s face is a pale shade of pink. She swallows hard pulling the acid
rising in her throat back down. Here’s one for the road.” He chuckles. “I just
wish I had understood it earlier.” Their eyes meet and Miriam sees no fear, no
respect just cold emptiness. “Beware of false Prophets, Which come to you in
sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Matthew chapter seven
verse fifteen.” Gustavo finishes with a shout. There is a knock at the door. Miriam
glares at the door behind her. Miriam turns towards the door “Not now” She
calls out. “Is that it all it takes Gustavo the sweet words of a Jezebel for
you to turn on me?” Miriam’s anger rises as the knocking comes again. “Not
nowwww.” She seethes stretching the last word out. “I opened my eyes pastor.”
Gustavo says rising slowly placing his hands in his pockets. “You told me I had
to do what you said to earn the Lord’s mercy.” He continued a bit more calmly.
“You said God helps those who help themselves and it was you …” He exhales
rubbing one hand on his temple leaving the other in his pocket. “You who
claimed to speak for God not me.” The knocking came again harder this time. He
noticed color had returned Miriam’s face from the neck up it was beet red. He
watched her storm off towards the door through which they had drug the James
family. The Sin Preacher grabs the doorknob in disgust “I said not…..” Her
words trail off as she stares at the empty hallway. Miriam looks across her
office Brother Gustavo stands at the rear of the office. He is between two doors
facing her. The door to his right leads up to the body of the church behind the
pulpit. The door to Gustavo’s left leads out the back of the church. He points
to the battered brown desk between the two of them with a sneer. The left
pocket on his dirty pants appears pulled inside out. Miriam sees a jumble of
red white and brown wires laying tangled in a rat’s nest on her desk. Brother
Gustavo projects his voice across the office. “Behold, I stand at the door, and
knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him and
will eat with him, and he with me.” He opens the door leading up to the main
body of the church wide and in the same motion disappears through the church’s
rear exit. Miriam’s eyes dart to the desk “the intercom system he tore the
wires out” she mouths in disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The undead Rotters pour from the open door.
They are sheep no more snarling like hungry wolves. Their milky orange tinted
eyes settle on the only warm human flesh they can find. That flesh belongs to
the Sin Preacher. Miriam cannot move her feet feel locked into the creaky wood
floor. “Ma’am everything otay?” Silas Proctor asks through his swollen damaged
jaw as he hobbles up. Miriam snaps to watching the walking corpses ransack her
office. The place seems far more cramped as it is quickly filling with the
Unclean. She knocks Silas aside running for the front exit. The bulbous man
teeters on his aching wounded foot before he falls forward. He is the first church
member to feel the jagged teeth of “the Flock.” His screams panic the church
members even more than their pastor sprinting past them for the door. More
screams start as the zombies come into view down the hall. Miriam hits the
locked door full force and it does not budge. She turns the knob forcefully
side to side and it simply clicks. She is unaware that BC and Jim Hosstrum lie on
the other side dead by Brother Gustavo’s hand. He had murdered both men while
they dozed on guard duty earlier then snuck down and barred the door as the
members slept. “Sin Preacher please …” Please a horrified woman grabs her arm.
Miriam slaps her hands away and shoves the portly woman backwards turning to
see the Rotters crowding towards the panicked mass of people surging towards
the door. More screams as those on the outer ring fall into the mouths of the
undead. The sounds of tearing flesh drives the undead into a frenzy and the
living into a panic. “Shut up” Miriam commands composing herself lift her hands
high. “Be still my children for they are my flock.” The horrified church
members ignore her words. “I will sooth them my children fall to your knees in
prayer!” She screams over the sounds of slaughter. The Sin Preacher feels a
tickle in her throat as she starts a sermon. Around the room, Rotters rise from
their feasting on the living. They stand some still chewing gobs of torn human
flesh. The zombies sway in place placated by the Sin Preacher’s soothing voice.
Miriam does not know how long her voice will hold up. She curses under her
breath hearing the sound of the massive ice cream truck’s engine outside fading
into the distance. “Judas” her mind screams.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">In a rather interesting change of events. Brother Gustavo has helped the survivors escape. Looks like he has finally seen The Sin Preacher for the false prophet she is. It appears to me at least that hell hath no furry like a demented ice cream man scorned.</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-76057434298788199632014-03-08T21:21:00.000-08:002014-03-08T21:21:05.819-08:00Chapter 43: Making a Way Back
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
43: Making a Way Back<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sara
greets the coming sunrise by poking her head out of the drainpipe. She looks
like an overly cautious groundhog. Sara wonders if she will see her own shadow
in the coming light signaling six more weeks of zombie apocalypse. “So far so
good” She whispers. Lockett glances down in the drainage culvert below her. She
sees the armless corpse whose head she had destroyed with the rock last night.
It bobs about on the surface of the pooled water. It is damaged head leaves an
oil slick of brain matter floating in the cloudy rainwater. “Ben we need to
head out your side.” She announces back down the wide aluminum pipe. Her voice
carries reverberating with an echo down to Ben James. Ben sneaks a quick glance
out of his end of the pipe. He gently places the rock he had used as a weapon
down just inside the rim of the pipe. Scanning the area Ben cannot see any zombies
meandering about the area. He knows they are there they are always there. “I
got nothing over here Sara.” He responds finally tuning around to face Sara
down the length of the pipe. “Well ….” A man veiled in darkness croaks out
between the two of them. His voice is little more than a strained wheeze. It
comes in short breathless gasps. “We really … need … to get our asses in
doors.” The man who had shared the drainage pipe with them all night finishes
up. “What I need to do is get back to my family.” Ben’s voice is hard and cold
like ice. “Then …” He begins to clench his fists. “I’m gonna take my trusty rock
and bash The Sin Preacher’s head in.” Ben leans out the pipe one more time
before stepping out cautiously onto the damp lush grass. “Sara I should have
listened to you. I’m sorry ok?” Ben looks up staring past the crumpled form to
Sara. Sara duck walks her mud covered bare body down next to the man. They make
eye contact. “Look Mr. James.” Sara pauses. “You let me smash her head in and
we can call it even deal?” She gives him a playful smile. Even caked with filth
her dark beautiful features beam down the length of the pipe. “You ready
Willie?” She asks eyeing Ben. “Yeah … yeah just need a shoulder to lean on.” Willie
pivots with Sara at his back he scoots his way through stagnate foul smelling water
towards Ben. Ben reaches out a helping hand. He assists the man out of the pipe
that had been their shelter all night. Sara and Ben get their first glance at
the man in the grimy orange prison jumpsuit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So what were you in prison for Willie?”
Sara asks hoping down from the pipe instinctively crouching low to the ground.
“Uh …” Willie winces. “Drug dealing … pimping, murder ...” Willie huffs as he
checks his offenses off mentally. “Pretty much all the things it takes to run a
moderately successful drug outfit.” Ben takes Willie’s toned arm placing over
his thick shoulder. He casts an untrustworthy glance at the light-skinned black
man with corn rolls in his hair. Ben proceeds lock eyes with the man. His nose
crinkles at the bridge. “So yeah nothing personal but I’ve had my fill of
assholes in orange prison jumpsuits.” Sara snorts sarcastically attempting to
get her bearings. “Well so have I.” Willie laughs his free arm makes its way to
his left side. His hand covers a blossoming bloodstain there. Unlike the other
bloodstains that cover Willie’s clothes. This one is still damp and seeping up
from inside the jumpsuit. The laughter causes the man obvious excruciating
pain. Willie’s face contorts as he tosses his head back. Ben pushes the thinner
man off his shoulder. A look of fear races across Ben’s dirty face. “We’re you
fucking bit?” Ben whispers angrily looking around. Willie shakes his head
weakly. “No like I said last night.” He stops to draw in a few gasping
breathes. “I was running from those zombie things.” Willie hangs like an
unwanted child’s toy in Ben’s grip. He points up at the railroad trestle that
had saved Ben and Sara the previous night. Ben notices the blade in the man’s
hand for the first time. He uses his eyes to signal Sara. She returns a quick
nod indicating her understanding. “I turned to looked back …” Willie stops
looking about the immediate area. “I slipped and fell barely had time to catch
myself. I smashed the shit out of my side. Think I probably fucked up a rib or
two.” Ben slowly pulls the man back against him. “I dropped my pack in the
water too.” Ben and Sara exchange a look of understanding. They recalled a
splash in the river that drew the undead away from them last night. It was
possible that Willie had inadvertently saved both their lives. Willie slaps his
free hand against his hip in exasperation. The blood-caked prison made knife falls
from his hand. Sara drops her rock snatching up the crudely made stabbing
device. She walks it down to the edge of the dirty rainwater that had collected
in the ditch. She rinses it off like an archaeologists with some ancient find
they cannot readily identify. “My shiv….” Willie says smiling down at Sara.
“Shiv” was right Sara though to herself. “The foot long blade appeared to have
come from a bed rail of some sort. It was a dull silver the color of an old
nickel. Its hilt tightly wrapped in some type of cheap once white cloth. Sara examined
the weapon its tip filed to a point by repeated scrapes across some sort of
stone. “Mind if I hold onto this?” She asks Willie without even looking up. “Nope
she’s served me well.” Willie says squinting into the new day Sun. “I killed a
lot of those undead bastards escaping that hell hole of a prison.” He hitched
himself closer to Ben. “Now big fella … ah Ben I is it?” Benjamin James bobs
his head deliberately. “Can we get some place a little safe that’s not a filled
with stagnate water?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waterlogged trio slowly moves up the hill
rising up in front of them. Ben huffs gruffly. “We need to get back to the
other side. Then work our way back to First New Faith.” Sara’s examines the
rolling fields surrounding them cautiously. “Mr. James I agree we need to get back
but we don’t exactly know which way is back.” They look to each other Sara sees
the fear in Ben’s face. He knows she is correct their heads were down as the
ghouls drove last night. They had lost all sense of direction. “I came from
this way.” Willie speaks up motioning with his finger back over a grassy knoll.
“Never made it to the side you guys came from.” Ben looks back over the rusted
structure covered at each end with white spray painted graffiti. “When I fell
it was all I could do to crawl back down into that damn pipe.” Ben’s eyes
narrow into slits. “Shit.” He mumbles aloud. Sara and Willie turn to looks
across the bridge as well. There were at least a dozen zombies shuffling out of
a thicket of trees. Their slack jaws hung open as their out stretched arms pawed
at the air. “Rotters ….” Sara mouthed. “Can they make it across there?” Willie
asks. “Don’t know …” Ben tugs the man draped over him grabbing his belt lop.
“Let’s move I aint sticking around here to find out if they can cross that’s
for sure.” “Big man I passed some houses back up that way.” Willie interjects.
They top the slight hill in front of them. The sight of a battered house greets
them across the rolling expanse. Other houses dot the landscape they appear
like dots further out from their position. “I count eight of them between us
and that house Mr. James.” Sara stares down at some of the slow moving zombies
who have already spotted them. They turn in mass hobbling on broken and
dislocated limbs. From Behind them comes the sound of bodies hitting water. The
dead are attempting to traverse the trestle with little or no success. “The
sound will draw more of them out.” Sara remarks. “We can get to the house and
plan our next move.” Ben takes his first tentative steps down the embankment on
the slippery grass. He had grown accustomed to being naked but he would kill
for a pair of shoes right about now. “Hey pretty lady …” Willie calls out a
halfhearted sly grin on his face. “Don’t let them bunch up take’em on one at a
time.” Sara nods dashing off in advance of the men. “Aim for the eye sockets
with my baby … and she’ll do the rest.” A quick series of raspy coughs
interrupts Willie’s next words. Sara is moving quickly towards the first Rotter
in their path. Willie leans his head on Ben’s shoulder. “Dude a butt ass naked
hot chick fighting zombies. We’re living every nerds dream.” Willie laughs
causing bolts of pains to rocket up from his busted ribs. “Shut up.” Ben says
stopping just short of dropping the convict. He was losing his fondness for the
Willie faster than he thought possible. As he watches Sara go, his thoughts
turn to his family. The last thing he was going to do was take a smart assed
half-dead drug dealing murder back with him to rescue them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Private Sara Lockett takes bold strides
through the thick wet grass. Her feet find it hard to maintain traction. She
throws a peek back and Ben who is all but dragging Willie. Sara does not look
ahead to the white house in the distance. She focuses on the dead thing lumbering
towards her. It was more than likely female or had once been. The zombie front
half is charred down to the bone is still smoking she noted. The zombie looks
like a piece of meat from head to toe that someone forgot on a hot grill. Sara
pays no mind to the warm sun on her bare skin. She tightens her grip on the
shank Sara realizes clearly it is designed to stab not slash. The zombie moans
as the space closes between them. Its arms raise up like a demented possessed
puppet. The undead things eyes never leave Sara’s. They meet with Sara ducking
low to avoid the zombie’s out stretched arms. She moves up from the side
meaning to plunge the sharpened metal into her attacker’s eye socket. Her
assault is halted mid-swing by the stench of burnt flesh. It reaches down into
her painfully empty stomach. The vile smell draws dry heaves up from her gut.
Sara feels the corpses sandpaper like scorched skin as its hands claws at her
hair. “Sara!” Ben screams out. She ignores Ben concentrating on stifling the involuntary
retching bringing acid up in her throat. Private Lockett grunts wind milling
her hand in an arc. She drives the point of the metal deep into the Rotter’s eye
socket. With a vicious twist of the shiv, the zombie falls to the sound of
bones splintering. “Sara you ok?” Ben calls in a panic. Sara waves him off
“yeah<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>... yeah.” She breathes deeply her
hands on her knees. “Fucking thing stank to high hell.” She hollers back. Sara
stands up checking her surroundings. “Let’s keep moving right up the middle
take the shortest route.” With that, Sara takes off at a trot. She encounters a
dead man wearing thin wire rimmed glasses. She notices a hole in the dead man’s
neck. Chucks of chewed flesh plop out the hole reminding Sara of a meat
grinder. The thought fades from her mind as she pushes the shank into the
zombie’s eye socket shattering the lens of its glasses. Sara lays the corpse
down like a preacher baptizing a sinner. She steps over the body looking up the
house is closer. There is only one zombie between them and the house. She can
see the structure better now. Its white paint is chipping and the big two-story
house looks rundown. There is a shiny metal ladder running up to the roof. It
strikes her as the safest place to rest. This would give them ample time to
scout the rest of the area. “How will we get Willie up there?” She hears reverberate
though her mind. Suddenly a large rotund man appears standing on the roof of
the enclosed back porch. He is wearing a pristine white tee shirt and grey
jogging pants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The big round man holds a pink child’s
plastic beach bucket of rainwater up taking a long drink from it. “Hey!” Sara calls
out taking care not to wave the gore covered hand holding Willie’s prison
shank. The balding man sports an atypical horseshoe of black hair around a
large bald patch. He drops the bucket as a look of terror washes across his
face. “Probably thinks we’re a couple of Trotters.” Sara mumbles to herself.
The walking corpse nearest to her drags itself along on one good leg. The other
scrapes the bare gravel covered area behind the house. The dead thing’s foot is
twisted a hundred and eighty degrees behind it. Sara races up the rock-strewn path.
The varying shaped stones begin to bite into her bare feet. She stands her
ground rather than risk injuring her feet. “Can you help us we’re not zombies?”
Sara shouts. The man looks like a scared rabbit ready to bolt, so she puts her
attention back where it should be on the zombie. She takes a defensive stance
and when the putrid teenager is close, enough she lashes out a foot into its
thigh. Sara’s blow hits the damaged limb squarely dropping the corpse to its
knees. She seizes the opportunity to stab the blade down into the top of the
zombies head. The skull parts like broken china as Sara rotates it with both
hands. Sara Lockett turns to see Ben James dragging Willie faster. The dead
they had past once scattered about the vast field were now coming together in a
loose pack. Sara looks over her shoulder casually. She watches the stout man
step to the edge of the roof just above an aluminum ladder. For the briefest
moment, she has a comical vision of the fat man in the grey jogging pants floating
away like a balloon. Instead, he repositions himself and makes his way down the
ladder. “No … no … nooo.” He scolds like a Sunday school teacher. The ladder
clatters against the old house as his foot touches down onto the packed earth.
“You can’t lead them here or they’ll comeback tonight.” He says to Private
Lockett paying the attractive dark skinned girl no mind. “Yeah well tell me
something I don’t know.” Sara rolls her eyes at the man. She drops her hands to
her knees winded. “Sir I’ll take care of these few.” Sara points with her free
hand at the zombies shambling across the field. She looks back at the house.
“Do you have some place where we can rest up and maybe find some clothes?” The
big man rubs his smooth red face lingering around his chin. Sara takes note of
his freshly shaved face. He spins around eyes fixating on the house. He is
briefly lost in his own thoughts before turning back to Sara. “Have any of
y’all been bit or scratched by a zombie? On a count of the movies I done seen
say that’s a bad thing.” Sara shakes her head to indicate “no.” “My friend and
I found this guy when we went to hide in a drain pipe down by the river. He
says he slipped and fell while crossing the railroad trestle.” Ben and Willie
finally move into the conversation. “Hey can we get the fuck inside or what fat
boy?” Willie blurts from Ben’s shoulder. Ben jostles the convict roughly
repositioning him. He makes sure his displeasure is painfully evident. “Ahhhh
…” Is the sole sound Willie can make as volcanic rush of red-hot agony grips
his torso. “What my inconsiderate friend Willie meant to say is might we please
come into your home to rest for a bit Sir?” “Sure Mister.” The man responds
taking more notice of the tattered prison jumpsuit hanging loosely around
Willie. It appears more disconcerting to the man than either of the naked
people with him. “First we gots to kill all these damn zombies.” The man says
as he walks back towards the house. “You can all rest here on the porch.” The
man cocks his head down in the direction of three rickety white washed steps.
The steps apparently compromised the back porch the man had made mention of. He
grabbed a shovel that was propped up against the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sara looked to Ben. “Go with him.” He tells
her counting the zombies who had pursued them. “Alright Mr. James but keep an
eye out for stragglers.” She says sauntering behind their quirky savior. “Man
that’s a fine piece bro you tappin’ that?” Willie asks watching Private Lockett
leave. “No I’m married Willie and if you keep acting like an asshole. I’m going
to punch you right in the middle of that bloodstain on your side.” Willie’s
hands immediately move to cover his wounded side. “Look big man I’m sorry I
been in jail for a couple of years dude no offense.” Willie offers up in his
defense. “Well my friend let me make one thing clear. There are several women
in our group.” Ben bites back his words thinking of the others locked in that
church with a homicidal maniac. “And if you attempt anything remotely shady or
ungentlemanly like. With God as my witness I will snap your legs and leave you
for the zombies to play with.” Ben stares down at the injured man. His eyes
narrow as he and Willie’s brown eyes meet. “Am I clear?” He asks Willie.
“Crystal.” Willie utters looking paler than he had earlier. Ben does not know
if its fear or blood loss and he does not care. Sara is hot on the portly man’s
heels raising up the bloodied shiv. With a grunt, the man swings his shovel in
a two-handed shoulder high semi-circle. “Name’s Lawrence Faulkner.” He shouts his
black shovel blade connects with a pair of zombie’s heads. Both Rotters hit the
ground in a heap. Lawrence diligently drives the blade down into the first dead
man’s face. Moving quickly he stomps the blade down on the zombies undead
companion’s head. He has the look of a farmer turning over soil with the
shovel. Lawrence takes the top half of zombie’s heads off like splitting a melon.
Lawrence walks down the slight slope of the hill. He pulls his shovel back up
hearing four remaining straggling corpses. The undead pack makes their way
towards the humans undeterred. Their ragged moans filtering out into the
surrounding area. “Well Lawrence I’m Sara, the big naked black guy is Ben and
the convict is Willie.” Sara pulls even with Lawrence. “We stumbled upon him
last night.” Lawrence nods to Sara. “Well Ms. Sara if you don’t mind stepping
back.” Lawrence shoos Sara back like a diligent big brother. “I’ll take care of
these dead folks here.” He motions down towards the ever-advancing zombies.
There are four of them making their way up the grassy incline. The first two
zombies are male. “Sheriff Lee?” Lawrence speaks up his face a mixture of shock
and remorse. He stares at the shredded arms of the walking corpse as they reach
for him. The moment passes as Lawrence draws in a deep breath. He smashes the
shovel blade down with an over handed swing. The sound of the shovel’s black
blade fracturing the dead man’s head reverberates across the open field. The
Sheriff drops to the ground instantly. The next zombie plods along tripping
over the Sheriff falling face first in the dusty packed gravel. Sara swoops in
plunging the shiv into the zombie’s ear. She does not stop twisting until the
Rotter falls still. “Look out!” Lawrence shouts Sara cranes her head up to see
an old white haired woman missing a sizable chunk of her face and most of her
belly. The woman falls forward hoping to catch the nude young soldier. “I told
you to stay back now.” Lawrence cautions her catching the zombie under its chin
with his shovel blade. He holds the shovel’s handle as the corpse drives its
face further down on the sharpened blade. Lawrence has the look of a man with a
monstrous fish on his line. Sara stands to her feet falling behind Lawrence.
The burly man wrenches the handles left then right. This causes the dead
woman’s mandible to pop of her face. Viscera streams down the shovel handle as
Lawrence pitches his catch backwards. He gags at the sight of the zombie’s
tongue wetly slapping the back of the shovel’s blade. With one final thrust and
the crunch of bone, mercifully the zombie goes still. Lawrence deposits her at
the feet of the final Rotter that had pursued them. “Oh shit kill his ass!”
Sara points but Lawrence does not turn in her direction. Sara recognizes the
fat round Boss Hog looking Rotter in tight gym shorts. “He’s one of those smart
ones; he and his buddies chased us last night.” She grits her teeth wanting to
put the fat zombie down herself. Lawrence steadies his aim raising the shovels
up as if it was a spear. He makes eye contact with the corpse for a fraction of
a second and knows the girl is telling the truth. He stabs the shovel into the
things face just above the bridge of its nose. The chubby dead man teeters over
falling into the ground truly dead. Lawrence plants the shovel in the grass
scanning the horizon looking all around. Breathing in deeply the big man seems
to enjoy a moment of peace closing his eyes. Lawrence suns himself in the warms
early morning sunlight and smiles. Blinking his eyes open, he does not see any
of the undead. Once Lawrence is satisfied, he turns his attention to the
zombies laying at his feet. He catches a glimpse of Sara’s backside as she
hovers over the Sheriff. “Is he dead” He asks, “I mean really dead?” “Yep” says
Sara. “Which is why he won’t need this gun.” She holds the pistol in the air her
hands move in a blur as she checks the weapon dropping the magazine out before
slamming it back in. “He won’t need these spare clips or these handcuffs
either.” Sara looks back towards Ben and Willie. She wants the con to see her
pulling the cuffs and a ring of keys free from the dead Sheriff. “Well so are
these.” Lawrence waves a hand at the corpses in the dirt. “Miss Sara why don’t
we get ourselves inside the house before more of them come snooping around?”
Lawrence says as he lightly plants a hand on Sara’s elbow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright folks follow me and don’t touch
anything please.” Lawrence orders from the top of the steps. He pushes open the
back door. What greets them is a blast of cold dank mustiness spilling out from
a dark void. “Stay close to me.” Lawrence moves in first disappearing followed
by Ben totting Willie. Sara brings up the rear pistol at the ready remembering
the last time they dared to trust as stranger. She moves in and a cold chill
draws goose bumps upon her dark sweaty skin. Unlike the First New Faith Baptist
Church, this place is immediately foreboding. Sara’s mind goes back to the
first time she entered the church. “If it’d felt like this I’d have turned
right the fuck around” She thinks to herself. “Close the door.” Lawrence
whispers and Sara does as instructed. The four of them are in pitch black
cramped darkness. She feels trapped as the sound of paper rustling fills the
air in the room. Sara reaches out placing a hand on Ben’s warm back for
comfort. A light blazes to life in front of them. Lawrence is holding an
oil-burning lantern up as if he is a train conductor. The orange flame casts
light on the area around them. They are pinned into the wall by mountains of
old newspapers and garbage. The stench causes Willie to gasps for breath. “What
the fuck man …. I got asthma?” He wheezes trying desperately not to cough. “Me
too …” Lawrence smiles broadly like he and Willie are members in some sort of
secret club. The light thrown off by the lantern seems to make Lawrence’s round
head glow. “Look guys I’m sorry my Ma’ she was a hoarder never threw nothing
away.” Sara is aware the big man is sniffling. “When she and my Pa and Uncle
left, I … well. I just didn’t have the heart to change anything.” Willie’s
wheezing becomes more rapid. “Man this shit is sick fat boy!” He shouts
covering his nose while hanging onto Ben. “Yeah I know it is.” Lawrence says
solemnly. “It’s all I know … you know how I was raised.” Lawrence speaks up
defensively. “You know how it is when a person who only speaks a foreign
language that you don’t understand is trying to talk to you?” He sighs deeply
as if troubled by a memory. “I mean you know they are speaking but you just
can’t understand them. Well that’s what living with a person who is mentally ill
is like.” Sara got it she understood fully what the man was saying. Her mind
escaped the dank house and found its way to her grandfather all those thousands
of miles away. Sara Lockett felt as though she might choke up herself. “To hell
with that Sir I got one question.” Ben utters. “As your humbled guest I just
need to know is it safe here?” Lawrence’s head perks up he lifts the lantern up
with a smile. They can see a thin piece of dirty rope that vanishes into the
darkness above them. “Yes … yes it is.” Lawrence grabs the cord. “Step back
please.” He says as they all part ways Ben and Willie crush Sara into the
corner against the door. With a simple tug on the rope from above comes the
creak of wood. Before Ben and Will can react, a brown folded ladder appears. “Please
be my guest.” Lawrence Falkner ushers the trio up the ladder staying behind
drop a massive beam of wood into metal brackets barring the backdoor. He props
his shovel against the door for safekeeping as well. Lawrence ascends the
ladder behind his guest with a well-rehearsed ease. He finds them bottle necked
at the top of the ladder in a tiny attic doorway. They stare out into a small
dimly lit attic. The space is so immaculately clean that is almost hospital
sterile. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Sara and Ben have made it through the night. They have met a few new people but their main goal remains the same. To get back to their people at The First New Faith Baptist Church. Their second goal appears to be the demise of The Sin Preacher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> Come back and see what happens in Chapter 44 the week of March 30th!</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-90488048636576917162014-01-08T19:58:00.000-08:002014-01-08T19:58:44.184-08:00Chapter 42: Breaking Point
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter 42: Breaking Point <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anne sits with
her back against a warped wall covered in gaudy brown wallpaper. She is lost in
a well of emotions. Hugging Belinda tightly to her chest as the girl sniffles.
Brandon clutches his mother’s arm as they sit tightly packed in a room full of
strangers. To her left Bianca Fullerton rocks back and forth. The woman chants
“my baby” in a monotone chorus repeatedly. Her left eye is nearly swollen shut.
Sitting at her side Dakota dozes all but ignored. Private Medina is perched in
an old folding chair facing both women her back to the door. A few hours having
passed since being locked up by the men of the church. They find themselves in
the room on the opposite side of the church’s basement. Almost as soon as Ben
and Sara had turned the corner heading into the Sin Preacher’s office. Several
of the men from the church had barged in room. They seized the group’s weapons at
gunpoint. The muscular older man they all called Colonel. Demanded Bianca
surrender her now “fatherless” infant child. Jamal courageously came to
Bianca’s defense. He was no match for the retired man of war. Colonel beat
Jamal unconscious then ordered his minions to drag Jamal’s limp body out of the
room. For what it was worth Bianca Fullerton resisted the maniacal man who
demanded her baby. In one motion, he yanked the wailing baby from her mother’s
out stretched arms. Grinning he dropped Bianca mid charge with a savage punch.
The kind of sucker punch reserved for a bar room brawl. “Mrs. James ….” Medina
speaks softly so as not to be heard over the undercurrent of background chatter
buzzing about the room. “Mrs. James we have to do something.” Medina’s brown
eyes fall upon the older woman. “Look it’s just us now and if we want to
survive ladies we’re going to have to fight.” Anne meets Medina’s gaze her eyes
narrowing. Anne’s eyes break away and probe the room around her. She sees
several men of varying sizes and age. They sit scattered around the tightly
packed room. The stench of unwashed humanity clogs the air around them. “We
can’t do this alone Carlita.” Anne cautions the girl standing to her feet.
“Mommy don’t go.” Belinda protests as her mother gently sets her down next to
her brother. “I won’t honey trust me we need to help save daddy and everyone
else.” Private Medina catches her by the arm. “Mrs. James the more people we
talk to about escaping. The more likely we are to lose the element of
surprise.” Anne wipes her tired eyes summoning up all the courage she can
muster. “Mrs. James … Anne.” Carlita rises from the chair. Her first impulse to
speak out quickly is overridden a surprised expression that cascades over her
face. She feels a heavy familiar weight in her uniform pants leg pocket. Medina
pats her pocket down like a kid searching for lost candy. The look on her face
quickly flashes from excitement to day after Christmas disappointment. “Fuck.”
She moans in exasperation. “I thought they forgot one of my weapons.” With that,
Medina produces the handheld radio Anne’s father had given Ben. From the front
of the cramped room, they can hear the jingle of keys muffled by the wooden
door. Medina tosses the radio to Brandon. “Hide it lil man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Medina creeps across the room as its other
occupants draw back from the door. She crouches behind the door as she hears a
key slide into the lock and turn. Private Medina steps up so as not to been
seen through the gap between the door and its rusty hinges. She watches as a
man walks in the room he is short and old with white hair his legs are so bowed
its comical. Before the man, trailing him comes fully into view she swings
upward connecting solidly with his jaw. As an afterthought, Private Medina delivers
a solid kick to the old man’s back. He goes sprawling out across the dusty
floor. She squares her shoulders fist up ready for the next person in line.
Carlita is now face to battered face with Private Carson. She is less concerned
with the half dozen men corralling the young bull of a soldier. The pistol
parting the crowd floating in the grip of an unseen gunman is a bit more urgent
of a matter “Move …” An all too familiar voice calls from the back of the
packed staircase. The men part like the Red Sea as Colonel emerges from the
darkened stairwell. Coming into the room, he casually steps over the man on the
floor rubbing his chin. “Jesus Jon get up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>...” The lumbering man commands looking down. His gun aimed at the
center of Carlita’s head. “And help Charlie up God knows he can’t get up on his
own.” He says casting a dismissive glance at Charlie while rubbing his
forehead. Medina is terrified watching the man knead the meat on his head with
his mangled fingers. “I don’t know who I should hit you jackasses or her?”
Colonel studies the young girl. “Stand down soldier.” He says lowering the
pistol his eyes narrowing. “Aren’t any of you going to help her?” Anne screams
beckoning the men around her to action. None of them moves some drop their
heads in shame. “Hey were you with that big black guy and a female soldier?” A
chunky Hispanic man calls out. “They paraded through here yesterday.” “Yes that
was my husband.” Anne responds unsure of the man’s point. “I didn’t see any of
you worrying about us. Not while you sat over there eating and enjoying
yourselves.” The man stands defiantly rubbing his fingers though his thick
bristly black facial hair. “You lost something …. Somebody lady is that it?” He
says timidly looking around the room. “Well get in line what makes you so
fucking special.” The man’s chest heaves up as he steadies himself. “I had to
give up no to sacrifice my Abuela. That’s the price of life in this new age,”
He says wiping a tear from his cheek. “Look outside see the alternative lady?
Welcome to our hell.” Anne James is aware her legs are hinting at their
impending failure. She steadies herself it is her turn to look down at the
floor. Colonel looks about the room his smile spreading. Within seconds, his
throws his head back in uproarious laughter. His underlings all join in filling
the room with a sickening oily sound. Unlike the men in the room, Medina jumps
at the chance. A swift kick to Colonel’s wrist sends his gun clattering to the
floor. She swings for the man’s head only to have the blow blocked. The ruthless
Colonel clamps down on her arm like a vise. He drives a calloused fist into
Medina’s stomach. As the girl crumples, he hefts her up in an arc. Colonel takes
two giant strides crossing the room. He slams Medina into the drywall above
Brandon and Belinda’s heads. He turns away leaving her body embedded in the
wall floating several feet off the floor. Colonel takes a second to rub his
still aching side where Lockett had kicked him earlier. Carson bucks under the
weight of the men holding him. “Careful boy I won’t go so easy on you.” Carson
bites his lip in anger. “You’re a big man when it comes to fighting women.”
Private Carson shouts angrily. Gravity takes hold of Medina tugging her from
the cracking wall. She falls forward landing on the kids trailing dust and
shards of plaster. Anne moves to her children. Colonel catches her by the arm.
“Take a look bitch.” He whispers pulling her closely. “Understand what you’re
up against.” He says, “Look at that gun on the floor.” Anne shoots a quick
glance down at the pistol. “Let me see if one of you men is man enough to pick
that gun. I’ll let you and yours go free.” He announces to the men around him
seated on the floor. No man in the room even looks at the gun. Most of them
actually attempt to appear as distracted as possible. “See that Mrs. James …..”
Colonel shakes Anne to emphasize his words. “No one wants freedom anymore. They
want protection and we give it to them with a healthy dose of God’s word.” Anne
snatches herself away from her captor. “Say what you will Colonel.” Anne
straightens looking Colonel in the face. “But there is nothing Godly going on
in this false temple.” “Charlie pick up my damn gun.” Colonel barks his order.
He turns to the crowd of men behind him. “Jon grab that trouble making
heathen.” He points to Medina squirming on the floor. “The rest of you anybody
no holding somebody grab a kid and the chick with the shiner.” Colonel pulls
Anne roughly down a long dim hall lined with people on either side. Ahead of
them is an open door. Without a word, he shoves Anne into the room. She lands
painfully on her tender foot. Anne comes to rest on a small table similar to
kind found in almost any kindergarten classroom. “Everybody get out now!”
Colonel screams a vein rockets up the side of his neck pulsating as it goes.
Women screech a few children whimper as people scatter from the room like
vermin in the light. They run head long into the troop barreling in behind
Colonel. He stares at the remaining people gathering their meager belongings
before fleeing in terror. Men begin to drop bodies all around her. The group
holding Carson does not release their hold on the young man. They wrestle him
into the center of the room. Anne watches them go her attention focused on
Carson. She does not see BC deposit Chip on the floor. “Chip honey ….” Anne
cries crawling over to her son. BC stalks over to Chip placing a booted foot on
the boy’s hand. “Not so tough without your wheelchair are ya boy?” He laughs
his meaty face jiggling. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard anybody say
hick.” Chip responds with a smile. BC presses his heavy foot down causing Chip
to wince. “You leave my Chippy alone!” Belinda yells with all the force her
little lungs can muster. She is on her feet moving around overturned chair. BC
watches the child come at him in a huff. “Little girl…” BC begins to say
grinning. Belinda’s tiny hand delivers a solid blow to his testicles. He
topples backwards clutching his nuts. Belinda falls down into her brother’s
arms tears in her light brown eyes. She examines her big brother’s hand. “Oh
God I’m surrounded by idiots.” Colonel shouts in exasperation. “If I had to go
into combat with you shit kickers and clod hoppers. I’d kill you myself.” He
glares at the men holding Carson. He studies the boy as if he were a wild
animal they were preparing to release back into its native habitat. Colonel
storms over to Charlie tugging his pistol from the man’s waistband. “You will
be locked in this room.” He tells the James Clan. “There will be two armed me
posted outside the door all night.” Colonel sizes up the men around him. He
sees two younger church members strapping husky young men in their mid-twenties.
“You two boys have just been voluntold.” He motions to the pair. “Do you each
have a weapon?” “Yes Colonel.” The taller of the two men answers producing a
revolver from his back. His new partner hunches his shoulders. “We’ll get you a
weapon son.” Colonel tells the other man he assigned to guard the room. “Listen
up if this door knob so much as jiggles. One of these boys will come get me.
Then I will toss one of you outside at sunset.” He cocks the slide back on the
pistol. “Now test me if you want.” Colonel points the gun menacingly in Private
Carson’s direction. “Listen up young buck.” He offers up eyeing the boy up and
down sizing up the threat. “My people are going to let you go and we are going
to exit this room.” He turns the gun down on the women and children on the
floor. “If you move from that spot I’m going to empty my clip into you little
family circle here understand?” Carson simply shakes his head reluctantly
acknowledging his agreement. “Now BC get your ass up man and can we please
manage to get out of here without another one of you. Either getting hit with a
hammer, beat up by a cripple, knocked out by a woman, or kicked in the ballsack
by a first grader?” BC gets up and scurries past Colonel a hand gingerly
cupping his crotch. The big man backs out of the room pistol held high smiling.
The door closes with a clap. The sound of a deadbolt lock deploying echoes
across the tiny classroom. “Here’s a pistol.” They hear mumbled through the
thin wooden door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hours pass by quietly as the group
settles into a general state of hopelessness. Chip and Private Carson told their
tale of how the men had ambushed them. Carson explained that the men were
acting on direct orders of The Sin Preacher. He even gleefully shares how Chip
had fought back against injuring Silas Proctor. His face beams with the wide-eyed
pride of a proud big brother. Anne puts on as brave of a face as she can. Her
heart aches for Ben. She misses her husband and cannot imagine leading the
family though this apocalyptic nightmare without him. Before they know it the beat
up church speakers overhead burst to life. Anne cannot help the gut wrenching moan
that escapes from her throat. Chip crawls over to his mother taking her in his
arms. “Mom … Mom.” The handicapped teen pleads. Chip’s eyes begin welling up
with sorrowful tears. Anne gives into her son’s unyielding hug. Benjamin James
junior tugs his little brother and sister embrace. The Sin Preacher begins her
nightly sermon. Unknown to the group gather below. The sermon tonight had a
pair of very special guest. Everyone in the room that had come together over
the last few days knows the sun has set. It was Anne’s turn to wail
inconsolably. “Ben …” she cries out. Thirty minutes later sleep finally pulls
Anne James from her heartbroken delirium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s that?” Brandon shakes his mother
awake in the middle of the night. Anne is groggy her eyes blurred and puffy
from crying. “I heard something mom.” Brandon insist. “Me too.” Carson whispers
before kneeling down next to the family on the floor. “Did it come from the
door?” Anne inquires her voice is low but filled with alarm. Carson shakes his
head “no” vigorously. More of the group about the room stir awake. Overhead The
Sin Preacher prattles on her devout words flow forth in a torrent. “Was it
thunder?” Brandon asks to no one in general. Carson holds up a finger to his
lips to silence around him. “Carson …” Chip calls quietly. Without his chair,
Chip has to salamander crawl over to Private Carson. “It came from back there.”
He gestures with a gloved hand to the rear of the classroom. There is a set of canary
yellow closet doors built into the wall. The doors have paintings of rainbows
and caricatures of Jesus. The room and its décor would fit into almost any
church basement in America. Carson nods towards Chip. Carson stands pointing
down at Chip. “Are you with me bro?” He asks his eyes never leave the doors.
“Yeah man I’m right behind you.” Chip motions for his family to retreat further
back towards the door. “Carson you go high and I’ll go low” Comments Chip.
Carson stops in his tracks looking down at Chip a smirk on his face. Chip holds
up a hand he beckons Carson down to his level. “Look I don’t have my chair so
I’m of little use bro.” “Bullshit …” Carson interrupts Chip’s pity party. “I
got something for you though.” Chip says fishing through his pants pocket. He
comes up with the pistol his father had given him. “Nobody thought to pat down
the cripple kid I guess.” A wide smile grows on Chip’s face. He props himself
up like a tripod aiming high at the closet door. “I don’t have my Lucky Mallet
Carson but I got your back.” Chip brushes his sandy colored hair from his face.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door slides open revealing a deep back
void. Brother Gustavo appears from the inky blackness. The tall lanky man
stands upright. Brother Gustavo’s eyes are appear to bug out almost completely
from his head. They appear red and he looks exhausted. His neat black pompadour
is now a tangled bird’s nest of hair. Cobwebs cling to his hair billowing in
the breeze as he walks. His skin is so pale he looks ill. Gustavo’s pristine
white uniform is rumpled and filthy. Private Carson braces himself in a boxer’s
stance. Gustavo moves past him with nary a glance. Carson believes for the
briefest that second the ice cream man is one of those “smart” zombies. If the
man sees Chip on the floor nervously pointing the revolver up at him, he does
not show it. He brushes past the handicapped teen knocking the gun from his
grasp. “Forgive me I know it’s late.” He implores Brother Gustavo’s cool easy
demeanor is now a distant memory. “Mrs. James can I please have a word with you?”
He asks his voice gravely whisper. Anne cannot hide the fact that she clearly
taken aback briefly scanning the room. “Uh Brother Gustavo please I have had a
hard day.” Anne gives back a slight hint of frustration in her voice. “Your
pastor took my husband and Sara away.” Brother Gustavo nods his head in
understanding. “I know Ma’am … I know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Brother Gustavo’s head hangs so long his chin touches his chest. He
falls to his knees before Anne startling her and the children. “Please ….
Please Mrs. James.” He begins to beg desperately. His steeples his long fingers
together tears welling up in his eyes. “I can help you Mrs. James please.” He
reaches for her hands trembling. “If you help me I will try to get you and your
people out of here.” Anne cannot help herself she takes the man’s unsteady hands
in hers. “OK … ok…” She murmurs looking back at the door. A loud crack of
thunder causes the children to jump. She wonders about the two guards on the
other side. “Will you help us escape and help me find my husband and Sara?”
“Yes …” He whines leaning forward placing his head on her hands. “But you must
help me first Mrs. James please.” Brother Gustavo sobs heavily once. “Ok<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>... ok alright. What do you need Brother
Gustavo?” He looks up from her hand a faint smile in his wet tired eyes. He awkwardly
scoots on his knees like a child closer to Anne. “Please tell me who said ‘God
helps those who help themselves.’” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anne’s face contorts in confusion. The feeling
grows two fold as she peers back at her son. A thin impish smile crosses Chip’s
lips. “I … don’t understand Brother Gustavo.” She answers breathlessly. “Who
said it!” he barks tightening his grip on Anne’s hand. “You’re hurting me.”
Anne struggles to break free. Chip and Carson close in from behind Gustavo.
“You’re boy …..” Gustavo spins releasing Anne’s hand. He points an accusatory
finger at Chip that seems to freeze him in place. “He told me that it was not
in the Bible and that Benjamin Franklin said it.” Anne slowly stands feeling a
dull ache in her foot. “Well he was right Brother Gustavo Benjamin Franklin did
say that and it’s not in the bible.” Anne intentionally steps away from the
children and Bianca Fullerton. She is back peddling towards Chip and Carson.
Brother Gustavo covers his face with his hands. Soon the room fills with the
soft unmistakable sounds of Brother Gustavo weeping. Anne stops and reverses
direction she moves for Brother Gustavo. Chip tugs on her legs Anne looks down
to see her son shaking his head boldly. She gently pulls her leg from her son kneeling
down. “He’s hurting honey.” Anne takes her son’s chin. “We need him as much as
he needs us.” Anne kisses Chip’s forehead causing him to blush furiously.
“Brother … Gustavo.” Anne calls to the man as he sits prostrate on the floor.
“Why does what Ben Franklin said trouble you so.” Anne comes to his side
placing a caring arm around his shoulder. “It’s not what he said.” Brother
Gustavo says through sniffles. “It is what it means to me Mrs. James.” Brother
Gustavo speaks as he slowly pulls hands away from his face. He looks into Anne’s
eyes. “I know that what you say is right. If you take it with everything I’ve
seen and what I know to be true.” He absently wipes the back of his hand across
his nose. “I have been used, I am still a sinner, and just as damaged as I ever
was.” It slowly dawns on Anne what Brother Gustavo is saying. “Look Gustavo I
don’t know what The Sin Preacher promised you but she can’t make you whole.”
More thunder crackles from the wailing storm shaking the church. Anne leans in
close. “It’s time for you to be your own man. You have to stop looking for a man
or in your case a woman to provide you all the answers.” Gustavo uses his
sleeves to dry his eyes like a kid. “Romans Chapter three verse twenty three.”
Brother Gustavo pushes his lanky body off the floor. “For all have sinned, and
come short of the glory of God.” He runs his fingers through his hair. Brother
Gustavo stands shivering peering up at the celling. “Gustavo you need to do
more than quote the Bible.” Anne cautions Gustavo. “Do you understand what that
means?” She inquires. “Yes Mrs. James I do.” He brushes his uniform attempting
in vain to restore it. “What about my husband and Sara Brother Gustavo?” Anne
guides the conversation by to her direct need. “Can you help them too?” “No
Mrs. James the Sin Preacher cast them both out tonight.” He replies staring
blankly ahead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> “Daddy …. Daddy … Daddy!” Belinda cries out. Chip “shushes” his
sister. Anne cannot believe what she has heard. “Hey shut the hell up in
there!” A voice shouts from the other side of the door. Brother Gustavo seems
startled by at sound of the man’s voice. In two huge steps, he leaps behind a
tattered grey couch. The door opens “Keep quite in here or else.” One of the
men orders peeking his head into the room. “She had a nightmare.” Chip fumbles
rocking his baby sister in his lap. He keeps his gloved hand positioned near
B’s mouth just in case. “Well keep her quite or else I’m going to get Colonel.”
He chuckles nudging his partner. As the door closes, no one in the group
speaks. They stand frozen in place statuesque each digesting the news Brother
Gustavo has deliver. Anne races over to the man behind couch. “Gustavo please
...” She grabs his arm. “It is my turn now to beg you.” Anne does not attempt
to stop the flow of tears from her eyes. “Can you go out and save my husband
and Sara?” He swallows hard his mouth opens but no words come out. Sound
finally spill from his lips. “No Mrs. James I can’t.” He pats Anne’s hand on
his arm. “It would risk all of our lives.” He holds up a finger to silence
Anne. “Listen Mrs. James …. Listen everyone.” He prods Anne back among her
children. “There are dozens of those smart zombie things in the church rectory
above you. She preaches to them every night and leaves a recording playing
during the day time.” The news comes down like a hammer to the survivors. “She
…. The Sin Preacher I mean had me corral a lot them but only the smart ones.
She wants to use them to help her take over an underground military base near
here.” “Wait they listen to her.” Carson blurts. “Yes they do for the time
being anyway.” Gustavo answers. “In the morning they stand around in the pews. We
keep them locked in. At night she sets them free to hunt and bring more of
their kind back.” Gustavo fidgets in place. His minds tells him these people will
grow to hate him too. After all he has done in his life following misguided
prophets from one town to the next before settling here. “She has a deal with
the ‘Unclean’ as she calls them.” He sighs “We protect them during the day and
they leave us be at night.” He stares at the speakers on the wall as if he can
see through it. “Their numbers grow nightly she has an army that out numbers us
two time over. We need to leave this place. This flock and their shepherd have
made a literal deal with the devil.” “Do they know?” Anne stammers. “The other people
in here, the members of her church, her flock.” Gustavo shakes his head. “No
they don’t know. The only people who know the truth are she and I. Not even her
precious Colonel is aware of her true nature.” Brother Gustavo heads back into
the closet. His chest puffed out with confidence far from the man he was when
he entered. He disappears closing the door behind himself like a cheap
magician. In his mind, he prays for once in his life with his own words. Right now,
he wants to save that woman’s baby and the James family that is all. Thunder
shakes the walls of The First New Faith Baptist church from the angry sky
outside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> So it appears as though Brother Gustavo's faith in the Sin Preacher has been shaken. Will he be able to help the remaining survivors escape. Can he save baby Cammy for the gruesome fate that awaits her?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> I hope to see you all back her the week of February 2nd for Chapter 43 of The Living Dark to answer those questions and more. </span></div>
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As usual like my Facebook page <a href="http://www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark">www.Facebook.com/TheLivingDark</a></div>
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Follow me on Twitter @TheLivingDark </div>
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Sincerely:</div>
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The Living Dark</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-90799754259605127872013-12-08T21:06:00.000-08:002013-12-08T21:06:37.415-08:00Chapter 41: Nightlife
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
41: Nightlife <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humidity creeps into the cool night air.
Inside the old well-kept wood paneled station wagon. There is an odd assortment
of beings this night. The battered station wagon looks suspiciously like the
one from those old National Lampoon’s movies. It casually navigates the muddy back
roads of this rural area. Distant claps of thunder interrupt the conversation
between two of the car’s occupants. As two others lay curled in the fetal
position on the floor behind the front seats. “Lawson ….” Hobart questions his
fellow zombie from the passenger seat. Lawson who is focused on driving cuts
his eyes in his passenger’s general direction. “What Hobart?” The one time death
row inmate turned sentient walking corpse responds. His voice tinged with a
hint of annoyance. “It’s been a while since I drove and I’m tryin’ to
concentrate dumbass.” He tells the dead man in the grimy prison guard uniform.
Hobart himself is lost picking at the bone fragments around his shattered eye socket.
“Bro just want to know why you trust that nutty ass Sin Preacher chick so
much.” Lawson takes his attention from the road as plump raindrops begin to
pelt the car. He stares down Hobart his cloudy orange eyes narrowing into
slits. “Nah no disrespect Ian ….” Hobart holds his hands up in an effort to
indicate his submission. “Just saying man you ran the biggest prison in the
state from death row.” Hobart fumbles over his words. “Whatever you wanted you
got every guard, every inmate was terrified of you. Now you’ve signed on with
that robed bitch. It’s like to you her word as law.” The sound of Lawson’s
knuckles cracking as he grips the steering reverberate about the car. “First
off motherfucker …” Lawson snarls through gritted teeth. “Do I have to remind
you who the fuck you are talking to?” Lawson’s right hand snakes out. He stabs
two fingers into the black gooey hole where Hobart’s left eye had once been.
Lawson pulls the dead guard to him like he’s grabbing an unruly fish by the gills.
“Law … Lawson.” Hobart cries flailing around the front seat of the car.
Slamming on the car’s brakes Lawson causes the vehicle to slide sideways on the
rain soaked muddy road. Ian Lawson yanks Hobart’s face as close as he can to
his own. For a brief moment the only sound in the car is rain drumming off
metal. Ian the undead serial killer takes the time to deviously wiggle his
fingers in to slimy goo inside Hobart’s skull. This odd sensation brings
renewed protest from Hobart. “Bro …. Bro please.” “Shut up bitch!” Lawson
screams out. “Remember Hobart I aint forgotten I’m a damn zombie because of yo
stupid ass boy. You might be dead punk but I can still make you hurt.” The
killer exercises complete control over Hobart. He slaps Hobart’s head viciously
off the dashboard twice before slowly withdrawing his fingers from Hobart’s eye
socket. “You just one eye away from being blind bitch!” Lawson points with the
same two fingers that he’d seized the man’s diseased head with. A deep red
mixture of fluids fly from their tips as he points. “Do I make myself clear
boy?” Lawson asks Hobart who has drawn himself back against the window like a
frightened child. “Yeah ….. Yeah bro.” Hobart’s hands tremble as they nervously
make their way up to the hole in his face. “Let’s get one thing straight boy.
That bitch says she can get us into a military base full of living warm human
meat. When she done served her purpose just like you. I’ll get rid of you both
and anybody else who tries to control me.” Hobart swallows hard. His dry sickly
colored tongue literally sticking in his throat. “Hey …. Man I ... I’m with you
bro. You and me Lawson we a team bro…… a team.” Hobart shouts. Ian shakes his
head emitting an audible chuckle. “I got a prison guard for a bitch.” The smirk
fades from his face as he cranes his head forward. Lawson peers from the car’s
windshield at the sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain was pouring down trying in vain to
cleanse the now polluted planet. Ian’s mood darkened to match the atmosphere
outside. He’d been imprisoned so long he’d forgotten how beautiful the sky was.
Now these cursed clouds obscured his vision of the stunning ribbons of orange light
that cascaded across the night sky. “Let’s do this.” Lawson announces. “Come on
lil piggies.” Lawson roars stepping out of the car into the downpour. He leaves
his door open and the car running. Lawson drags Ben roughly from the back seat dropping
him in the cool wet muck. He looks down at the naked black man whose hands are
tied at the wrist. “I got the bitch Lawson!” Hobart calls over the rain and
thunder. On the other side of the station wagon Hobart takes his sweet time pulling
Private Lockett from the car. He makes sure his cold clammy hands linger on her
exposed breast. He pulls the young soldier by her bound wrist like an ornery
pack mule. Sara is dumped in the mud next to Ben. Hobart casually steps
backwards behind Lawson his job done. Rain falls in sheets so dense it’s hard
to see more than a few feet in any direction. “Now meat ….” Lawson addresses
the pair of humans on the ground at his feet. “Dead or alive my word is my
bond.” He wipes the rivulets of rain water from his face. “So I won’t kill your
asses this time but the next time I see you piglets.” Lawson advances slowly
squatting his booted feet sinking in to the thick mud. “I will tear you apart
with my teeth. Take heart though yo friends and shit back at that church.”
Lawson’s lips pull back into a sinister sneer. “I assure you they are going to
die by my hands while pleading for God take them.” He looks back a Hobart. The
dead man is staring up letting the rain pool in hole in his face. Lawson clears
his throat standing up. “Huh?!” Lawson snaps back. “Uh yeah motherfuckers y’all
is dead!” He utters comically as Lawson brushes past Hobart paying him no mind.
“Get in the car you fucking moron.” Lawson says shaking his head in disgust.
Hobart zips off around the car to the passenger side afraid of displeasing Ian.
Lawson stops leaning on the open door. Without warning he leans into the car pounding
his fist down on the steering wheel. The horn blares out cutting through the
symphony of rain and thunder. “Wooooooo! Woooooooooooo! Cooooooooome and
geeeeeeeeetttt it!” Lawson hoots and hollers into the night. He laughs like the
maniac as Hobart ever the follower joins in. “Human Sushi!” Hobart adds
drumming on the car’s roof. The horn falls silent and all that’s left is the
sound of pouring rain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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gets up to his knees then he stands upright. Leaning down taking Sara’s arm he
never takes his eyes off their captors. “Get up now!” He tells the girl tugging
at her by the arms. “Sara … Sara there’s a path over there come on!” He tries
to keep his voice low so the ghouls won’t hear him. “Hey piggies have you ever
heard of fast food?” Lawson shouts cupping his hands over his mouth pointing
into the darkness. “Well y’all best be faster food.” Ben turns back looking
over his shoulder. He’s distracted by the odd sensation of mud squishing
between his toes. Ben watches the darkness in the distance. His vision is obscured
by the driving rain. There he sees them where there was nothing before a pair
of orange dots floating in the distance. A dazzling bolt of lightning
illuminates the area. Ben catches a glimpse of a figure moving their way. He’s
frozen in place the mud around his ankles now feels like cement. Instinctively
he pulls Sara close to him. He does so in the same manner strangers seated next
to each other on a plane. Holding hands as they plummet towards the ground
seeking a few precious seconds of comfort. He begins to back pedal when he’s
greeted another flash from the sky. Where the lone shadowy figure had once been
there were now dozens. Ghostly eyes hover about the landscape menacingly. The
glowing orange eyes reflect each jagged bolt of lightning. Ben can’t stop a
shiver from running up his back. The eyes appear to float adrift in a sea of
black riding an unseen current their way. They all look as if to be headed to
where Ben and Sara now stand. More lightning there are now dozens of forms
coming through the darkness. Glowing eyes dot the night from as far back as
they can see. “Sara we gotta go.” Ben yanks Sara along as he passes the car
cautiously. He sees their one time abductors grinning back at them. Ben feels
paved asphalt under his feet as he and Sara take off at a dead sprint down a
scenic river bike path. “Over here!” Ben hears someone scream from behind them
as the rain drowns out the voices. He can only hear thunder and rain in
addition to the sounds of their muddy feet slapping the ground. “Stay close
Sara.” Ben tells Sara looking over his shoulder. He goes to work on the
restraints with his teeth. Ben gets the rope’s knot to loosen and starts to
wiggle his beefy hands free. “Ben I can’t get mine …” Sara says in a panic.
“I’ll get yours when we get a chance to hide.” Ben squints through the rain
driving before him. He sees a black shape floating in the air up ahead of them.
“They are coming for us Ben I can hear shouts.” Sara wails as the rain washes
the mud from her face into her mouth. “Don’t stop Sara we can use the rain for
cover. Nothing’s gonna stop me from getting back to my family.” Ben’s emotional
words come from his heart but his physical heart feels like it’s ready to
implode inside his chest. He doesn’t stop reaching back taking hold of Sara’s
bound wrist. They run on together each one occasionally glancing over their shoulder
searching the shadows for their pursuers. Sara is slowly pulling ahead of Ben
fueled by a steady flow of terror and adrenaline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey Lawson why the fuck we still here?”
Hobart calls out over the thick grey sheets of rain. He leans on the passenger
side of the station wagon waiting for his answer. “I figure we are do for some
guest.” Lawson squints his dead eyes peering at the forms emerging from the
shroud of rain. A dazzling bolt of lightning illuminates the area before them.
Emerging from the downpour is a teaming mass of the undead. Rotters sprint into
the picture driven by hunger for live human flesh. Behind them Trotters meander
about on unsure footing. The less coordinated dull zombies fall about in the
thick muddy farm fields around them. Lawson realizes the snarling cadavers
vaulting from the cloak of water aren’t stopping. Their dead eyes can’t discern
warm blooded bodies from the putrid decaying mobile corpses of their kin.
Lawson is aware his brethren are hunting based on the shape of their prey.
“Shit.” Lawson sighs as the heavy wet footsteps beat nearer to him. The rage in
the howls of the zombie nearest to him brings out his own inner demons. The
first cold body to jump him is a tall lean form shaped like a man. It lunges
forward just as Lawson steps gracefully to the side. “You motherfuckers really
need to learn to control y’all selves.” He barks catching the running corpse by
the scruff of his neck. Lawson whirls around with the corpse in hand using its
own momentum to his advantage. He propels the dead man’s head into the car’s
rear passenger door. There is a loud crack like a tree branch snapping. The
zombie goes limp in his grip in the same motion Ian Lawson pirouettes to face
the next corpse. He lashes out in a blur propelling his calloused fist into the
screaming woman’s face. Her head whips back as he catches her by her filthy blouse.
Lawson takes the zombie to the ground dragging her over to the open car door. Lawson
holds the flailing zombie with his right hand like a snake handler. Lawson uses
his right hand to grasp the still open car door. He begins to slam the
shrieking zombie’s head between the door and the frame. The blows from the door
come in rapid succession as Lawson’s rage reaches a volcanic boiling point.
“You ……” He screams out slamming the door over and over in a blur. “Need to
…..” Lawson pauses calmly. Looking over at Hobart who is standing with his
fetid mouth wide open catching rain. “Control yo’selves!” The final vicious
blow from the door crushes the zombie’s head. Lawson looks down watching the
decaying woman’s headless body twitch about in the mud. Lawson releases the
door turning about slowly. He walks towards the gathering horde of zombies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dead can see now that he is one of them. “We
just let loose a couple naked darkies.” Lawson looks at the zombies gathered
around him. He points through the veil of rain down the pathway where Sara and
Ben had disappeared. “What do you mean you idiot?” A fidgety woman shouts
angrily pushing her way through the crowd. “Why in the fuck wouldn’t you chase
them down yourselves? You two pretty boys in the habit of sharing your food?”
She mocks stepping up into Ian’s face. “Other than that prison jumpsuit what
makes you any different from us?” She says challenging the killer. Lawson takes
his time looking the ghoul up and down. His eyes linger on the curves of her
breast underneath her blood caked t-shirt. A rotter slowly shuffles between
them with his dull cloudy eyes staring down the bike path. The zombies moan
causes the others like him to ring their vocal dinner bell. The mindless walking
corpses ignore the infected casually fighting amongst themselves. They sense
the warmth through the rain left by the fleeing humans. “Where the hell all
these dummies goin’?” Hobart asks over the top of the car. “They can sense
warmth from those two we turned loose I bet.” Ian chuckles. The rest of you
festering fuckers are too smart for yo own good.” Ian Lawson blurts. Those dumb
rotten sacks of maggot food go on base instinct. I suggest you folks beat them
to dinner cause they tend to make a mess of things when they get there first.”
A few of the sentient zombies look around at each other. “Fuck that!” A short
bald man dressed like a high school gym teacher spits as he turns to run. He
opens the proverbial flood gates as wailing zombies follow him. They plow head
long into the slow moving pack of zombies trampling them under feet. Bones are
broken in a collision of the undead. Some Rotters find themselves pushed by
frantic undead hands into the slow moving river besides the bike path. “Get in
the car Hobart.” Lawson commands lowering himself back into the idling vehicle.
“You didn’t answer my questions asshole.” A woman’s raspy voice barks from the
backseat. Lawson turns about in the driver’s seat to face the woman as she
slams her door shut. Here in the cabin of the dimly lit car he can see the
flesh torn from the back of her neck. The bones visible there appear to be an
impossible shade of white to his foggy eyes. “What makes me different you ask?”
Lawson says. In the blink of an eye his hand is around her throat. Yet she doesn’t
flinch an evil smile coming to roost on her face. “What makes me different
bitch is that I killed before all this …. Before death was fashionable.” His
grip tightens fingers burrowing into the dead woman’s neck. Hobart watches the
scene unfold with all the glee of a child watching his idol sign an autograph.
“Unlike you … you dead rotten piece of shit.” He whispers pulling the woman’s
face up to his. “Dead or alive I can control my urges to kill.” Lawson shoves
the ghoul back into her seat. She bounces up and down clapping “We’re gonna
have so much fun boys!” Lawson throws the car into gear pressing the gas pedal
to the floor. The car fishtails through the muck as Ian heads back to the
church.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben’s age was catching up with him. He was
behind Sara and even with her hands bound she was widening the gap between
them. Her bare feet slap the paved blacktop of the bike path rhythmically. Then
she vanishes into the dark rainy night. From behind them they hear their hunters.
Ben wheezes struggling to keep his footing. Suddenly the rain is gone replace
by steady streams of dripping water. Ben spins around to find Sara looking up.
Her index finger pressed to her lips to silence Ben. “We have to get up there
now.” Ben looks up to see they are standing under a rusty black railroad
trestle. Ben scans the length of the old structure as it crosses over the river
into the darkness. The train tacks only serve to slow the cloud burst spilling
from the heavens. “Ben we have to get up there. It’s our only hope we can’t out
run these things.” Sara taps Ben’s shoulder he subconsciously notices her smooth
wet naked body for the first time. “Hey can we focus here Mr. James.” She snaps
at him. “My tits have been out all evening and it doesn’t look like I’ll be
covering them anytime soon.” She glances back the way they’d come. Ben feels
flushed like a school boy. He realizes the only thing keeping the blush from
showing on his cheeks is the pigment in his skin. Sara squats with her bound hands
out motioning for Ben to step up. “Mr. James hurry the hell up.” She yelps
startling Ben into action. The trestle is only a few feet above their heads.
Ben braces himself placing a meaty foot into Sara’s palms. “On ‘go’.” Sara
Lockett instructs Ben. “Oh and Mr. James please try and keep your balls outta
my face on your way up.” Ben feels a new rush of warmth bubbling up his neck
into his cheeks. “I uh ah …” Is all he can manage stammering. “Go.” Sara orders
pushing upwards with her hands interlocked as Ben stretches out above her. His
fingers clasp the cold metal and Ben pulls his girth upwards. He struggles to
finagle his girth up into the narrow opening on the trestle’s bottom. The
cackling dead draw closer to their quarry. Ben braces himself between the steel
sides of the trestle. “Gimme your hands Sara quick.” Ben calls out thrusting
his hand down towards the female soldier. With his body braced looking down Ben
tugs Sara up with ease. He grunts softly Sara takes a hold of the side of the
rusty metal next to him. She joins Ben pressed against the side of the railroad
bridge. Seconds later zombies’ race into view below them. The pair cling to
each other breathlessly just out of sight of the living dead below them. “They
lied to us played us for fools!” The chubby gym teacher growls pacing back and
forth. “Bastards ….” A dead man missing both his arms next to him scowls. Soon
they are joined by a throng of enraged zombies. Ben and Sara watch the crowd
growing mere feet below them. An ill-timed bolt of lightning lights the surreal
scene. “Wait did you see that?” The armless corpse asks. “See what?!” the gym
teacher shouts. “Up there I thought I saw something.” The armless zombies
attempts to direct the group’s attention up to the trestle. “Up there you jackasses.”
He cocks his chin up. In the distance the sound of something falling into the cold
black water of the river breaks the stalemate. “They’re in the water …..” the
gym teacher shouts running off. “We’rrrrrrrreeeee coming you fuckers.” The dead
man laughs. Like festering lemming the remaining zombies follow him. Except for
the armless man he stands underneath the bridge squinting upwards through the
dripping rain and his cloudy eyes. Ben is aware of Sara’s warmth pressed
against him. He doesn’t know how long he can hold his breath. Sara squeezes his
hand. The dead man loses interest he takes off after his pack. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank God.” Sara whispers in Ben’s ear.
“Alright let’s move this way.” Ben states they begin to make their way down the
iron frame of the trestle. Soon they find themselves out over the shallow icy
water of the river. “Where does this thing go Mr. James?” Sara murmurs. “I
don’t know …. The other side of the river I guess.” Ben responds as they move
hand over hand balancing on a thin ledge of dusty steel. Ben can see the river
bank on the opposite side. “We crawl up then stay low.” Ben tells Sara over his
shoulder. “Ok I say we hunker down til morning.” Sara responds. Soon they come
to the end of the trestle Ben holds his hand up as a signal. Sara stops as he
pokes his head up between the old battered railroad ties like a frightened prairie
dog. “Let’s go.” He murmurs ducking back under the trestle. Ben groans as he
wiggles his burly frame up onto the railroad tracks. Once more he reaches down
to give Sara a hand up. From their blind side Ben vanishes taken off his feet
by a shadow. Someone pounces yelling “Gotcha ….” Ben’s blindsided by a shadow. Sara
is stunned as Ben and the shapeless form tumble down an embankment into a
drainage culvert. They hit the water with a splash. Private Lockett gnaws at
the rope cinched painfully around her wrist. She feels the rope loosening as
she bites like a crazed animal. Down in the drainage ditch she can see the
oddly shaped figure straddling Ben. The murky runoff water is only about two
feet deep. “Oh God!’ Sarah exclaims. She can see the figure sitting atop an
apparently dazed Ben. It was the armless zombie who’d lingered behind after the
others. Finally she frees her hands dropping the rope at her feet. Sara scans
the area in a panic she grabs the only thing she can a large brick. Sara leaps
down the slope towards the bodies thrashing in the river runoff. “So those
assholes weren’t …..” The zombie atop Benjamin James never finishes his
thought. Sara slaloms on her bare feet down the waterlogged grassy embankment.
With a grunt she smashes the brick into the dead man’s skull with both hands.
Bones crunch like breaking china as the zombie pitches forward into the water.
“Over here!!” A voice calls from beyond the curtain of rain. “Come on Ben we
gotta move.” Sarah whispers in a harsh hushed tone. She directs her large
companion to a drain pipe two feet wide running under the road above them. Ben
moves slowly climbing up and in the chrome opening. “Here ….” Sara hands him
her lethal brick. “You watch that end.” Sara points through the trash filled
drainpipe. Ben can see light at the pipe’s other end. “Ok …” He mumbles. Sara
reaches down in the muck finding a jagged chunk of concrete. She leaves the
crumpled zombie behind crawling into the pipe staring at Ben’s back. She turns
the opposite way as they squat back to back. “You and me Mr. James.” Sara
swallows hard water running down her face. “Please …” Ben huffs quietly through
gasps of air. “Call me Ben … Sara after all we’ve seen each other naked.
“Shhhh.” Sara hushes Ben. “I heard a splashes from over this way.” A distant
voice calls from above them through the softening rainfall. “Down there it’s
that armless fuck.” Another person laughs. Sara thinks the voice belongs to the
fat zombie from across the river. “Bet he fell his stupid ass down that slope
and split his head open.” The fat man laughs at the body floating just beyond
arm’s reach of Sara. Soon the concerto of laughter above them drowns out the
distant thunder. “Let’s go …..” Chubby the zombie says. “Those assholes lied to
us. Besides I think I saw some people a few miles down the road this morning
times a’ wasting it’ll be daylight soon.” For the first time since they had
been captured Sara thought “It’s quite.” “Sara …” Ben wheezes his teeth
chattering. “We aren’t alone in here kid.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Well finally The Living Dark is back I am glad to say! So much has gotten in the way of Chapter 41 but it is here now and I hope it was worth the wait.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Looks like Sara and Ben have found themselves in a bad place. By bad place I mean butt ass naked and on the run from zombies. Meanwhile Lawson and Hobart head back to the church and their keeper The Sin Preacher.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Hope to see you all back the week of January 5th for Chapter 42. Enjoy your Christmas and New Years! See you all in 2014!</span></span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-40292685738899345502013-10-08T22:15:00.002-07:002013-10-10T22:07:49.808-07:00Chapter 40: The Congregation<br>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Chapter
40: The Congregation <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He feels his head spinning as if he’d spent
the day drinking then hopped on a Tilt a Whirl. Ben is so woozy that the world
before his eyes appears as a shapeless blob of white. His head flops about on
his shoulders like he’s an infant. His mind cleared slowly so he focuses on
the one clear memory drifting among the mental fog in his head. The Sin
Preacher his mind meandered she had threatened him. The woman had revealed her
true colors by telling him she “wanted Jamal and baby Cammy as payment or
something equally as heinous.” Ben’s stomach reacted bitterly to the vertigo
seizing his senses. He fights to clear his mind he needed to find his people
and get the hell out of First New Faith. Ben pulled himself together staring at
the blinding white light before him. He sees the silhouette of an angel floating
in the midst of a fiery ring of light shining through an amber colored stained
glass window. “Come on Ben.” The man prods himself mentally to get going.
Gravity pulls his head to the left causing Ben to struggle to hold his head up.
The blurry outline of a man appears to his left. Ben ignores the figure he
instead puts all his efforts into standing up. His hands feel heavy his arms
moves as if he’s swimming in tree sap. Indecipherable words filter into his
ears as background noise. It drifts up sounding like a crowded train station
around him. Ben stands to his feet by clamping down on the chair in front of
him. He sways in place fighting the effects of the blow to the back of his head
that had rendered him unconscious. He felt as if it had reset his brain nothing
moved at the correct speed. Ben had that sensation of being in a dream trying
to move while being held back. His knees buckle painfully slamming into the back
of the wooden bench he clung to for support. He barely manages to remain
standing glancing down at his hands. What he sees puzzles him his hands are
clasped together as if he is praying. He must be still suffering from being
knocked out. He believes his hands are bound at the wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben casts a drunken sideways gaze at the man
standing to his left. They are eye level with the man being slightly taller
than Ben. With all the background conversations and mumbling going on Ben can’t
make out the man’s words. He sees the lean gaunt fellow dressed in stained
bright orange clothing. He stares at the man they catch each other’s eye Ben’s
head tilts to the side similar to a confused dog. Ben shakes his head
vigorously back and forth attempting to snap himself back to reality. The man’s
orange jumpsuit is filthy with deep crimson black stains covering him from head
to toe. What perplexes Ben the most is the man’s eyes they seem diseased and
dull with a slight shiny hint of orange. Ben’s subconscious begins to scream at
him from the foggy haze of his mind. He can’t make out the voice which seems to
call to him from down a long dark hallway. He looks the man up and down leaning
in to get a closer look. He can see inside the man’s mouth. His crooked yellowed
have tatters of something caught in them. “Must have ... just eaten.” Ben
thinks leaning in to examine the red sauce coating his new found friend’s face.
The voice in his head grows louder but can only hear snippets of the words it
screams at him. In his dream like stupor Ben becomes painfully aware of a
gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. He is literally starving without
thinking he raises his hands to the man’s face as they both rock in place. The
man turns his mouth hanging slack as he playfully nips at Ben’s finger like a
puppy. He misses providing Ben the opportunity to jab his finger at the man’s
cheek. Ben drags his thick index finger through the stain on the man’s face
narrowly avoiding his wild blond facial hair. The man’s skin is cold and
clammy. His skin feels rough like old wet leather. Ben’s finger comes back
slick coated in a sticky red goo. Ben stares down at his fingers as he rubs
them slowly together. He can see now his hands they are bound with a thick
dirty piece of rope at the wrist. Down further he can see the naked brown meat
of his thighs. Is he naked “why in the hell would I be naked?” He thinks to
himself climbing out of the dissipating murkiness enveloping his mind. It is
replaced with that illogical confusion one feels during a particularly lucid
dream. Ben touches his thigh smearing a red stain across his brown skin. Unlike
the man besides him his skin is warm to the touch. Benjamin James panics he
becomes acutely aware that he is more coherent than he thinks he is. “He’s
dead!” The voice in his head screams with such ferocity Ben’s head snaps back.
He’s looking the man in his face and only now does he take in the sickly
greyish color. A groove made by his finger is visible in the blood slick on the
dead man’s cheek. The man in the gore covered orange jumpsuit turns to face him
on heavy feet. The dead man utters a low guttural moan sending Ben tumbling
backwards in terror. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben lands hard on his back his head scanning
the room. His vision having cleared Ben is aware there are people swaying in
place all around him. The mumbling that had filtered into his ears plays from
speakers overhead. The Sin Preacher’s voice pours from the rafters raining down
in a hypnotic sermon. There are old brown wooden pews on either side of him as
he rolls about on the floor. He is laying naked on a filthy frayed red rug.
Looking over his head he spies two doors bolted and chained shut. Ben sits up
panting “I’m in the church sanctuary!” He spins back in the direction of the
figure he assumed to be an angel. It steps out of the halo of early evening sunlight
at the end of the aisle. The Sin Preacher saunters down the aisle in a full
length white robe with gold trim. She carries a small black microphone her arms
outstretched like a bird seeking to take flight. Ben has found the source of
the voice he heard filling his concussed mind. Her smile seems to outshine the
shaft of sunlight behind her bathing the small chapel. Another moan pulls his
attention back to the zombie in the prison jumpsuit. The walking corpse takes a
few unsteady steps in his direction. Ben’s glances to his right looking for a
way out. Seated with her bound hands nestled in her lap is Private Sara Lockett.
She sits nude staring straight ahead shaking uncontrollably. Ben guesses the
girl’s shivering is due to fear rather than the temperature. “Sara …” He
wheezes as if his voice would set off an avalanche of the undead. Her head
turns mechanically in his direction. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are wet
with tears that have spilled down onto her breasts. Sara silently shakes her
head “no” deliberately mouthing the word. Her lower lip quivers with such force
Ben doubts she could actually speak. She mouths the words “help me” then
robotically turns back to face the front of the church. A long bone chilling groan
erupts across the aisle. Ben whips his head back in time to see the undead
convict attempting to navigate his way out of the pew. “Easy my child ….” The
Sin Preacher says walking smoothly into Ben’s nightmare. With mannerisms more
suited to a mother she prods the fussy zombie back into the pew. “Mr. James …”
She turns showing no fear of the living corpse. “Welcome you have met my flock
now let me introduce you to my congregation.” She announces with glee. Alarmed
Ben looks around the room finally. The pews are filled with zombies all
standing swaying in place like obedient dogs waiting for their master’s
command. Ben gasps aloud there at the end of the aisle backlit by the waning
late day sunlight. He makes out the outline of a person chained to the floor.
Ben sits gazing past the Preacher’s he recognizes the man chained to the floor
before a small pulpit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Jamal!” Ben screams having found control of
himself. He struggles to heft his girth up and onto his feet. “You sick bitch
let him go.” Ben demands storming towards the woman who simple pushes her
glasses up on her narrow nose. “Stay where you are fool and still thy tongue in
this house of worship.” The Sin Preacher commands as Ben continues in her
direction. When he shows no signs of stopping she raises the microphone in her
hand. Miriam quickly flips a switch on the bottom of the mic and the
prerecorded sermon wafting from the speaker’s stops. Suddenly the once docile
moaning zombies become enraged caged beast. Snarls echo out as every zombie in
the room starts to moves like a pack. They stumble for the warm living morsels
of flesh locked in the church’s cramped nave with them. Benjamin’s feet won’t
budge from the moldy carpeted floor then he finds the reverse button. He begins
to back pedal from The Sin Preacher as she stands up boldly defying the zombies
to attack her. She doesn’t flinch as they living dead begin to encircle her.
Ben trips over a body on the floor he lays out in the air landing hard. His
tender head impacts the floor but this time Ben fights to maintain his
consciousness. He is eye level on the floor staring into Sara Lockett’s
terrified face. A blast of feedback rattles from the speakers mounted around
the hall. “At first light ….” The Sin Preacher speaks softly into her
microphone. “The king came unto the lion’s den.” The riled up zombies cease their
aggressions almost immediately upon hearing The Sin Preacher speak. “He called
out Daniel has your God protected you from the lions this night?” The woman
chuckles softly into the microphone. She spins about joyfully like an amused
child. The Preacher raises her microphone flipping the switch once more. The
church’s sound system plays Miriam’s recorded sermon for the undead masses. She
takes several steps forward as the zombies around her wander back into the
pews. “So Sara do you still fancy me fool?” She asks kneeling down getting in
close to Ben and Sara. “You believe these poor folks to be dead to be …
zombies.” She spits the word out with a sneer. “You couldn’t see the truth and
for a while ......” The Sin Preacher looks around the room. “Neither could I.
The Lord he opened my eyes as surely as he made the blind man see.” The Sin
Preacher takes a few short steps over to a tall brutish zombie. The huge
walking corpse is dressed in sand covered bloodied military fatigues. He is
missing his right arm it looks to have been chewed off above the elbow. The Sin
Preacher playfully runs her fingers through his spike salt and pepper hair. The
zombie cast his dull gaze upon her like a dim witted dog. A spark of
intelligence flickers across the dead man’s jellied eyes. “You girl you mocked
me.” Pointing an accusing finger at Sara who lays trembling curled in a naked
ball on the floor. “You were right to mock me young Sara. For I myself
initially missed what God was trying to reveal to me.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Sin Preacher turns back to Ben and Sara.
“One of my first encounters with the Unclean was right here in this sanctuary.”
She waves a hand about causally talking. “One of our members was bitten when
she came to us after The Event.” The Sin Preacher moves back to where Ben and
Sara are cowering. “She succumbed to her injuries that day. So we lay her down
here in the pulpit.” She motions over her shoulder at Jamal. “She lay right
there where the heathen is chained to the floor.” Jamal moves slightly the
steel chains locking each arm to the floor rattle. Ben feels helpless looking
at a beaten Jamal laying in what appears to be the remains of a butcher gone
mad. “When she was raptured her body was resurrected without her soul. I was
preaching in the pulpit my flock deserted me they fled in every direction. So I
kept preaching and as she drew nearer to me I could see a spark.” Miriam stops
looking back out the high stain glass window. The Sun was preparing to relent
to the moon for yet another night. “Her eyes weren’t just dull and lifeless. So
I preached to her fed that need in her to be nurtured by the Word. When Brother
Gustavo happened upon us. I had him restrain her until I could formulate a
plan.” The Sin Preacher strolls slowly down the aisle. As she passes Jamal he
pulls back from her like an animal in fear. She glides smoothly up the three
short steps taking up position behind her white podium. “You see not all of the
Unclean are truly soulless my friends.” She raises her voice over the playback
hypnotically keeping the dead at rest. “I sent Brother Gustavo out to do my
work so that I may do the Lord’s work. He gathered all of the Unclean who
showed the spark of a soul from near and far. Then he brought them to me here
to be ministered to …. To be shown the light so to speak.” She claps her hands
together pressing them to her lips attempting in vain to suppress a smile.
“When I speak it soothes their tormented souls. They listen to me, they hear me
and they obey the sound of my voice.” The last part she pronounces with such
self-righteous grandiosity Ben expects her to take a bow. “I protect them
during the day when they are at their most venerable and they return the favor unto
me at night.” The Sin Preacher scans the room looking out over her congregation
with a certain sense of pride. She keeps the audio of her mock sermon just loud
enough to be heard like background noise at a party. Downstairs is another
matter entirely she has commanded the volume be raised nightly. This way it
masks any wayward noise the congregation might make that would alert the flock.
Her eyes sink to the naked olive skinned young man at bound in sacrifice before
her. One last glance back at the fading sun and she knows it’s almost time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">“There is only one drawback tour little
arraignment Mr. James. You will find out what this unfortunate drawback is like
every other person in that room downstairs has.” She presses her glasses on her
nose again. “My congregation can’t overcome the one major side effect of their
current condition and that is the need to feed on warm human flesh.” She holds
her index finger up as if she has just gotten an excellent idea. “They have to
be fed like any good guard dog to ensure not only their obedience but that do
not turn on their master. My flock who were with me before this all came about
are exempt. However those folks like yourself Ben who have found themselves in
need of shelter during this time of Tribulation. Well they my friend must
choose from among themselves a sacrifice whose death will pay for their
safety.” She turns her finger down at Jamal who begins to tug at his restraints.
Ben leaps to his feet unsure of what to do next. “Now Ben before you act know
this. This filthy heathen and that fatherless infant will pay for your family
and the rest of your group’s passage here at First New Faith. Would you
sacrifice them all for one who is ignorant to the ways of the Lord and a child
who is granted automatic passage into the Kingdom of Heaven?” Ben’s words fail
him as he looks at Jamal’s bruised body. He finds himself glaring at The Sin
Preacher his eyes bubbling with hate. The Sun throws off its last light before
sinking down below the horizon. As the sun fades he is drawn to the face of the
zombie nearest him. It was his old buddy in the orange prison jumpsuit. The
corpse’s molted sunken upturned face slowly comes to life. Its eyes loose much
of the cloudy as an orange flecked glittery light seeps into them from the
edges. The mouth which had hung open like a putrid fly trap turns into a bone
chilling sneer. “Awwwwwww fuck yeah!” The dead man burst to life along with the
rest of the congregation. He leaps for Ben cackling like a madman. “Stop Ian.”
The Sin Preacher shouts from the behind the podium on the stage. “You will not
harm these two do I make myself clear?” She tells the ghoul as the rest of the
Unclean now mill about uncharacteristically repressing their murderous
cannibalistic ways. “What why the fuck not?” The dead killer snarls moving in
close enough to cause Ben’s bladder to go. “Ha he pissed himself.” The zombie
missing an eye and most of the bone in the surrounding socket standing over
Ian’s shoulder laughs. “Hobart shut the fuck up I want to hear why I can’t skin
tinkles or this bitch on the floor here.” The Sin Preacher comes down from her
perch undead part allowing her to pass. “Ian you and Hobart have served me well
and you have helped me do the Lord’s bidding as he has instructed me.” She pats
the dead convict on the shoulder. “These two are far too troublesome to allow
refuge among us. So I am casting them out for they are non-believers who shall
reap what they have sown. I want you and Hobart to provide them safe passage.
Take them out into the wilderness leave them to wander as God did Moses and the
children of Israel.” The Sin Preacher steps to Ian Lawson poking a finger into
his chest. “My word is my Bond Ian and as so it cannot be broken. Ensure that
no harm comes to them by your or Hobart’s hand I will reward you most
handsomely my child.” Ian shoot a glance over at Hobart who simply hunches his
shoulder. “How handsomely?” He asks running his dry discolored tongue over his
jagged teeth. The Sin Preacher pulls Ian by the collar bringing his ear down
mere inches from her lips. “In my office I have a plump innocent morsel that
you may have for yourself. A baby Ian for you and you alone my most trusted
disciple.” Ian Lawson rights himself lost in the Sin Preacher’s eyes. “Deal
…..“ He says grinning.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">“Mr. Lawson …. Mr. Hobart our guest if you
please.” The Sin Preacher points to Ben and Sara as she heads back to the
altar. The ghouls each grab a human Lawson grabs Ben roughly by his neck.
Hobart is not as gentle “C’mon bitch” he blurts snatching Sara off the floor by
her hair. Sara screams in agony as she is yanked to her feet and drug down the
aisle. “We have two orders of business.” The Sin Preacher says walking ahead
oblivious to the throng of dead on either side of her. Climbing up the small
stage coming to rest behind her podium again. “First ….” She motions into the
crowd. The Frankenstein like soldier plods up to join her. “Ma’am yes ma’am.”
He calls out falling in a to a parade rest even with his missing limb. “Sargent
Glass has been kind enough to supply us with a little information about our
current situation and how we may better it.” Ben and Sara are dropped to their
knees almost literally face to face with Jamal. The Sin Preacher looks to the
soldier only to see rage building in his decaying face. “Sargent is there a
problem?” She turns to the big zombie. “Yes Ma’am this coward left me to die!”
Sargent Glass advances pointing down at Private Lockett. Sara reels back “Staff
Sargent?!” She utters in disbelief. “Do tell Sargent?” The Sin Preacher says a
look of concern etched upon her face. The angry zombie closes the distance
hopping of the stage in two great strides. “Yeah it’s me you cowardly whore.”
He says slapping Sara across the cheek so hard she rolls over into crowd of
zombies. “You and your unit hauled ass out of there without looking back.” He
shouts standing over as Hobart giggles jumping around like an evil sidekick.
“You left us to die we were slaughtered.” He unsheathed a sinister looking
combat knife with his remaining hand. “Now Sargent I can see you were wronged
….” The Sin Preacher speaks up. “But let’s not forget that vengeance is mine. I
say you will have you vengeance my child but not here not now.” She says
dismissively. Sargent Glass looks back at here then down again at Sara as if he
was torn by his choices. “You were delivered to us last night for a reason
Sargent Come now Sargent tell us of this Operation Bullfrog.” The tension in
the zombie’s muscles relax he snaps his combat blade back into its sheath.
“Operation Bullfrog …. “ He calls out to the undead gathered around him. “It is
a protocol the United States Government put into place during the Cold War.” He
joins Miriam on the stage once more. “Operation Bullfrog has gone through many
upgrades in the past fifty years. Its primary goal is to ensure that the U.S.
Government could communicate in the event of a nuclear attack or any other
event that would cause a total communication blackout.” Murmurs from the
zombies begin to fill the room. The Sin Preacher raises her hands and they all
fall silent at once. “The Bullfrog is a massive all terrain self-sustained
mobile combat platform that has a sophisticated satellite array atop of it.
Imagine a train comprised of tank like vehicles on steroids that don’t need a
tracks. Now there are five Bullfrog units strategically placed across the
country. Each one is designed to allow communications to leapfrog from across
the country to coordinate any remaining assets in play. There is one not far
from us and it was to serve as our forward base of operation from our post at
St. George.” The Sin Preacher reaches up placing a hand on the dead man’s
shoulder interrupting him. “Now my children the fun part. Each of these
vehicles also acts as a pseudo ark of sorts. It ferries any survivors back to
its base or burrow as the Sargent told me. These fortified bunkers can hold up
to two thousand souls. We will commandeer this behemoth and ride it back down
into its burrow delivering my vengeance …..“ “What does that have to do with us
we don’t need shelter?” A woman missing most of her scalp call out. “Can you
imagine any reason why the Government would want to coordinate its assets?”
Glass responds “If they get their shit together it is us … our kind …. “ He
pounds his broad chest “…..That they would seek to exterminate. We cannot allow
this my brothers and sisters.” He says to the snarls and shouts of the zombies
listening to him. “I will not allow this transgression against my people.” The
Sin Preacher shouts raising up her hands. “We will take their sword and turn it
on them. We will ride the beast down into its lair and bring my word unto the
living masses. We will use our weapon to strike down each of its kin for none
shall stop the Great Tribulation.” The Sin Preacher brings her voice down
several octaves. She slaps the side of the podium with an open palm. “My
children take solace for those who turn a deaf ear to me and the salvation I
offer. Well they will most assuredly fill your bellies.” The decaying horde of
zombies milling about raise their hands skyward falling to their knees.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Sin Preacher looks out over the sea of
hands watching as her new congregation pledge their devotion to her. The
members of First New Faith Baptist church huddled below her in fear “were never
this zealous.” She muses as her heart soars filled with a joy so fulfilling
Miriam knows this is why she became a preacher. Well she actually became a
preacher to piss off those who said she couldn’t mostly but this was a close
second. “Now my children it is time it is time for you to take sacrament before
you head out to minister my Gospel.” She steps around the podium making her way
down to the last tiny stair. She positions herself directly behind Jamal. From
here she can visibly see the young man trembling with dread. More importantly
she could see Benjamin and Sara’s faces as they looked upon their friend.
“Brother Lawson and Brother Hobart please ensure our guest of honor have a
clear view of the sacrament.” Hobart wastes no time driving a knee into Sara’s
back. The girl reels pitching forward as he throws his full weight on her back.
He reaches down grabbing a hand full of her hair yanking her head. Sara cries
out her eyes tearing from the pain. She can see the tears she has shed are
nothing compared to the cascading stream of tears coating both Jamal’s cheeks.
“Well ole Hoss …. “ Ian Lawson squats down next to Ben. “I aint gonna be all over
eager like my friend here.” He cocks his head in Hobart’s general direction.
“But know this my brother …. “ He comes in close and whispers in Ben’s ear. “If
you so much as flinch or turn away at any point. I won’t keep my word my deep
dark brother and when I get y’all out away from here. The things I’ll do to you
will make you wish you were this camel jockey here.” Ben wretches feeling bile
travel up from his stomach. “You understand me boy?” Ian Lawson asks. Ben can
only nod his head as he begins to weep uncontrollably. He prays that the salty
tears will obscure his vision. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: small;">The Sin Preacher steps down placing a hand on Jamal’s sweaty back. He is shivering so hard she feels as if she has her hand place on a large speaker. She closes her eyes throwing her head back raising her other hand in prayer. The living dead congregation do the same as well. “We take this living sacrament as a show our faith. A bond that shall not be broken as we seek to seize control this new world from the nonbelievers whose mere presence is an abomination before my God almighty. We spill this heathen’s blood as they did in the Old Testament oh Lord that you may see our willingness to slay your enemies.” The room goes quite the only sound is Miriam’s disembodied voice oozing from the PA system over head. “Amen …..” She says opening her eyes after a long pause. “Flesh of my Flesh …. “ She pronounces dipping her head down. She allows her hair to fall over and cover her face tightening her grip on Jamal’s shoulder. By the time Ben’s mind can process the image lain bare before him. The Sin Preacher has her mouth buried in the side of Jamal’s neck. He shakes trying to throw the woman off but to no avail. The Sin Preacher pulls away with a wad of flesh in her mouth. Jamal’s blood spurts out in thick rivulets covering Ben and Sara both. The Sin Preacher staggers backward vigorously masticating the meat in her mouth. She swallows hard her face a mask of pleasure as she wipes her chin dropping more blood on her once white robe. She comes to rest on the stairs of the stage panting like a satisfied whore. “Partake my children ….” With that the dam of savagery burst. The zombies tear at Jamal’s chained body in a frenzy of such ferocity it would make a great white shark jealous. Ben watches in horror as Jamal closes his eyes one last time. The young man vanishes under a pile of screeching zombies. They beset Jamal with teeth, hands and a ravenous sinister hunger. Ben watches the mass of bodies writhing on the floor. A rush of blood seeps from under the snarling zombies. The chewing starts causing Ben to vomit over the crowd of feasting ghouls. They begin to rip Jamal to pieces the whole macabre looks like a group of zombies wrestling in a pool of human viscera. Ben wants to recoil to look away in horror but he doesn’t. Not even when Jamal’s still warm blood washes over his knees flowing at like a small red tidal wave. He catches a glance at Sara as she is bathed in the same flow except she is laying flat on the floor. A female corpse falls inches from Ben she clutches a slab of raw meat hissing like badger. Suddenly Sargent Glass looms over the fallen zombie. He smashes a large black boot into the middle of her face the way one stomps out a cigarette butt. He twists his massive foot mashing down until the dead woman’s head resembles a pulped watermelon. He callously reaches down pulling the prized meat from her still twitching hands. The big dead soldier walks away chewing without looking back. “Brothers take our honored guest and cast them out of my congregation.” “Yes Ma’am …..“ Lawson hoots. “Remember let no harm come to them by your hands my brothers. For God had decreed that they be cast into the wilderness and left to their own devices like Lot.” Ben and Sara are drug from the rear door of the church into the humid night air. Overhead the dark black sky is awash with orange ribbons of light. In the distant thunder rumbles across the back hills of the farm country. Lightening flickers briefly illuminating heavy black rainclouds. Hobart and Lawson take a few seconds to stare in wonder at the orange lights before dragging their captives away in to the night. They make a pit stop at the carport behind the church before setting off into the night.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Looks like things have come to a fairly disturbing head within the walls of The First New Faith Baptist Church. The Sin Preacher has shown where her loyalties are. Other than Ben and Sara no one under her roof has any idea of the depths of her depravity. As for Ben and Sara they find themselves at the mercy of two psychotic zombies. What will happen next in The Living Dark Comeback the week of November 17th and find out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"></span><br>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-77849891859625189692013-09-12T21:16:00.001-07:002013-09-12T21:16:23.516-07:00Chapter 39: A Books Woth of Revelations
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
39: A Books Worth of Revelations <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ben
senses the indignation in him blistering his gut. He clutches the arms of the
wooden chair that hold his husky frame. He is ready to leap from his seated
position and fall upon manipulative twofaced Sin Preacher. How would he explain
to his wife and children that he’d beaten a woman senseless? Right now Ben
didn’t give a shit they’d forgive him. “Lady …” Ben thrusts up from the chair his
arms quaking. “You’re a fucking nut and I’m …” He hears the hammer cock before
he sees the silver revolver in Miriam’s hand. “You’re going to do what Mr.
James?” She scoffs flipping her frizzy hair back. “You know what you’re going
to do Benjamin?” She asks a sneer drawing across her lips. “You will relent to
my demands ….. You will agree to give me the heathen and the fatherless child.”
She moves around the corner of the desk. “If you don’t agree to my terms your
family will be cast down into the pit. Where they will used as fodder to feed
the Unclean and keep the rest of us alive.” Ben swallows hard locking his eyes
on the Sin Preacher. He falls back limp into the aging wooden chair which groans
in protest. His mind races he attempts to suppress the images of his family’s
demise. The idea of his children being devoured by zombies brings a glob of
vomit to the back of his throat. “You and that mouthy soldier girl Sara will
have to be put down as well.” She keeps just out of reach of the big man.
Miriam’s hand clutching the pistol doesn’t waiver. Ben watches the barrel leveled
at his head but it is the least of his concern. “I will ask you again Mr.
James.” The Sin Preacher speaks through gritted teeth. She was not the same
person who picked them up in that field what seems like a lifetime ago. “Will
you give me the two members of your party I demand as repayment or will you
condemn them all?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ben croaks. “You never told us there was such a price to pay for your
assistance.” He slams a fist down onto her desk but she doesn’t flinch. “Why
help us at all? Huh Miriam it appears you had this in mind all along.” The meek
woman with the gun shakes her head “No” vigorously. “Look you were in no
position to refuse me Benjamin.” The Sin Preacher jabs the pistol in his
direction. “My God commands that I help those who cannot help themselves. I
wanted you and your people to be a part of what we have here.” She rubs her
free hand across her mouth wiping away froth from the corners of her lips. “I
simply can’t have that Son of Lot you brought with you in my house of God.” It
was Ben’s turn to chuckle. “My wife was right.” He shakes his head giggling
softly to himself. “Your ‘House of God” isn’t that an oxymoron?” “Careful Mr.
James choose your words very carefully.” The Sin Preacher chides the man before
her. “You pretend to speak for God yet you don’t know the true meaning of his
words. You don’t know what grace and mercy are. You simply take a gaggle of
slack jawed yokels and play on their fears and ignorance.” Ben wonders to himself
if she possesses the moxy to do her own dirty work. “What will you do with
Jamal and Cammy?” Ben probes sizing the woman up watching her body language. He
knows full well he doesn’t want to know what her plans are. “What do you mean
when you say ‘fodder’ Miriam?” Miriam breaks eye contact with Ben like a mortified
child. She composes herself before speaking. “Your son and companion have
already found out by now what I am about to share with you. As they have
accompanied Brother Gustavo out on his rounds this morning.” When her eyes find
Ben’s again they are as empty as the zombie’s they’ve been fighting the last
few days. “I have found a way to distract the ravenous highly intelligent
Unclean that hunt during the night. I have Brother Gustavo hang pieces of human
meat in various places around the church. This keeps the Unclean preoccupied
and fed at night. This way they don’t go roving about thus reducing the risk of
them discovering us hidden in here. “You crazy bitch …” Ben blurts beside
himself. “You let me send my boy out with that lunatic to feed zombies?!” He
screams standing to his feet. “Yes I did Mr. James.” She says coldly. “By the
way how did you sleep last night? Were your wife, your kids and your friends
safe?” Ben is disgusted at the thought of having paid for his people’s safety
with the life of another. “As you can imagine Mr. James this process has a high
price and not everyone is willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater
good.” She smiles. “But in this Post Rapture Apocalyptic world Mr. James. There
are a few souls who are brave enough. The others … well …” She rolls her eyes.
“Well let’s just say that everyone you met in that room across the hall had to
offer up a sacrifice to stay here.” Ben’s consciousness darkens at the corners
he feels light headed as he fights not to faint. “I will sacrifice that heathen
and the baby as well Mr. James if you must know.” The Sin Preacher sighs deeply
then fills her lungs with a breath of fresh air. “Either you give me the
penance you owe. Then leave here never to return or you and Sara will suffer
their fate as well. I’m sure the Olmstead boy will take you all in again or so
you can hope.” The Sin Preacher grasp the handle of the revolver with both
hands. She steadies her aim taking a shooter’s stance. “Now stop stalling and
answer the fucking question.” She shouts shivering with self-righteous outrage.
Ben’s lips quiver as he starts to speak. “I ….. I can’t …. I won’t.” As he
whispers a single tear pools up in his right eye spilling slowly down his
cheek. “In this new world Mr. James cowardice is lethal.” The Sin Preacher and
Benjamin stare one another down. “I knew you lacked the conviction to make the
right choice Ben.” She shakes her head as she speaks. “Colonel …” She yells out
never taking her eyes or the gun barrel off Ben. The door burst open the big
brute known as Colonel leads the way. He is dragging Private Lockett roughly
into the room. Ben stands to his feet without hesitation turning to face
Colonel. “Now Mr. James I assure you that remaining calm is in your best
interest. He gazes back over his shoulder eyes dripping hatred but he doesn’t
move. Sara fights in protest the whole way but the man is almost three times
her size and her hands are zip tied behind her back. He flings her to the dusty
floor all the while smiling in Ben’s general direction. Sara looks up from the
floor in her brown eyes is a look of sorrow. Ben had never seen her so humbled
and unsure of herself. The swelling under her right eye spoke volumes she
didn’t have to say a word. “Morning Mr. James.” Colonel winks from across the
room pointing a large pistol down at Lockett’s face. Behind them BC and Jim
Hosstrum drag Jamal into the room and pin him down like police officers.
Following everyone Silas Proctor waddles in clutching a screaming baby Cammy to
his doughy chest. He looked to be having more trouble with his load than anyone
else. Ben reels from a blow to the back of his head. He wobbles a bit before
falling to his knees. The Sin Preacher steps up close to finish beating Ben
into submission. Miriam does this with an arching blow to the base of his skull
with the butt of the revolver. A man who had been gathered around the church
members in the basement earlier reaches in a closes the door to the Preacher’s
office. Ben fades quickly into unconsciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several hours later their task for the day
complete Brother Gustavo leads the two young men back into the basement of
First New Faith Baptist church. He trots down the steps with purpose. His mind
awash in confusion as he questions everything he thought he knew. “The Bible is
all I have…” He thinks to himself raking his gangly fingers through the dense
mop of black hair atop his head. Chip was behind him having popped a wheelie at
the top of the short flight of stairs. He used his well-toned arms to navigate
the creaky wooden stairs one at a time with the large rear wheels of his chair.
“Chip you know I’ll help you bro seriously.” Private Carson says bringing up
the rear guard closing the door behind himself. “No thanks man unlike hopping
into the rear of a monster truck …. “ Chip huffs I’ve done this a time or two
before.” Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs and rounding the corner they
are greeted by a blockade of men. “Brother Gustavo and guests …” A man sporting
a tattered green and yellow John Deere baseball cap speaks up. “The Sin
Preacher wants to see y’all in her office immediately.” He annunciates through
a thick country accent. Brother Gustavo doesn’t break stride turning right into
the open doorway. Chip rolls in right after him as well. The sound of a scuffle
breaks out “hey what the hell?” Chip shouts spinning around he watches the men spring
on Private Carson. He prods his chair towards the group drawing his “Lucky
Mallet” the pistol in his pocket long since forgotten in the panic. The young
soldier is quickly disarmed by the quartet of farmers. That doesn’t stop the
assault they pummel Carson into submission with fist and feet. Chip draws back
his mallet ready to strike rolling freely in direction of the scuffle. His
momentum is suddenly halted from the rear. He feels himself being whirled
around then dumped from his wheelchair to the floor. Chip tumbles to rest on
the musty old green carpet. Tossing his hair from over his face he looks up in
time to see Silas Proctor throw his wheelchair aside. Most of the church men
present chuckle out loud at the handicapped boy on the floor. “Pastor ….
Pastor.” Gustavo beckons to his spiritual leader. “I have some questions
Pastor.” He continues oblivious to the scene in the room. He has tunnel vision
as he walks towards Miriam who is now holding baby Dakota. “Not now Brother
Gustavo we have other matters to attend to.” She holds up her hand with the
pistol while bouncing the baby girl on her hip. “But Pastor this cannot wait
please I must …” “Silence Brother.” She interrupts stomping her foot in anger.
“I said we have church business to attend to that is of a pressing nature.”
Gustavo reels back on instinct upon witnessing Miriam’s emotional upheaval. He
feels a spiritual shift in his perception of The Sin Preacher. In much the same
way a child views a trusted adult who has abused them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chip scans the floor finding his hammer a
few inches in front of where he had come to rest. His eyes fall upon large heap
laying in front of a shabby desk. “Dad?” He ask raising up on his hands in a
panic. “Dad!” Chip screams pulling his body over to his father his mostly lame
legs trail him like a lizard’s tail. Silas steps in blocking his path looming
over the boy who can only crawl. “Not so funny now are you boy?” Silas looks
down grinning his yellow teeth looking like old fence slats. “Where’s all ya
jokes now that I gotcha crawlin’ round the floor cripple?” He places a booted
foot down painfully on Chip’s hand. Causing the boy to cry out and roll over
onto his back. Chip watches as a bloodied but defiant Private Carson is lifted
to his feet by the men. His hands are tied behind his back with a thick length
of tightly braided rope. They prop Carson against the wall two of the men lean
into his back jamming him in place. The movement in the corner of his eye
startles Chip. On his left Sara sits Indian style her face swollen on one side.
The man they all called “Colonel” has a watchful eye on her. To his right he
observes Jamal his face streaked with tears and blood. Jamal’s face is a
pitiful portrait blood flows from his spilt bottom lip. His left eye is only a
slit having swollen most of the way shut. “Hey up here boy.” Silas taps his toe
against Chip’s shoulder. “Not so high and mighty now without all ya back up.
Well looks like ‘Captain Chubby’ got the last laugh.” Silas looks back at The
Sin Preacher hoping she won’t cut his fun short. “Tell me boy how does it feel
to have to crawl ‘round like some kinda animal on the floor?” He throws his
head back laughing so hard his portly body shakes with glee. “You tell me …”
Chip mutters in a flash he grabs the mallet from floor. He strikes so fast
Silas is wailing before he knows his kneecap has been dislocated by a vicious
blow from the hammer. The room is still as Silas topples down on his damaged
knee bringing fresh howls of agony. Baby Cammy takes this time to start crying
as babies do when someone around them cries. Having reduced to blabbering idiot
to his level Chip doesn’t hesitate. His next blow drives the rubber mallets
head into Silas Proctors jaw. Amid the blood spray half a dozen of the man’s
teeth clatter to the floor like dice. Proctor falls to the floor senseless mere
feet from Ben. Chip watches a man blot from his right not waiting he pivots on
his hands. Chip brings the hammer down on the man’s foot before he can react to
the pain in his foot. Chip punches out with his empty hand connecting with the
man’s testicles. “For Christ sake.” Colonel yelps in frustration jamming his
pistol into his waistband. “He a got damn feeble!” The Colonel moves in to
bring Chip’s irritating rebellion to an end. He pays no mind to Private
Lockett. That is until he feels the savage kick to his exposed kidney from the
steel toed boot. Sara rocks the man with a second kick to the back before leaping
into the air driving her knees down hard as she lands on the old soldier.
Carson aware of his captor’s distraction uses one of his muscular legs to push
off against the wall. He drives the two smaller men backwards with his shoulder
smashing them into a wall. They all hit the wall unleashing a shower of glass
from a full length mirror. “Enough!” The Sin Preacher announces. The room falls
silent at once as she walks into the center of the fray. She holds the chrome
pistol menacingly close to the infant’s temple. “Cease this non sense this
instant.” She demands. “With God as my witness if either of you three move I
will start with this child and finish with Mr. James on the floor over there.”
She looks around the room at her battered and bewildered forces. “You men of
First New Faith I thought you could handle such a simple task. They are but
children secure them this instant.” The men scurry about with their heads hung
low. “Colonel remain here with me.” She uses the gun to control the flow of
traffic like a symphony director. “You all take the infirmed boy, his
wheelchair and the big one back there.” The Sin Preacher points in Carson’s
general direction. “Cast them down in the pit with the unworthy and the rest of
their companions.” The men set about doing as they were instructed. “What of
Brother Proctor Madam Sin Preacher?” The remaining man guarding Jamal asks.
“Drag him out of my office and have the women tend to him.” She rolls her eyes
as if talking to the man is causing her physical pain. “Brother Gustavo assist
Brother Green in hauling Brother Proctor away.” She fixes him with a hard
stare. Brother Gustavo relents moving over slowly taking the obese man by his
ankles. He treats the still living Silas no different than one of the corpses
he handles. He drags the man away moaning softly while spitting up wads of
mucus infused blood. As the bit characters exit the room they close the door.
The Sin Preacher and Colonel are left with their chosen prisoners from the
James clan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> The
Sin Preacher looks down at Benjamin James as he lays lifeless on the floor. She
steps over his body cradling baby Cammy. Walking over to Jamal who lays bound
and beaten on the floor. He slinks back further into the shadows like a scalded
dog. “Oh don’t you worry heathen you can’t hide from your evil ways.” She spits
on the young man huddled in the corner. “What will we do with them Sin
Preacher?” Colonel asks from the other side of the room. Where he stands with
his damaged left hand pressed against his side wincing in pain. Miriam comes
about facing the man as he kneels down using his free hand to restrain Lockett
on the floor. “We ….” The Sin Preacher ask comically. “We … you damn near
couldn’t handle two Privates and a lame teenage boy.” She snaps “Colonel” making
sure to emphasize the self-generated pseudonym. Anger flows over Colonel’s
handsome face. “But Preacher if I had more disciplined men I …” Miriam raises
her hand silencing the man. “Look I’m not putting this up for debate and you
have to be accountable for you own actions in the eyes of the Lord.” Colonel
hangs his head bearing the weight and shame of failing his leader. “The
Congregation will decide their fate Colonel not you not I.” The Sin Preacher
strolls slowly over to her cot tickling baby Cammy’s Chin. The baby coos back
at the demented woman as she placed down into a hastily made nest of blankets.
“Hey … bitch.” Sara wheezes from under Colonel’s weight. “Yes Private.” The Sin
Preacher replies pressing her thin glasses back up over her nose. “We aren’t
done here.” Sara explains squirming on about the floor attempting look the Sin
Preacher in the face. Miriam stands over Private Sara Lockett glaring down at
her. “Child you have no idea how far away from done I am.” She sets her pistol
down on her desk before turning to sit on its chipped edge. “Colonel perhaps
you could gag all of our friends here and maybe just maybe start rebuilding you
value to the congregation. God can clearly see your shame as can I and he is
displeased brother.” Colonel resolves himself to being a better servant. He
quivers anger boiling up in him like a pot on a stove. “Yes Sin Preacher.” He
growls coming to his feet hefting Sara up off the floor her hands bound behind
her back. Colonel tosses her as if she’s no more than a wet sandbag. Sara lands
next to Ben with a “thud” knocking the breath from her lungs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> First off an apology for the delay in posting the new chapter. Real life has a way of complicating the fun we have navigating our favorite survivors through the zombie apocalypse from time to time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Now moving on we are back in the First New Faith Baptist Church and we thought that Brother Gustavo's behaviors were odd. We and the James clan have found out how truly insidious The Sin Preacher's motives are. Ben has refused to give up Baby Cammy Jamal and it now appears he's sealed his fate and Private Lockett's as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> We'll see you all back here for an explosive Chapter 40 the week of September 22nd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Sincerely</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-56400306139827316942013-08-22T21:32:00.003-07:002013-08-22T21:32:37.929-07:00Chapter 38: Unfamiliar Territory
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
38: Unfamiliar Territory <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Private Carson walks gingerly through the
lush green grass. He watches Chip prod his wheelchair onward hot on the heels
of the man everyone called “Brother Gustavo.” Carson’s heart told him to offer
to push the boy in his wheelchair. His mind however vigorously objected even
though he thought Chip’s arms had to feel like rubber bands by now. Private
Carson had just witnessed Chip power his chair up a short flight of stairs
backwards refusing any and all offers of assistance. Brother Gustavo slows down
then stops turning to face the duo. “I want to thank you for agreeing to help me
with this arduous task.” Carson scans the area after all he has seen over the
last few days he does not like being out in the open. He feels like a gazelle
sticking its tongue out at an unseen lion hiding amongst the tall African grass.
Brother Gustavo runs his bony fingers through his mane of black hair. “When I
see young men like you I am overjoyed. For the world is yours you are both bold
and dutiful.” Now Gustavo takes his time basking in the late summer sun without
a care in the world. “You have forsaken self for the protection of you village,
your family to paraphrase.” Chip finds himself stopped in the grass next to
Carson. Brother Gustavo comes back to them kneeling before Chip. The odd man
addresses the young men before him. He shifts his eye contact like a coach in a
huddle. “The glory of young men is in their strength: and the beauty of old men
is the grey head. As found in Proverbs chapter twenty verse twenty nine. Those
fools in there are self-righteous, self-serving hypocrites grey heads or not.”
He chuckles standing up moving for the shed once more. Chip hesitates unsure if
the man is delusional or if he is truly that capable of looking past his
disability. “You handle yourself and your wheelchair very well young man.”
Brother Gustavo says without turning back to face the young men who volunteered
for duty with him. He is oblivious to his tactless words but Chip seems to pay
them no mind anyway. Only Private Carson is left in an awkward stupor wanting
to change the subject. “Well you know …” Chip huffs as they near the shed
housing the gigantic metallic beast. “I have to make up for my legs somehow. I
have fallen enough times to know that every time you fall there won’t be
someone there willing to pick you up.” Brother Gustavo pauses as he unlocks the
barn door. “I like that young Benjamin Junior.” He continues pulling the door
opens for them to pass through. “Like the Bible says ‘God helps those who help
themselves.’” He disappears into the darkened recesses alongside the monstrous
ice cream truck. “Hey Army guy close the door.” Gustavo calls out from the
front of the cramped shed. Chip spins his wheelchair around popping a wheelie.
He backs over the door’s track crossing the unlit shed’s threshold. Carson does
as instructed while Chip waits staring up at the rear of the huge truck. No
sooner than the door closes to the shed than the hastily strung light bulbs
flicker to life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brother
Gustavo flings the trucks backdoor wide. “Alright young brothers….” He calls
out grunting as he tosses down a metal ladder. “Come on up.” With that Brother
Gustavo vanishes again. Chips looks at the ladder catching Cody Carson’s gaze
in the process. “No need for the pity party Carson.” Chip tells the tall
soldier cradling the machine gun. Chip wheels in close to the truck’s massive
chrome rear bumper. He plants a hand down firmly then rocks forward pushing up
on one of his muscular arms. Chip flings his free hand up and over catching the
side of the door frame. Chip finds himself staring down at Carson “hey bro you
wanna toss that up to me?” He asks flipping his curly shoulder length dusty hair
back over his head with a gloved hand. Carson smiles grabbing the pistol from
the wheelchair along with “The Lucky Mallet.” He hands Chip up the hammer and
the pistol watching him jam the revolver deep into his pants pocket. Private
Carson slings his weapon over his back collapsing the sleek worn wheelchair. He
lifts it with one hand presenting it to Chip. Carson ascends the ladder as if
he were a tightrope walker as he nears the top a hand covered by a black glove
appears. Carson reaches forward taking Chip’s offer of assistance. “Thanks Chip
….. “ He says slightly winded. Carson is amazed Chip is already in his
wheelchair sporting a sideways grin. “No problem Carson but don’t make a habit
of it. I already have to drag my ass around I’m not going to drag yours too.”
Carson and Chip share a moment of understanding. They are both separated by
only a few years in but worlds apart by circumstances. “I’m gonna close us up
before Captain Freaky snaps out bro.” Carson leans out the door and tugs at the
aluminum ladder. Chips wheels up to the front of the vehicle. “Carson is
closing us up back there so what’s the plan Mr. Gustavo?” Gustavo glances over
his shoulder. “Let’s wait for the Private this way we’ll all be clear.” Chip
hunches his shoulders “Okay.” “Oh by the way Mr. Gustavo.” Chip taps the back
of the black leather seat. “Just so you know that thing you said earlier about
‘God helping those who help themselves’ it’s not in the Bible.” Brother Gustavo
bolts to his feet rounding the driver’s seat. “What?!” He shouts his teeth
bared into a sneer. Private Carson has moved in behind Chip with his right hand
placed on the butt of his sidearm. Brother Gustavo takes notice of Carson but
keeps his focus on the boy in the wheelchair who doesn’t flinch. “Umm yeah Mr.
Gustavo that’s not in the Bible.” Chip smirks locking the wheels on his chair.
“Benjamin Franklin said that Sir.” Brother Gustavo stops rubbing his temple.
“Son I am afraid that’s just not true.” His face has gone from anger to a weary
sort of confused. “Well you’re the expert then quote me the scripture.” Chip
challenges the man defiantly. “Uh …. Ummm.” Brother Gustavo stammers placing a
hand on the seat he’d risen from. “I think he got you Mr. Gustavo Sir.” Carson
speaks up his arms crossed over his wide chest. “So perhaps we can move past
this and you tell us what we are doing out here among the dead.” Gustavo slumps
backwards into his seat. “The Sin Preacher always says ‘God helps those’ …..”
He trails off staring out the truck’s front window at the rolling doors. “Hey
Mr. Gustavo with all due respect Sir. You remind me of that guy with the hunched
back in that movie my parents made my little sister stop watching.” Chip snaps
his fingers in the air trying to kick his memory into gear. Carson slaps his
forehead. “The Hunchback of something French …. I can’t remember.” “Yeah …
yeah.” Chip exclaims. “That’s the one Mr. Gustavo. It’s like you’ve been locked
in like a tower or something never thinking for yourself Sir just doing what
you’re told.” Chip leans up clapping Gustavo on his shoulder. “Don’t worry Sir
you’re with me and Carson now we’ll straighten you out.” They laugh aloud all
except Gustavo that is. He grips the steering wheel his knuckles cracking
audibly. “Who told you that?” He grumbles through gritted teeth. The laughter
stops as quickly as it had begun. “I’m sorry Mr. Gustavo really I am.” Chip
blurts blush rising up into his cheeks. “We didn’t mean no harm Sir just trying
break the ice and let you know the truth sir.” Gustavo turns his eyes narrow
still holding the wheel. “I said who told you that boy?!” He barks and this
time Carson does draw his sidearm. Carson squares the pistol’s sights right on
the man’s forehead. “Mhh …my … my mom Mr. Gustavo Sir.” The boy swallows hard.
Gustavo fixes his gaze back out the window. “Let’s go we have Unclean to
dispose of.” With that he reaches a spidery hand up to the visor depressing the
button on the door opener. Sunlight floods the shed as Brother Gustavo fires up
the engine its angry growl mimicking the one in his soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gustavo guides his automotive abomination
over the soft grassy hills surrounding the church. He navigates the ice cream
truck with a purpose which Carson takes notice of. Carson takes the opportunity
to holster his pistol. He looks out of both sides of the truck never loosening
his grip on the handrail overhead. “Again Brother Gustavo what are we doing?”
Carson hopes the man will tune back in as he has seen Gustavo’s lips moving
since he rolled them out the opened the shed door. The man in the ice cream
uniform has clearly been holding a deep and meaningful conversation with
himself. “Have you ever noticed how we are relatively free of the Unclean?”
Carson mulls over the question. “Yeah I was wondering where all the Rotters and
Trotters were.” Gustavo cocks his head to side the way a confused dog does. “I
don’t understand Son … Rotters … Trotters?” Carson shouts over the big rig’s
engine. “Yeah that’s what we named them. The Rotter’s are the slow dumb ones
and the Trotters are the fast smart ones. Unfortunately you won’t know which is
really which until after dark.” Brother Gustavo shakes his head in disbelief.
“You still believe these are your so called zombies and this is all some
cliché’ by the book Hollywood apocalypse?” Gustavo stops talking craning his
head forward as if searching for a landmark. He turns the truck hard and heads
for a dense cluster of trees. “Well it’s not and I will prove it.” He says
slowing the ice cream truck down as he passes into the tree line. “The reason
you don’t see that many Unclean.” He emphasizes the word “unclean” as if to
prove a point. “It’s simple Mir ….” Brother Gustavo catches himself. He
swallows the woman’s name looking around. “I …. I mean The Sin Preacher.” He
looks back sheepishly. “She came up with a plan to keep them focused away from
us. And thank God she did because it works like a charm.” He motions for them to
look out the window shutting down the truck’s engine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chip
and Cody Carson follow Gustavo’s finger. They simultaneously lean in the
direction of the scene and then they recoil in unison. There half a mile in the
distance a rabid pack of zombies paw feverishly at a hunk of discolored meat
strung up from a tree. The meat hangs just out of reach of the dim witted Rotter’s
festering in the sun. “What the hell?” Comes the only statement Private Carson
can muster. “There must be like fifty of’em.” Chip utters in disbelief. “Yeah
Sin Preacher says we should hang this bait out overnight.” Gustavo pushes past
the boys gawking at the undead meandering aimlessly in the distance. “Sometimes
the smart ones … um ‘Trotters’ you called them.” Mockingly he makes air
quotations with his fingers. “They get the meat down and have at it.” He shakes
his head pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves. “It serves its purpose they
usually congregate in the area where they find our bait and leave us alone at
the church.” Chip unlocks the wheels and twirls about in his chair. He ducks
his head under Carson’s bulky body eyes wide. “So now what Mr. Gustavo.” He
begins to babble. “That’s a hungry horde of zombies waiting on us to make the
wrong move.” Gustavo stops mid squat before one of the long white ice cream
freezers. “Well son I restring the trap for tonight using the tree we’re parked
next to.” He flips the freezers lid up holding it in place with one hand. In
the freezer Chip can see rows of neatly packed meat. Brother Gustavo takes his
time with the look of a man selecting a choice cut for his evening supper. He
taps his chin almost comically. Chip’s face is pale he can feel his mouth
moving yet he knows he isn’t speaking. He does the only thing the can throwing
a feeble punch at Carson’s beefy thigh. “Owwwwch!” Carson protest like a child
rubbing the spot where Chip’s blow landed. “Hey man why’d …. “ Chip arm is out
stretched his finger shaking in the air. Private Carson’s words fail him as he
peers into the freezer of human meat. Mixed in among the chucks of mystery meat
are clearly identifiable pieces of dead humans in a wide range of skin tones.
Gustavo tugs a frozen short pink hairy leg free. “This will do nicely.” He says
turning about ignoring the pair. Gustavo takes a long stride to the rear of the
truck removing a folding painter’s ladder with his empty hand. He brings the
ladder back to the center of the truck planting it on the floor. He kicks the
legs open like a cops forcing a suspect to spread their legs. Scaling the
ladder the ice cream man starts whistling softly. Gustavo flips open a chrome
hatch in the roof and climbs through leg in hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Holy shit bro we gotta do something that
motherfucker is crazy!” Carson means to whisper this revelation but he blurts
it out instead. “Well Cody you have two guns man use’em when he comes back in.”
Chip pleads with the soldier. “You have a gun too bro you do something.” Carson
runs his fingers nervously through his blond crew cut. “Fine let the kid in the
wheelchair do it.” Chip says throwing his arms in the air. “Wait Chip you ‘Mr.
Independent I did all that on my own blah … blah.’ You seriously want to play
the handicapped card now.” Carson stomps a large booted foot in frustration. Carson
stops in the middle of his tantrum gripped by an idea. He pulls his sidearm
from its holster. “Chip get in the driver’s seat and drive. We’ll just leave
his nutty ass hanging.” Chip laughs apprehensively. “Yeah we’ll leave him for
bait!” Chip wheels about as fast as he can but before he can hop into the driver’s
seat Brother Gustavo drops down through the hatch. Cody struggles to untangle
himself from his automatic rifle in the tight space. “Stay back!” Private
Carson shouts bringing the weapon to bear. Brother Gustavo brushes the weapon’s
barrel aside paying the panting young man no mind. He maneuvers past Chip
plopping down is his familiar worn seat. Snatching the gloves off once again he
whistles a melodic tune that Chip seems to remember from his childhood. Brother
Gustavo slides his hand across his homemade panel flipping the switch to deploy
the truck’s roof mounted hydraulic legs. “Hey man what the hell are you doing?”
Carson shouts still waving his rifle about the cabin. He can see some of the
dead at the outer edge of the crowd turn towards the noise. “Those things are
going to notice us.” He says voice cracking with fear. He steals a glance down
at Chip who is still looking down into the freezer of human sushi. “Well young
Private that’s exactly what I want.” Gustavo says turning in the seat as if he were
a tour guide. He doesn’t break eye contact as his hand slaps the switch that
starts the music. “Pop Goes the Weasel” Blares from the mounted speakers as the
plastic ice cream cone spins atop the roof. The herd of zombies come about
almost in unison. They make their way to the ice cream truck in en mass on
damaged unsure limbs. The moans of the walking corpses soon drown out the
melodic jingle overhead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dude …dude what the fuck?” Carson stammers
backing up slamming the lid on the freezer full of body parts. This breaks
Chip’s trance in time enough for him to bear witness to the undead onslaught
closing in on them. Brother Gustavo stands to his feet hunching over just
slightly. “Young Mr. Carson I will forgive your foul tongue but once. I assure
you if you continue to use such ungodly language I will be forced to take
action against you.” Carson looks genuinely dumbfounded. “You lured us out here
with chopped up body parts man and then you ring the dinner bell for every
Rotter within miles of us.” Carson drags Chip’s wheelchair along with him in it
backwards putting space between them and the madman. The black rubber wheels
bounce across the polished metal floor as the wheel locks are still secured.
“You think my profanity is the biggest issue?” Carson looks around afraid to
get close to either of the grated open windows. The corpses have them encircled
as dozens of prying mangled finger attempt to snatch the welded gates down. At
the sight of the live humans the zombies switch seamlessly from confused moans
to lustful wails. “Look boys I didn’t lure you out here I really need your help
to kill these Unclean. Yes I admit I have a freezer full of human body parts
and meat.” Brother Gustavo holds his hands up in surrender to ease Carson’s
fears. “Look if someone comes to the church who has been bitten or as was the
case if one of our members gets bit. We will put them down out of mercy and
compassion.” Chip watches the man’s hard eyes soften. “I pray you never have to
witness someone who has been wounded by the Unclean succumb to their affliction.
It is an agonizingly horrible way to die.” Gustavo steeples his long fingers
together as if he’s praying. “Once we put the person out of their misery.
Pastor says we should put what we have to good use. You know waste not want not
like the good book says. I dispose of the bodies and harvest the remains to
help preserve the church.” Chip slowly raises his hand but he doesn’t wait to
be called on. He looks anxiously at the zombies as they claw about the widows
seeking an in. The beating of nearly a hundred undead hands almost make the
conversation impossible to be spoken. “Uh yeah not to be a smart ….. “ Ben
Junior reconsiders his words as he shouts. “Not to be a smart butt Mr. Gustavo
but Benjamin Franklin said ‘waste not want not’ too.” Chip looks back at Carson
swallowing a knot in his throat. He decides to poke the bear again. “Mr.
Gustavo are you sure you’re not worshiping Benjamin Franklin at First New
Faith?” The man’s eyes narrow into slits. “Boy I will not have my faith trifled
with nor will I ever be made out to be feeble minded again in this life.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gustavo moves like a snake in a flash he is
holding one of the wrought iron skews. “Young Mr. James I hope for your sake
what you say is true. When we return to First New Faith your mother and I shall
have a word with the Sin Preacher.” “Fine Mr. Gustavo can we leave now please?”
Chip speaks up almost begging. “I will make believers out of you yet.” He
points with the barbed end of the twisted metal. Brother Gustavo gets down his
face just out of the flayed fingers reach. His eyes fall on the Unclean before
him dull milky orange eye after dull milky eye until he finds one with a spark.
“Ah ha there you are.” Gustavo summons the boys closer. “First of all I assure you
our mission today is to dispose of all of the Unclean we find gentlemen. When
they are this close to the church we can’t risk them seeing us today and then
leading an attack against us tonight.” Carson’s weapon falls to his side he
gasps. “White Magic said some of them are smart at night and they can hold onto
memories from the days before.” Gustavo flips the handcrafted miniature spear
to Carson. “Indeed young Private Carson he was correct.” Gustavo ushers him
down closer. “You look in their eyes to see the spark of a trapped soul
inside.” He instructs Carson. “This is how I know these poor men and women have
been stuck in limbo trapped in these festering diseased shells since the
Rapture. At least these few are not the zombies you speak of.” Carson looks
back with apprehension at Chip who seems to be prodding him on with his eyes.
Carson places his face down the odor of the undead is almost unbearable. He can
see this man in some sort of police or prison guard uniform. The name “Hobart”
is stitched over his left breast pocket. All the snarling zombies have taken a
backseat to this one as Carson gazes into its eyes. Suddenly the eyes blink
focusing on his like a camera snapping a picture Carson thinks. “Shit …” He
yelps scurrying back into Chip’s chair Carson drops the skewer. “Judge not lest
ye be judged.” Gustavo says coming to stand over the boys. “And that I know for
a fact is in the Bible young Mr. James.” He adds for once not following through
with a chapter or verse. He grabs the fallen spear going back to the ghoul with
the troublesome eyes. Gustavo places his index finger in the metal ring at the
end hold the spear at its midpoint. “Even though he is aware my young friends.”
Gustavo speaks back at Chip and Carson. “Like the moth to the proverbial flame
he cannot ignore our warm flesh.” Gustavo stabs out between the grate
puncturing the Unclean’s eye socket with the quick twist of a man doing a yo-yo
trick. He spins the barbed end of the spear pulverizing the zombie’s frontal
lobe. The zombie known as “Hobart” drops lifelessly to the woodland floor to be
trampled under the frenzied feet of his kin. “Now boys we are burning daylight
grab a spear and pick a spot.” Gustavo orders his helpers to work. “We have
three more traps around the church to clear before sundown.” Chip and Carson hunch
their shoulders the way teenage boys do and set about their assigned task.
Several hours later the truck roars its way back to the First New Faith church.
All in toll having disposed over well over two hundred Unclean. All three
occupants sit quietly lost in weary thought. Blood and gore splattered over their
clothes and coating the inside of the once clean cabin. Brother Gustavo thinks
all the other chores can wait. He won’t even clean the truck off until morning.
As they back into the shed all he can think about is having The Sin Preacher
and Mrs. James sort some things out for him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> We have returned to our main story arc tonight. We have found Brother Gustavo, Chip and Private Cody Carson on clean up duty so to speak. They have spent day outside of the church and have no idea of what awaits them upon their return. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> Come join us the week of September the 1st and we will all find out together what has transpired inside First New Faith since we last saw the James clan.</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-5844071410344926602013-08-03T21:55:00.002-07:002013-08-03T21:55:39.187-07:00Chapter 37: A Pair of Jokers
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
37: A Pair of Jokers</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Son of ahh bitch …” Lawson overly
annunciates his words pulling his head back from the hole he’d busted through
the viewing glass. He’s pacing like the proverbial caged animal. Ian storms
angrily back through the massacre he had just created. He skitters about the
room in a frenetic rage whirling the small oxygen canister in his hand. He
doesn’t know what he is looking for all he knows is he needs something to smash
the rest of the glass with. The fog that covered his undead mind collides with
a fog of a different sort. The white smoke of hate that first drifted into his
mind during his teenage years. This fog confuses him driving a spike into his
gut demanding he feed on human flesh. Lawson snarls staring at Warden Gladstone
on one side of the room and the fat doctor laying on the other. Neither husk of
cooling meat would appease the gnawing in his gut. He knows he can’t immerse
himself in his chosen trade of murder until he feeds this new demon that has
taken up residence inside of him. “Yesssss …” He hisses stepping over the
Warden’s body slapping a socked foot in a wide sticky pool of congealing blood.
Lawson steps to the side of the door securing the soundproof room. He taps a
bloodied knuckle gently on the white metal door giggling to himself. A clap of
metal followed by the sounds of gears ratcheting. “Yes Sir …” A solid looking
guard peaks his head in. His eyes process the scene too slowly by the time the
shock registers Ian Lawson savagely smashes the tank into the back of the
guard’s head. The man hits the ground in a heap his black Kevlar helmet is
knocked from his head. Tossing the dented canister to the side Lawson grabs the
man dragging him completely into the room. He yanks the guard’s body through
the Warden’s blood creating and artistic smear across the white floor. Taking a
brief second Lawson pokes his head out the doorway to scrutinize the hallway.
He looks up and down the long white corridor he sees no other guards. “Ha …
they are short staffed tonight.” He yelps with glee slamming the door shut
hearing it lock. The zombie criminal sets about the business at hand finishing
off his next victim. He falls to his knees as if he were praying tugging back
the black jacket collar around the man’s neck. The dazed guard babbles
something incoherently laying in a heap on the floor. Lawson takes his first
bite it is utter ecstasy even as he is tearing the muscle and ligaments from
the man’s neck. Ian Lawson feels the flesh invigorate him as no drug he has
ever ingested has. Bathing in the guard’s warm arterial spray is almost a
sexual experience for Lawson. He goes in like a hyena face first for a second
hunk of human sushi. As the blood flow abates he sits chewing greedily his
entire upper torso covered in crimson. The fog of undead hunger swims away from
him as the white smoke of murderous rage retakes his mind with one word.
“Hobart …” The killer licks his lips catching a sweet cascading droplet of warm
blood. He couldn’t explain it the flesh had no taste and the blood fed not
physical hunger but he had never felt more satisfied in his life from a meal.
On the guard’s belt he catches a glimpse of something that changes his thoughts
from freedom to slaughter. A shiny blood coated set of bronze keys. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey Lawson dude don’t be pissed at me man
please.” Hobart speaks through the shattered glass. “I aint know what I was
doin’ trust me bro.” The other zombie in the room pleads for forgiveness. Ian
Lawson smiles broadly his back to Hobart. “Hobart …” He starts off kneeling
down to pluck the keys up. “… You have to be the only person in the world slimy
enough to make being a damn zombie an improvement.” Hobart grits his blood
stained teeth before disappearing back into the dark void that is the viewing
room. Lawson returns to his last victim before deciding whether or not kill
Hobart the zombie guard. The sound of glass shattering fills the room as tiny
diamond Plexiglas shards pelt Ian from behind. A black folding chair bounces
off the gurney in the center of the room. He hears a roar but he can’t pinpoint
its direction. Hobart comes flying through the damaged window tackling Ian
Lawson to the floor. “Look …. “ Hobart growls from atop the man. “That punk you
knew is dead and I took his place.” Hobart bounces Lawson’s head against the
titled floor with both hands around his neck. Lawson not to be out done brings
up his hand sporting the small oxygen. The small canister pings off Hobart’s
head with an echoing crunch. Hobart flies backwards tumbling off his foe from
the weight of the blow. Lawson is on his feet seething … “I don’t know what
brought you back Hobart ...” He laughs walking up over the squirming zombie.
“This time I aims to kill you for good.” He shouts raising the bloodied oxygen
tank over his head in both hands. Hobart’s foot lashes out uncoiling into
Lawson’s groin like a cobra rupturing one of his testicles. Lawson leaves his
feet propelled over the gurney his weapon clanking across the floor. Ian’s limp
body plows a path through the blended pool of Warden Gladstone and the dead
guard’s blood on the floor. “Hope you didn’t need that bro …” Hobart laughs
like a maniac tossing his head back. His hands wander over the pulverized side
of his head and Hobart can feel the damage caused by the blow. He feels as
though he is running his hand across wet pottery shards on the left side of his
face. Lawson is on his socked feet instantly blowing spittle through clenched
viscera encrusted teeth. “You gonna suffer boy …” Lawson looks down at his feet
at the guard’s corpse seeing a black metal baton on his duty belt. “Dead or
alive I’m gonna make you feel pain bitch.” Lawson drops the keys in the blink
of an eye he has the baton launching himself at Hobart. “Hey wait!” Hobart
screams rolling across the floor to avoid his adversary. Lawson corrects his
path before Hobart can speak again the killer is lording over him. “Wait Lawson
dammit just wait!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hobart’s
eyes widen into orange flecked undead circles as he wait for the blow from the
baton. “You got Mather’s key bro … you got the head bull’s keys.” Hobart screams
raising his hands to block the incoming blow. “You think I give a shit …. I
don’t wanna to escape!” Lawson snarls holding the weapon cocked over his head.
“Lawson … Lawson listen you jackass.” Hobart blurts from behind his hands his
head undulating hoping to avoid being hit. “Mather was the head bull on the
block bro we don’t need to escape.” Hobart watches the tension in Ian Lawson’s
arms relax. “Lawson you can’t tell me that gnawing hunger aint settin’ back in
your gut again bro?” Lawson did feel that fog enveloping him again. He’d used
just about every illegal drug on the planet and none left a craving like this
hunger. “And?” Lawson says moving over Hobart. “And … Lawson we have just about
two hundred meat lockers stocked with human meat and you got the keys.”
Lawson’s arms go slack dropping to his waist. He’s not sure but he swears he
hungrily licks his bloodied lips while staring absently at door out of the
death chamber. Lawson scampers back over to the keys picking them up like a
prospector who’s found a nugget of gold. “Bro just down the hall out this door
is your old home and four pieces of meat for us to share. Bro that’s not even
counting the guard in the booth.” Lawson didn’t like the word “share” never
had. The first man he’d ever killed was because he used “that word.” “Let’s go
Hobart show me the way boy.” Hobart hops to his feet walking to the door. He
holds his hand before Lawson then points at the key ring. “Dude Ian you can’t
go out like that.” He scans the blood soaked orange jumpsuit. “If the guard in
the booth makes us they can lock everything down then the keys won’t work.”
Hobart scans the room “Yes” he exclaims kneeling down next to Mather. He
struggles to flip the man’s body over. “Help me strip him Lawson then you can
put on his uniform and helmet.” Hobart searches the floor finding the black
helmet laying in a corner. The two ghouls set about stripping the cold corpse
of its clothes. In a matter of minutes Lawson has covered his conspicuous gore
stained prison garb with Mather’s black uniform. “Here …” Hobart offers Lawson
the helmet. The career criminal examines the face shield before placing the
black helmet on his head. “You know Hobart I feel more natural in those blood
stained clothes than I do in this.” Ian flicks the collar of the clothes he’d
taken off his victim. “These rags make my skin crawl.” He slaps the face mask
down defiantly. “Wow you really are fucked up bro.” Hobart snorts as he places
the key in the door turning it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From behind them they hear a clatter in the
viewing room. After looking at each other in confusion the pair split up.
Lawson swipes his baton off the floor from where he’d dropped it. Then he flips
up the face mask on the helmet. Hobart searches the floor for a weapon. He can
only find the oxygen tank Lawson had used to bash his skull in. They move low
across the floor like a pair of undead cat burglars. Lawson and Hobart find
themselves underneath the jagged hole smashed in the two way glass. Hobart
signals Lawson counting to three on his fingers. They vault up weapons at the
ready and come face to face with a slender short older man whose blond hair is
caked with blood. “Hey I killed that dude bro.” Hobart says clearly puzzled he
scratches his head. The man moans softly which escapes through a hole torn
through his right cheek. The zombies bumps carelessly into the wall ignoring
the pair. From the darkness of the viewing room a second moan rises. Two
zombies shuffle into sight coming up behind the first. “I killed them too man
seriously.” Hobart remarks looking at Lawson. “That was Jenkins ….” He points
through the hole at a tall black man outfitted in what was once his dress
uniform. The kind they only wore when the guards had visitors or on special
occasion an execution for example. “And that dude there chick there she was
like on TV or some shit. She came to see you get executed tonight.” He motions
towards the woman in the grey pants business suit that Hobart had been chewing
on. “I guess you proved her wrong huh?” Lawson slaps his forehead bewildered by
the man’s stupidity. “Dumbass don’t you see you were infected, you kill’em and
they came back as zombies.” Lawson leans in tapping an index finger into
Hobart’s forehead. Hobart blinks with each jab but he musters the courage to
speak. “Why aint they like us then smart like me and you bro?” Lawson scoffs
shaking his head. “Smart like me boy the best you could ever hope for is dull
and aware.” They watch the three walking corpses aimlessly bounce off the wall
attracted to the light like moths. “I can only guess Hobart that has somethin’
to do with you and how you got infected.” Lawson offers up not really caring
how they came to be different than the other zombies. His primary concern was
using this gift of a tortured Earth bound afterlife to his advantage. “I got
bit by this motherfucker on the way home last night. He was like slow like
these ones here.” Hobart rubs his chin. “Then when I woke up this afternoon to
come to work I felt like reheated dog shit. I barely made it to work last thing
I remember is blacking out just inside the front gate.” Hobart snaps his
fingers as if an idea and inadvertently found its way into his thick skull.
“Next thing I know bro I was walkin’ round in a fog with cotton I my brain
trying to eat folks. Another moan draws their attention back to the death
chamber. Warden Gladstone sits upright his glazed over milky orange eyes
staring off in the distance. The remains of his internal organs a half-eaten
heart, part of a lung and some over cooked pasta looking trails of intestines
slide out slapping the floor like wet mop. A tray of medical supplies topples
to the floor across the room. Doctor Luta struggles to his feet all grace of a
garage bag filled with mashed potatoes. “Hey … hey bro…” Hobart smiles his
crooked grin irritates Lawson. “You wanna have like a zombie smack down yours
verses mine?” He holds his hand up for a high five. “Hey you want me to beat
the other side of you fuckin’ head in?” Lawson chirps sarcastically. “Um …
nooooo.” Is the only thing Hobart can think to say in response. “Then shut your
stupid ass mouth Hobart.” Lawson grabs Hobart by the collar pulling him to the
door. They pass by Mather dragging his thick body off the cold tile floor. “We
will leave them here Hobart til we see if we can use them. Otherwise I aint
sharin’ none of my warm flesh with these sorry bastards.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two zombies walk briskly down the empty
grey hall. Walking in unison the only sound is their boot steps slapping the
cement floor. They have wiped away as much visible blood as possible. Lawson
and Hobart use the keys to enter the locked door at the end of the hallway.
“Keep your head down Lawson.” Hobart whispers as they make their way across a
short catwalk. “There are cameras trained on us.” Hobart unclips the keys from
his belt facing the door to the back of the guard’s booth that looks over death
row. Hobart readies himself nodding to Lawson who stands behind him brimming
with anticipation. Hobart opens the door like a butler ushering Lawson into the
cramped booth. “Hey are …..” The female guard sitting at the control panel
spins in her chair. The young dark haired female is pinned in place as she
meets the face of death. “I’m home honey…“ Lawson sings burring his face in the
woman neck inhaling a torn chunk of flesh. Lawson savors his prize wiping the
blood from his lips. “Move ….” Hobart brushes past his partner seeking the
still warm body like a drug addict. The woman in the chair twitches
uncontrollably as thick crimson blood bubbles up from her nose and mouth. He
rips her shirt up exposing her stomach. “I like the stringy parts.” He remarks
watching the woman’s chest heave as the life pumped from her body. Hobart tears
into the stricken woman’s stomach cavity with his teeth. Together the two
zombies go at the woman’s body like maggots burrowing deep into rotted meat.
“Hobart get up off your knees bitch.” Lawson jokes with the former guard turned
cannibal killer. Lawson stares out of the booth down the short hall lined with
three cells on either side. The white light cast by the overhead fluorescent
makes the cellblock appear bland like the basement of a bank. “One way and one
way out.” Hobart marvels eating a hunk of meat out of the palm of his hand. “Closest
thing to family I ever had resides in four of those cells down there.” Lawson
laments out loud. He reads the fairly simple control panel standing in the dead
guards entrails. “Sooooooo …” Hobart waves his hand like a bad Las Vegas
magician. Lawson slowly lowers the mask on his helmet. “So if I killed the
woman who gave birth to me when I was alive.” He flips the switch marked
“lights” bathing the whole unit in darkness. “Then the contents of the septic
warehouse aint gonna make it through the night.” Lawson holds his fingers
before his face. “My … my … Hobart have you noticed the extra added gift our
new condition has done given us?” Hobart gestures his understanding with a head
nod. The two zombies seem giddy as they realize how well they can now see in
the dark. “We take’em one at a time right partner?” Hobart speaks up from
behind Ian. Hobart reaches past Lawson who stands like a king surveying his
land. To the right a metal clicks echoes from within the door leading onto
death row. Once again Hobart pulls the door open but this time both men proceed
through side by side. The walk down the three metal steps in tandem and move
down the hall their faces obscured by shadows. “A who dat?” A voice call from a
cell as they pass by. They pass silently as if they were sizing up lobsters in
a restaurant tank. The other men are quite as if they know something is amiss.
The dark doesn’t frighten any of these men locked in their cells awaiting
death. In fact they are the reason others have grown accustomed to fearing the
dark. Waiting on death has granted each of these killers a certain sense of
peace. Tonight in this section of this prison two demons came to each condemned
man. First they pulled the peace from their petty little worlds. Then they pulled
flesh from their bones.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> An evil man has found his way back from the dead and he has brought along a friend. This can't possibly bode well for the James family. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">We will see you all back the week of August 18th for Chapter 38!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Living Dark</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-42131659351317069652013-07-15T20:15:00.000-07:002013-07-15T20:15:20.422-07:00Chapter 36: Locked Away
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
36: Locked Away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ian Lawson do you have any last words?” The
elderly Hispanic priest leans over the bearded bald man in the orange jumpsuit strapped
to the executioner’s table. Ian moves his head straining to look left and right
but with his head bound by leather straps he can do no more than cut his eyes. He
sees the Warden standing in the corner next to a pudgy doctor with blond hair
and droopy eyes. In days gone by the executioner was a man to be feared. An
imposing figure with a black hood obscuring his face. He waited with an axe
ready for a beheading or a black gloved hand perched on a wooden lever. In the
new days of an overly politically correct society. The much coveted old world
position of executioner is now held by a doctor and in most cases not a good
one either. The Warden’s face is stoic unmoving he shows no emotions having
presided over executions for more than two decades. The room is a sterile white
which is a stark contrast to the rest of the Penitentiary. “Nawh Padre I got
nothing to say but thanks anyway.” Ian says feeling sweat beading on his forehead
and slowly rolling under the leather head strap. He clinches his fist
determined to meet his end with dignity. A twinge of pain from his wounded
fingertip runs up his arm. Ian Lawson has seen death hell he has caused death. The
fact that he was a murderer was what had led him to his current predicament.
His crimes had earned him an unprecedented fast track to death row. His date
with the lethal chemical cocktail in the executioner’s needle would not be
delayed. Even as the power seemingly went out plunging the rest of the country
into total darkness yesterday. The power remained on in most of the prison
thanks to the backup generators buried under the facility. Then there was the
bite he sustained to the tip of his pinkie finger from a guard earlier. After a
quick check by the prison doctor it was determined this wouldn’t grant him
extra time in this world either. “Fuckin’ bastard Hobart.” Ian’s mind wanders
as he thinks about the Screw who nipped him. “May God have mercy on your soul
Ian Lawson.” The old man hobbles over closing his weather bible. The Priest
takes a lumpy arthritic hand placing his hand gently on Ian’s chest. “He won’t
Father I’ve killed a lot of people bro and they have almost all cried out to
God or a god of some sort.” A hollow smile draws across the man on the table’s
face. “None of them ever got an answer and I bet if he didn’t answer them he
sure as hell won’t answer me.” Ian closes his eyes his mind racing back over
the faces over the horror he’d left in his wake. He truly felt his work on this
plane of existence was done. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Priest snatches his hand back from Ian’s
chest as if he’s touching a hot skillet. The old man of the cloth stands over
the convicted killer his mouth open. The condemned man’s heartbeat is beating slow
steady rhythm as if he is reading a book in a quite library instead of
recounting the butchering of countless human beings. A chuckle followed by a
snort escapes Ian’s lips. “Hey Warden Gladstone let’s get this show on the
road.” He shouts struggling to catch a glance at the two-way viewing mirror to
his left. “These people paid for a show. They came to see me the great and
malevolent Ian Lawson be put to death.” The broad chest Warden walks over his
face clearly showing his disapproval but how could you admonish a man who was
literally waiting a death’s door? “Father Martinez thank you for your service
you are dismissed.” The Warden speaks to the priest through a thick bristly
salt and pepper mustache. The old man clutching his bible to his chest makes
haste towards a locked door next to where the doctor is standing. A tap on the
door and the sound of keys rattling comes from the opposite side of the door.
Father Martinez exits the death chamber and doesn’t look back. Warden Gladstone
gets down to whisper into Ian’s ear. “Look there’s no need to show out. Your
audience isn’t as big as you’d normally like you asshole.” His eyes drill into
the killer bound with his arms out as if he was ready to make snow angels.
“Seems the global blackout is just a little bigger than you being put to
death.” Ian and the Warden catch each other’s gaze. “If the powers down Warden Gladstone
how will the Governor ever call you to spare my life?” The serial killer pouts like
a spoiled child mocking the warden. Gladstone stands back up straightening his
beige suit jacket running his fingers through his crew cut hair. “Yeah don’t
hold your breath convict. Governor Fillmore told me yesterday he wished he
could be here at seven on the dot. He wanted to push the needle into your
eyeball not your IV himself.” Neither man knew that Governor Fillmore was
currently disemboweling the Deputy Governor on the floor of the State Capital
and gulping down her warm intestines as they spoke. The Warden winks down sarcastically
at Ian Lawson. “In about four minutes boy the sun will set on today and your
life.” He strolls back over next to the doctor peering up at the wall the
clock. It was running five or so minuets slow after the power outage. When the
generators kicked back no one had bother to reset the clocks. In prison keeping
clocks set correctly wasn’t a huge priority.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The portly doctor hustles into position he
occupies himself by running a check on the machines monitoring Ian Lawson. The
volume has been turned down on the machines as they are not here to keep track
of a person’s health. Their purpose this evening is to maintain a record of
one’s death. The doctor stands huffing in his rumpled lab coat. Now that he’s
satisfied he squeezes his girth past Lawson coming to a stop behind a chrome
tray with two syringes. He nods “yes” to Warden Gladstone placing a trembling
hand on the tray containing the needles. The Warden acknowledges the doctor
before speaking to the condemned. “Ian Lawson you have been found guilty by a
jury of your peers and sentenced to death by a judge in good standings.” The
man crosses his arms behind his back the well-rehearsed stance is even part of
the pomp and circumstance of the ritual. “Have you any last words to say?” The
Warden pauses briefly scanning Ian Lawson’s face. “If I would have known this
fat fuck would be doin’ me in. I would have never given up willingly.” The
killer scoffs rolling his eyes. “Sheesh …. You’re pathetic.” The Warden is
overcome with the sudden urge to cave Lawson’s head in with one of the trays in
the room. Instead he regains his composure “Proceed doctor.” On the Warden Gladstone’s
orders the sausage fingered doctor takes the first syringe holding it up at eye
level. He pops off the top flicking it with his index finger making sure there
are no air bubbles present. Ian thinks this protocol is odd considering an air
bubble in the needle would take longer to kill him than the drugs in the
syringe. He plunges the syringe into the plump IV. He drives the plunger on the
needle down forcing its contents into the bag draining into Lawson. With no
hesitation the out of shape doctor retrieves the second needle to finish off
the lethal compound. He can already see the rhythmic rise and fall of Lawson’s
chest give way to uneven heaving. As he jabs the inlet on the bag with the
second syringe and along with Warden Gladstone they wait. Gladstone loathes
this part it had always seemed ludicrous to him. Standing idly by like he was
at a social function except everyone struggled to ignore the dying person in
the room. Warden Gladstone watches the minuets tick painfully by on the slow clock
perched on the wall across the room. His mind turns to the people in the
viewing room originally they had expected a full house. Ian Lawson was the
equivalent of a serial killing rock star. He was insidious, evil and claimed to
have murdered over sixty people. Instead there were two people a local reporter
and a woman from one of those tabloid TV shows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Call it Dr. Luta.” Warden Gladstone
instructs the man to his left. Doctor Luta waddles over checking the heart
monitor first. Every line on the screen is flat there were dashes where
Lawson’s blood pressure, heart rate and pulse once were. He hesitates staring
at the body on the table before him. With practiced precision doctor Luta
unhooks the leads running from the monitors to Ian. He checks Ian Lawson’s
pulse and finds none. He then uses a stethoscope dangling from his neck to
listen to the killer’s chest. “No heartbeat, no pulse and no respiration.”
Doctor Luta pulls the scope from his ear and drapes it back across his neck.
“Time of death ………” He looks at the clock unsure of what to say. Gladstone
rolls his eyes in frustration. “Add five minutes Luta and let’s be done with
this. I have a prison full of convicts and more than half my staff didn’t show
because of this damn power outage.” Doctor Luta shoots Gladstone a glaring
stare muttering something under his breath. The thick jowls dangling from his
neck shake like water balloons. He begins to undo the strap hold down the dead
killers arm. Luta stops to check for a pulse not finding one he flicks the
butterfly needle free. He places the dead man’s arm at his side on the gurney.
Doctor Luta was thrilled this execution had gone far smoother than he’d
expected and with less of a turn out. He dutifully goes about removing the
restraints from Ian Lawson’s body. It was past sundown and the good doctor
wanted nothing more than to be locked up tight in condo. The head restraint was
the last one he had to undo. No one was here to claim the body so this would be
an easy one. He had to sign one sheet of paper. After seven days in the prison
morgue Ian Lawson’s body would be unceremoniously buried in an unmarked grave
on the prison grounds. As he comes up from the end of the table Doctor Luta
does a double take. “Did he just move or was that just me?” He asks Warden
Gladstone in disbelief. “Doc I didn’t see a hot damn thing.” Gladstone slaps
his forehead. “Now bag this sack of shit up I have work to do.” A conflicted
doctor Luta presses his hand down on Lawson’s chest and it doesn’t move. He
wants to be one hundred percent sure this lunatic is dead before he frees the
last restraint around the dead man’s head. He looks the body on the table up
and down. Luta notices how peaceful the killer looks peaceful in much the same
way a dead shark does. The doctor hesitates hands shaking noticeably as he
takes Ian Lawson’s head into his hands. Slowly he leans down like scared lover pressing
a down on the serial killer’s chin. Trembling doctor Luta listens for the
sounds of respiration holding perfectly still to feel the tingle of breath on
his ear. Nothing satisfied the man underneath him is dead his hands drop to the
buckle on the head restraints. “He’s dead Warden.” Luta declares cocking his
head up. He unhitches the buckle standing up. “Gotcha bitch!” Lawson lashes out
in a blur his arms ensnaring the startled man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawson’s cryptic words sink into doctor
Luta’s ears while his teeth sink into the pink flesh under his chin. Doctor
Luta’s tries to scream in the death chamber but Ian jams a hand under his chin.
Doctor Luta’s screams of agony are forced back down his throat. Warden
Gladstone clutches his chest falling backwards like a felled tree. Lawson
drives Luta to the floor snatching his head back in an arch. Blood sprays in
thick goblets against the wall like a stepped on ketchup packet. “Woooooooo”
the killer howls past the chunk of flesh in his mouth. Behind him he hears the
sounds of shoes scuffing the white tiled floor. “Don’t go nowhere fat boy.” Ian
demands of the thrashing doctor who is desperately clamping his hands around
the hole in his throat. Ian turns his evil orange flecked eyes to Warden
Gladstone. The man is dragging himself across the floor as his heart stages a
revolt deep within his chest. “Now Warden I don’t know much about what’s going
on here.” Lawson walks towards the terrified man using one hand to swipe blood
from his chin. “One moment I’m cascading joyously down this dark tunnel with
thousands of other wailing condemned folks.” He stops lording over the Warden
who reaches for a red glass covered button marked “Panic Alarm” in bold red
lettering. “Well the next thing I know sure as shit feels like a tornado in
reverse done grabbed hold of me and I gets sucked back into my body.” Warden
Gladstone’s hand moves for the “panic alarm.” “Here let me help you with that.”
Lawson seizes his victim’s beefy hand and crams the squirming fingers into his
mouth. Lawson savagely tears the fingers free chewing them smiling like a kid
who has found a stash of ill-gotten candy. “Yes sir I open my eyes and what do
I see Warden Gladstone?” Lawson throws his hand up in mockery the way a hitchhiker
does. “I see fat boy over there …. “ He points back to the now dead doctor Luta
laying in the widest pool of blood he’s ever seen. “You know the odd thing
Warden?” Lawson’s smile fades as he reaches down grabbing the Warden’s bloodied
lapels. His lips twitch as he slams the Warden flat against the hard tile
floor. Ian Lawson sits on the Warden’s chest straddling the man who is fast
losing the color in his face. “The odd thing is that ole boy’s flesh sudden it
looked better than that cheap shitty steak you done served me earlier.” Lawson
pulls the Warden upwards by his lapels the smile that returns to his face would
make the devil’s blood run cold. “Kinda like yours does now Warden.” Lawson
lets Gladstone’s head bounce off the floor as he slithers backwards over him.
In a flash his rips the man shirt open exposing his hairy heaving stomach. He
dives in like a starving animal biting up a clump of meat then driving his
hands into the same wound. Just like that Ian Lawson claims yet another victim
disemboweling the struggling man. He rips at the gaping cavity greedily
shoving handfuls into his mouth. He hears a loud bump from the other side of
the viewing glass but he can only see his own reflection. Which oddly enough he
isn’t shocked to see himself covered in blood after all this wasn’t his first
rodeo. The orange glitter like sparkles dancing around his eyes do however
fascinate him. Then come another crash from the viewing area. Lawson rises to
his feet swallowing a mouth full he scans the room finding a small oxygen tank
under the gurney he was strapped to. He takes up the aluminum container
flipping it around. He is aware that he is hungry once more but the cold dead
bodies on the floor no longer interest him. They are like lunch meat left on a
counter to long on a warm summer afternoon. “Knock … “he smashes the canister
into the mirror coated safety glass. A spider wed pattern appears instantly as
Lawson continues his assault. “ … Knock.” His blows comes fast a furious the
glass soon gives way. A large jagged hole appears in the center of the glass.
Lawson pokes his head through in the darkness he can see a form hunched over
another. He recognizes the thin pale man in the black uniform feasting on a
twitching woman. “Hobart” He spits as the gangly man turns to face him. His
face is a crimson mask blood coats everything from his blond buzz cut to his
goatee. “Hey Lawson you too?” The prison guard laughs licking blood from his
fingers. “I was in this fog kept trying to bite people. I could see myself but
I couldn’t stop what I was doing. So they locked me in the infirmary dude and
it didn’t go so well for them.” Hobart lets out another cackle. Lawson’s eyes
glow with a murderous rage. “You turned men into a damn zombie you son of a
bitch and I’m gonna kick the shit outta you for that you hear me?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> This week we find ourselves making a quick pit stop on death row. We tuned into the last minutes of a serial killer named Ian Lawson's hate filled life. These events takes us back to the day after "The Event." Could these events impacts the James family's quest for survival or are we just passing through? We say see you the week of July 28th for Chapter 37 to learn more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Living Dark</span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-24146836213305395382013-06-30T23:58:00.000-07:002013-06-30T23:58:52.533-07:00Chapter 35: Laying Our Cards on the Table
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Chapter
35: Laying Our Cards on the Table<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey
…. Hey James clan you out there?” White Magic’s voice echoes out of the
handheld CB. Around the musty room in the basement of the church the survivors
begin to stir. The first thing they notice is the Sin Preacher’s voice is no
longer crackling from the speakers overhead. “Yeah … yeah we’re here Magic. How
are you holding up how’s your face buddy?” Medina fires questions into the
radio without waiting for an answer. She wipes the sleep from her eyes waiting
for Magic to respond. “I’m fine guys.” Laughter spills from the radio. “I only
lost like one tooth.” He updates everyone on his health since sustaining a
fierce beating at the hands of Brother Gustavo. “Hey who changed my hydroponic
pharmaceutical garden into a regular garden?” Medina chuckles at the question.
“I did figured you could use some food instead of all that weed.” She waits for
him to let loose but before he does there’s a robust knock on the door. Private
Lockett springs to her feet awakened from a deep restless sleep. “Yeah what?”
She shouts at the door looking back at Ben James then back at the door. She
checks her constant companion the rifle slung over her shoulder. “Time to get
up we are assigning chores.” The deep voice calls back ensuring everyone who
may have been sleeping is now awake. Sara knows the owner of said voice is the
man called “The Colonel.” They had all agreed if there was going to be trouble
it would be led by him at the Sin Preacher’s direction. “We’ll be out in a
second relax.” She makes it known to the brute in no uncertain terms. “Yo I’m
all for helping out these folks for saving us but I say we blow this joint by
this evening.” She speaks in a more guarded tones directed at the group behind
her. “Well get a move on we are waiting.” The Colonel speaks causing everyone
to stare back at the door. “He was listening.” Sara’s eyes narrow at the
thought. “Hey Magic we have to go the church folk are summoning us.” Medina
slightly hunched over whispers into the radio. “Hey I don’t know what y’all got
planned but them mofo’s was off before the zombies came a knockin’” White Magic
offers is assessment of the members of The First New Faith Baptist Church. Ben
stands up stretching “Tell him we’ll be coming back to his place initially.”
Medina shakes her head in agreement “Magic the big guy says we are coming back
to you place for now.” She raises up her grimy head bandage coming undone from
the edges. “If that’s ok with you?” Private Medina doesn’t just assume they are
welcomed. “Geez I guess.” He tells them his tone is less than enthusiastic. “Will
y’all leave my weed alone this time?” He asks. Medina looks around the room at
the people preparing to leave. “Tell him we can compromise.” Anne James speaks
up while smiling at her husband. “Alright Magic we’ll talk later get some rest.
We will try to get there as soon as possible.” Private Medina relays across the
radio. “We have to go!” She speaks snapping the knob into its off position. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey is it wise for us to keep toting our
guns around this is still a church?” Carson pulls the attention in the room
squarely onto his broad shoulders. Lockett having just completed her routine
weapons check flips off her rifle’s safety. “You can leave yours if you want
Carson.” She smirks grabbing the doorknob her head turning back to the group.
She twists the handle pulling the door open quickly. “Jesus Christ!” Sara yelps
stumbling backwards her hand instinctively moves her pistol. Towering there in
the doorway hunched over is Brother Gustavo. His face flashes from a blank
slate to confused mask of anger. His arms stretch for Private Lockett like gangly
octopus tentacles. Brother Gustavo’s spidery fingers catch Sara by the collar.
He draws her face slowly up towards his. “Thou shall not take the Lord’s name
in vain …” Gustavo’s words are cut off mid-sentence. Ben clamps down on the Ice
Cream Man’s arm like a vise. “You’re the voice we heard in the carport
yesterday aren’t you?” Ben James has spent a lifetime working with his hands.
His massive arm flexes and a ripple passes from his arm muscles up Brother
Gustavo’s frail arm like a current of electricity. “Yes I am ...” Brother
Gustavo grimaces letting Private Lockett slip from his grasp. “I’ve heard about
you my good man.” Ben speaks his words low and hot. “Seems I have you to thank
for reuniting my family but you also made a mess of my host’s face in the
process.” Ben relaxes slightly. “That’s the only reason I haven’t broken your
hand yet and thrown you through a wall.” Ben gently nudges Sara aside which she
doesn’t take kindly to. Having to be saved is not something she is comfortable
with. “Take your hands of him now!” The Colonel growls bulldozing into the room
from behind Brother Gustavo. Sara takes the opportunity to reassert herself
into the fray. She steps forward blocking the burly man’s path. “Hold tight ole
Hoss.” She says sarcastically. The man stops looking Private Lockett up and
down. In his hand minus three of its fingers he clutches two crumpled sheets of
paper. “Little girl you have got to be kidding me.” He offers up with a dismissive
grin. “I will break you in half.” He spits locking his cold vacant blue eyes on
her. “Doubt that …” Carson says his voice is tense with anger as he yanks
Lockett from behind. He immediately places himself where Sara had once stood
holding her ground. The odds favored Carson a tad more should this situation
spiral out of control. “Mrs. James I apologize I was simply eager to speak with
you is all.” Brother Gustavo’s pleading eyes wash over Ben searching for his
wife in the room. This causes Ben to release his grip but he doesn’t drop his
guard. “Brother Gustavo I don’t understand what you want.” Anne weaves her way
through the bodies clogging the doorway. “Just wanted a word with you is all
Ma’am and then this young lady here she took the Lord’s name in vain.” Brother
Gustavo absently wipes his throbbing hand across his mouth. “So that gives you
the right to put your hands on a woman?” Ben interjects into the conversation.
“No … No … No.” Gustavo stammers defensively. “My zeal for The Lord sometimes
gets the best of me.” Ben doesn’t like this man and now that he’s met the
legendary “Brother Gustavo” he likes him even less. Out of curiosity Ben James
peers back at his children Anne had long since told him that his temper scared
“their kids.” Belinda sits curled in Chip’s lap her eyes never leaving the
ghoulish butler looking man dressed in white. Brandon’s positioned behind
Chip’s wheelchair glancing over his big brother’s shoulder. The Colonel sighs
loudly rolling his eyes. “Can we get on with this the rest of us have things to
do and a Tribulation to prepare for?” He squeezes his big body back out the
doorway parting the gawking crowd of church members. “Brother Gustavo I told
you that you’d have to learn how to apply the Lord’s word.” Anne moves in to
face her husband placing a reassuring hand on his dark cheek. She finally
manages to break Ben’s hundred yard voodoo hate stare. Ben looks at his wife
her beautiful face tilted up to his. He realizes again how lucky he was to have
her end of the world or not. “It’s ok babe.” She tells him laying her head upon
his heaving chest. “Brother Gustavo we can talk later before we ….. “ Anne
trails off choosing to guard her words rather that reveal their true plans.
“Excellent Mrs. James I look forward to it.” Brother Gustavo smiles stepping
back with a bow. The doorway clear he directs the survivors out of the room
like a maître d pointing to the main communal area of the church’s basement.
Ben doesn’t like this man nor does he trust the way this ‘Brother Gustavo’
simply dismisses him in the presence of his wife. Sara is the first to exit
their cramped accommodations she feels Benjamin James clap her across the back.
When she looks back he is smiling at her. Carson moves out next and Ben gives
him the same acknowledgement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright gather round and hush up people.”
Colonel calls out positioning himself in the center of the common area. Ben
leads his group into the room packing together with the other survivors. He
points to the tables still lined with food and motions over to Bianca. The
woman carrying the baby weaves through the densely packed people. She begins to
secure food for all the children. “First off we survived yet another night
thanks to the grace of God Amen.” The crowd chimes in with a rousing chorus of
“Amen.” He turns about making sure he has the group’s full attention. Sara can
tell the man has spent many years giving orders and having other jump when he
gives the word. “We also have to thank The Sin Preacher. As you all heard over
the church’s PA system. She spent the night in fervent prayer beseeching the
Lord for his mercy and grace.” He starts to clap crushing the paper between his
large damaged hands. “It worked the Unclean did not bring their plague to our
door. She put the mark of the lamb on our doorway.” Colonel makes a vague
biblical reference to drive his point home. The crowd chants and wails the
noise rising up to the dank basement rafters in the basement. “Shhhhhh ….” He
smiles attempting to stifle the noise in the room. “Alright now let’s keep it
down Pastor is trying to rest people.” Raising his voice admonishing those
around him. “Our first order of business before we assign task inside the
church. We need volunteers to labor alongside Brother Gustavo outside the
gate.” He falls silent as does the rest of the room. People fain distraction
one man finds now to be the appropriate time to tie his boots. “Now don’t
forget folks we have to get this done for everyone’s safety. So don’t everybody
jump at once. Colonel chuckles. “It’ll only be a few hours this morning ladies
and gents and if I don’t start seeing volunteer’s. Ole Colonel is gonna have to
draft some of you fine folks. The Preacher won’t be pleased if she wakes up and
this aint done.” “Dad.” Chip tugs his father’s arm. “Yeah son …” Ben kneels down
keeping his eyes on the man in charge. “Didn’t you say we were going to be
around here for a few more hours today?” Ben looks confused hunching his
shoulders. “Yeah Son and … “Ben doesn’t finish his sentence. “I’ll go with
Brother Gustavo.” Chip shouts out lifting Belinda from his lap placing her on
the floor. “Woooo …. Wooooo now son the hell you will.” Ben words haven’t
cleared his mouth as he steps into the path of Chip’s wheelchair. “Ok so let me
get this straight.” Colonel hold his hands up to quite the murmurs. “The men of
First New Faith are such fraidy cats. They gonna send a boy to do a man’s jobs
and a boy in a wheelchair no less.” Ben turns his eyes squinting filled with
hate. “Watch your mouth hillbilly.” The people between the two men part like
the Red Sea. Colonel takes several bold strides towards Benjamin. He meant to
challenge this man who dared square his shoulders at him in his house. Ben
doesn’t flinch holding his ground as the retired soldier bares down upon him. A
blur passes Ben Chip comes to a stop sideways between his father and the
Colonel. Chip points a gloved hand at the missing fingers on the Colonel’s left
hand. “We crippled can do anything. You most of all should know that.” Chip
tosses his frizzy brown hair from his face grinning. “Night before last me and
my baby sister held off an army of those damn zombies until day light.” He says
leaving out the seizure, the crushing fear and the part where they almost died.
“Can any of you ‘real men’ top that?” Chips asks making air quotes using his
fingers. “Didn’t think so.” The room is still Chip can see his mother move to
his father’s side. She takes Ben Senior’s hands in hers to calm him. “I accept
his offer.” A voice cascades over the crowd from the back of the gathering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brother Gustavo moves up the crowd giving way
as he passes. People avoid the quirky man as if he were one of “unclean” undead
himself. “This young man is industrious and shows great courage. The rest of
you cowards stay here with the women and children while we men tend to the
fields.” Brother Gustavo throws out his words like daggers into the men sitting
slovenly around the room. He comes to Chip hand extended “Brother Gustavo
pleased to meet you son.” Chip shakes the man’s hand. “Benjamin James Junior sir
pleased to meet you as well he responds. “I wanna go too daddy.” Brandon shouts
skipping past his parents. Ben catches the boy by the back of his shirt lifting
him from the ground. “Hold on Champ I haven’t decided your brother is going
yet.” He places his youngest son down at his feet. “However I know there’s no
way in world you’re going.” “Awwwww …“Brandon moans comically drawing laughter
from the crowd. “Mr. James I assure that my truck is safe and I will allow no
harm to come to your son. He will be under the protection of the Lord All
Mighty first and myself second.” Brother Gustavo presents himself to the
couple. “Dad … “Chip speaks up causing his father to look past the man before
him. Ben sees Chip holding the pistol he’d given to the boy in one hand and his
“Lucky Mallet” in the other. “Do not let these pompous fool sit in judgment of
your son Mr. James. The boy wants to pull his own weight.” Brother Gustavo
pleads with the James’. “Therefore doth my father love me, because I lay down
my life, that I might take it again John chapter ten verse seventeen.” Ben
pulls in a deep breath slapping his hand to his face. He longs for the
sanctuary and solitude of his basement shelter. It seems like years have passed
since he’d dwelt in the relative comfort of his own home. He looks down on Anne
through his fingers like a kid peering out a screen door. Anne bobs her head in
agreement and Ben reluctantly relents. “I’ll go with them.” Carson jumps in the
conversation. “I’d love the fresh air.” All eyes turn to Brother Gustavo. “Fine
Colonel I bid you farewell I have all the help I need. We go forth boldly in
the Lord Thy God assures our safety.” With a smile that completely unnerves Ben
Brother Gustavo bows slightly from hunched over stance. “Thank you both.” Now he
faces the members of the church. The same town’s people who benefit the most
from his dangerous self-appointment tasks. Yet they forced him to sleep in his
shed out back rather than allowing him in their midst. Fixing The Sin
Preacher’s enforcers with look of disdain. Brother Gustavo scans the room
looking for the men as he shouts. “Understand, ye brutish among the people: and
ye fools, when will ye be wise? Psalms chapter ninety four verse eight.” He
departs the room with Carson and Chip in tow. Chip takes the opportunity to
stop his chair in front of his parents. They come down to hug their eldest
child. Soon Chip feels Brandon’s arms encircle his neck and B moves in planting
a kiss on his cheek. “He scares me Chip.” She whispers the way all little girls
do moving her entire body in an overly exaggerated motion. “I will be fine baby
sis.” Chip tells her looking up at his parents. “Are you sure about this son?”
Ben clenches his jaw as he speaks. Chip shakes his head signaling his
commitment. “You watch that creepy bastard you hear me?” Ben whispers. Private
Carson comes into the discussion. “We will Sir and I will watch Chip’s back
too.” Chip cuts his eyes back at Carson. He stares at the boy who is slightly
older than he is with envy standing over him on his strong piston like legs. “Yeah
don’t be so sure big boy.” Chip propels himself forward gliding through the
crowd with ease. “I might save your butt.” Ben and Anne watch their son head
out of the church. “We just sent our son that I took my time to rescue off with
a zealot in a battle equipped ice cream truck to do what Anne?” He begins to
clench and unclench his meaty hands. “Tell me honey what exactly did you say to
that lunatic that he wants to talk to you so bad.” Ben’s head slowly cranes
down until he and his wife are staring into each other’s eyes. As Ben watches
Chip and Carson depart he catches a glimpse of the Miriam standing almost out
of sight. She is wearing a white robe Ben guesses this is what she wore when
she preached. Miriam summons Ben to her with a discreet wave of her finger
almost as a lover would. Ben looks about and walks toward the Pastor’s office.
He feels warmth slip into the palm of his rough hand. A quick look back reveals
his wife holding his hand keeping stride hot on his heels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They turn the corner heading into the dimly
lit office. The Sin preacher ushers them in standing behind the door. “Come in
please.” She says hand gesturing in the direction of two chairs sitting on the
opposite side of her desk. Ben pulls his wife’s chair out like a gentleman and
waits for Miriam to take her seat. “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. James I hope it’s
not too early for you? I wanted to speak with you before I get some rest.”
Miriam leans back her chair squeaks loudly. “We are fine Miriam how are you? I
can’t believe you preached from Sundown to Sunup” Anne responds she had heard
most of the pastor’s sermon in passing. It seemed to Anne the woman had a
decidedly Old Testament apocalyptic view of the Bible and it reflected in her
sermon. “Yes Anne it was very refreshing to cry out to the Lord and have him
respond.” She grins somehow managing to show humility and arrogance blended
into a cocktail of self-righteousness. “Your sermon was full tilt fire and
brimstone preacher.” Anne cracks a thin weary smile. “Yes …. Yes Ma’am I
believe the Old Testament is the way to lead the world back from the brink.”
Anne’s head moves up and down slowly. “And so you know that was the way I
preached before The Rapture too.” “Do you really believe we have just lived
through the Rapture Miriam?” Anne pounces on the word like an apex predator.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">“The reason I ask is there’s a lot of things that
don’t fit what we know of the Rapture.” Ben watches as Miriam’s brow furrows
deeply. ”How so Mrs. James?” She says through her thin fingers spread out
before her eyes like a church steeple. “Well for starters my children ….. Any
children for that matter why are they still here?” The Sin Preacher and Anne
James engage in a good ole fashioned stare down. “Mrs. James do you realize
that we who are born of men are born into sin? Do you believe that the purity
of a child is derived from its parents?” Miriam rises from her seated position.
She strikes Ben as the type of person who stands when they speak because she
believes conveys authority. “Yes I do know all men are born of sin Miriam but
Christ died for our sins and they were forgiven.” Anne briefly cuts her eyes at
her husband who is sitting like a goof with an awkward yet comical smile
plastered on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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know Mrs. James you and I are alike.” The Sin Preacher begins to move around
the desk sitting just in front of Anne. “There was a time when society would
not accept us. Me being a female preacher and you with your …. “The word hangs
in the air as Anne moves to the edge of her seat. Ben knows from past
experiences with his wife the use of the term “apex predator.” Will morph from
a metaphor to a reality in his wife if she deems a line has been crossed.
“Marriage and its byproducts.” Anne is on her feet as the last syllable slips
from the librarian like woman’s lips. “Well this just went to shit.” Ben thinks
to himself. One thing about his wife he knew above all else. Nothing would draw
her blood to a boil faster than mentioning the kids in a less than positive light.
Except pointing out their interracial marriage as if were somehow or another
less valid than any other. Ben goes to stand he meets his wife’s hand firmly on
his shoulder as she shoves him back down into his seat. “Mr. and Mrs. James I
mean no disrespect Miriam holds her hands up the pale palms turned outward.
“All I am saying is if you call everything written in the Bible with a rigid
eye. Then neither of us would be in the positions God has bestowed up on us.”
Anne lets the woman have her say even as her tongue fights to loose itself.
“You know what I think Ms. Sin Preacher? I think you are no different than
those horrible people from that God awful church that protest those children’s
funerals.” Anne is shaking with rage and now nose to nose with Miriam. The Sin
Preacher pushes back from Anne James. She walks briskly around the desk
snatching up a worn brown Bible and her gold rimmed glasses she clears her
throat. Miriam’s left hand is shaking noticeably as she places her glasses on
and starts to read aloud. “And this shall be the plague wherewith the Lord will
smite all the people that have fought against Jerusalem; their flesh shall
consume away while they stand upon their feet and their eyes shall consume away
in their hole, and their tongue shall consume away in their mouth.” The cadence
in her voice increases until it is ricocheting of the drywall all around them.
“And it shall come to pass in that day, that a great tumult from the Lord shall
be among them; and they shall lay hold everyone on the hand of his neighbor and
his hand shall rise up against the hand of his neighbor.” The woman snaps the
Bible close in Anne’s face. “Zechariah chapter fourteen verses twelve and
thirteen. Now you tell me Mrs. James you stand there and tell me that is not
what is happening just outside this very church as we speak. We have been
judged and found unworthy Mrs. James.” The Sin Preacher shouts slamming the
Bible down on the desktop. “Say what you will about me Mrs. James but unlike
you I am not running to live. I have stood my ground and protected the sheep. I
give shelter to those unworthy in God’s eyes. This includes you and your group
along with that descendant of Lot you have brought into my church.” Anne replays
decades of Sunday school and church services in her mind. She knows the
reference to Lot but can’t place it. Then it dawns on Anne “she is talking
about Jamal and his Middle Eastern heritage.” “This is my flock I tend these
sheep.” The woman rolls on in her impromptu sermon. “Here I am the Shepherd.”
Anne is breathing through her nose only. Her nostrils flare out with each burst
of air that escapes her lungs. “The Lord …. Is my Shepherd.” Anne stabs her
words like a sword into the heart of The Sin Preacher’s bold claims. Turning
she leaves the office without uttering another word. Oh her way out Anne
somehow manages to slam the plywood door far louder than Ben would have
believed possible. Ben sits glued to his chair with the look of a man whose
wife has just insulted his boss at the company picnic. “Clearly you haven’t
given any thought to staying with us as members of my inner circle of trust?”
She folds her hands in front of her face as she takes her seat once again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"> “Mr.
James I rescued you …. Brought you and your family here sheltered you all
shared with you and for what?” The Sin Preacher slams one hand down causing the
desk beneath to rattle. Ben attempts to speak but Miriam stifles his words with
an accusing finger. “You rebuff my offer, your wife insults me and my church.
If you want to leave that is fine Mr. James but you owe me and you owe The
First New Faith.” Ben sits up straight in the small chair. “I know that your
son and the other young man from you party went to assist Brother Gustavo with
chores. I have taken this into consideration as I have prayed over your debt to
this house of God.” “We appreciate what you have done for us Miriam.” Ben takes
this time to speak realizing he was letting The Sin Preacher take the upper
hand in the discussion. “We would like to leave and I humbly ask that you allow
us to use a car which we will return.” He was just wishing someone else would
take the lead in their quest to survive. After watching his wife and Miriam go
at it. Ben James slaps himself mentally he’d spent his entire life in charge of
his own destiny. His mind races back to everything he had done before “The
Event” and then after. “Anne was right and so was Sara we need to go.” Ben
thinks White Magic’s place is a far better shelter. The tactless dreadlocked
pot dealer was a far better host. “Tell me how we can repay you and the church
Miriam. We will gladly do whatever you ask in order that we can leave before
sundown?” The Sin Preacher’s face goes cold she removes her glasses in one
swift motion. Exhaling loudly the petite woman rears back in her chair closing
her eyes. The Sin Preacher rubs the bridge of her nose with her head tilted
back facing the unfinished ceiling. “These end days are hard on everyone Mr.
James.” Her head still pointed upwards. “Supplies are extremely difficult to
come by they are the key to life. I like you I respect what you are trying to
do Mr. James from a survival standpoint and from a biblical standpoint.” She
brings her dead down like drawbridge lowering itself one tick at a time. Ben
suddenly sees the woman before him in a different light. In same the way one
does when a criminal dramatically rips off their ski mask in a movie. The Sin
Preacher stands her eyes never leaving Ben’s. She drives both palms down onto
the desk. Miriam leans as far across the desk as she can on her short legs.
“Life is survival, survival is life Mr. James.” Her teeth curl back over her
lips in a snarl. ”I will pray the Lord is merciful and protects you and yours.
Once payment is rendered you free to leave First New Faith and never look back.
You owe me Mr. James as payment you will give me the infant and the pagan from
your party.” Ben falls backwards from the chair as if the words have a
concussive blast force behind them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">First of all we apologize for the delay with Chapter 35. Sometimes real life has a way of really messing things up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">Now as far as the story goes what else can we say? Chip and Private Carson are out helping Brother Gustavo do God knows what. Ben James has literally just had the wind taken out of his sails as he learns the Sin Preacher truly isn't what she pretends to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">We will see you the week of July 14th for Chapter 36. So hold on tight, read, like and share!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;">The Living Dark </span></div>
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Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-12855346440819168362013-06-09T22:18:00.000-07:002013-06-09T22:19:57.585-07:00Chapter 34: Reunited<span lang="EN"></span><br />
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Chapter 34: Reunited </div>
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People filter in from the offices down the corridor to have an audience with The Sin Preacher. This side of the church has no back exit unlike where the preacher and her “Inner Circle” dwell. The only way out is back the way they’d come. “Good Morning everyone we have visitors.” She calls out motioning those gathering around to come in closer. Sara takes notice that there aren’t any tables lined with food and clothes on this side of the church. The mood in this section of First New Faith is subdued when compared with the family picnic atmosphere they’d left. She also notices what she terms “a splash more of color” among this grouping. There is a cross section of the surrounding towns and cities taking refuge here. Private Lockett catches a few rogue stares at her uniform and more disturbingly at her weapons. Slowly those who are sitting about break into hopeful smiles their eyes upturned towards the preacher. “Beginning tomorrow morning we will be assigning chores after breakfast.” Ben didn’t know what to think about the scene before him. And why weren’t they using the rest of the church to give these people more room to breath? “I just wanted to give you all a quick update on our current situation. I picked up a few more survivors today and we have had very little activity thus far today from the unclean.” A few cheers go up along with sporadic high fives around the room after The Sin Preacher speaks. “Now for those of you that are new … “She turns to Benjamin and Sara. “We need to make sure we are as quite as possible from sunset to sunrise.” She pivots like a human sprinkler head making sure to address as man people as possible.” I will also be preaching all night from dusk until dawn. We will have the church PA system on but turned very low.” Ben’s first thought was “I’m not planning on being here at sundown.” “Miriam …. Um pastor.” Ben interrupts he decides not to broach the subject of leaving just yet. “Why aren’t you guys using the rest of the church …. “ Ben points thick finger up at the stained ceiling. “You know upstairs?” People in the crowd look down as if they had thought of the question but were afraid to ask. “Mr. James …” The Sin Preacher turns to face him. “The sanctuary is for worship and we do not enter unless we are engaged in worship or in my case preaching.” Ben suddenly feels small in the woman’s presence even though he dwarfs her in reality. “Good day everyone and God bless.” She says exiting the room with Ben, Lockett, and Brother Deacon trailing her. A few minuets later Ben finds himself along with Lockett reunited with his kids, Carson and Jamal. “Everyone please make yourselves comfortable I must attend to some things but we will talk in a bit.” With that she saunters down the hallway back towards her office.</div>
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Several hours later the cluster of survivors has separated themselves from the cliquish workings of First New Faith. Ben is been anxiously awaiting the Sin Preacher’s return. So far the group has managed to hold him at bay. They are aware of the late hour but aren’t overly concerned knowing they are at the very least secure and so is everyone else at White Magic’s place. They are holding up an office converted into a dormitory style room. Chip and Belinda doze softly on a beat up old orange couch. “We are relatively safe here so if we have to wait until morning then so be it. “Sara says intentionally keeping her voice low. She doesn’t want to be heard through the paper thin walls as she talks. “As long as White Magic makes it back safely they will be fine at the house. “ “That’s the problem Lockett what if he didn’t and he turns? “ Ben interjects. There is a knock at the door Cody nods to Lockett then opens the door. Colonel is standing there filling the doorway with his bulky frame. “Crap Lockett wasn’t kidding.” Private Carson thinks. “The Sin Preacher requests your immediate audience in her office.” His hands are folded over his barrel chest. “All of you.” He overly emphasizes the last part of his statement. He spins on his heels walking away. Jamal peeks out of the door Cody Carson bumps him from behind. He stumbles into the hallway followed by Carson who takes long strides falling in step with the brute known as “Colonel.” Sara moves in closely Jamal trails looking back waiting on Ben James. It takes Ben a bit longer he has to rouse his children. Add to Ben’s list of chores he has to help Chip into his wheelchair. Jamal is ready to go back to lend a hand to his new family when Chip wheels around the corner. The boy prods his wheelchair forward his dad bringing up the rear. Ben is cradling a half sleeping Belinda in the safety of his beefy arms. He is the last to come around the corner running into a log jam of people. He can see everyone’s back as they pack the doorway of the Sin Preacher’s spacious office. “Mom!” As Chip exclaims the stationary bodies’ part like the Red Sea for the boy. Chip rolls through Ben trots by before the opening closes. “Chip …” Anne James cries out. The pair embraces Anne coming down to her knees to hug her son nearly pulling him from his wheelchair. “Daddy …daddy!” Ben sees his baby boy Brandon breaking away from the three way hug. The boy leaps into his dad’s arms Belinda’s adorable hazel eyes open wide. “B-Rand!” She shouts the sets about kissing the boy on his cheek. Anne rises at the sound of her baby’s voice. The tears in her eyes now spill down her cheek. “Oh God my baby ….” Ben shifts the girl in his arms angling her out towards her mother. Anne is running towards her daughter’s out stretched arms. “Mommy … Mommy … Mommy!” The girl calls out. Anne James latches onto the girl pulling her from her father’s arms. She spins around in place with the tiny girl covering her in joyful kisses. The tears Anne cries are of sheer unadulterated happiness. She stops staring at her burly husband she can see he is trying desperately to hold back his emotions. Anne steps forward moving right into her husband’s arms kissing him deeply. “Thank you Benjamin James ….” She pulls back breathlessly. “Thank you for saving our babies.” Ben looks down his chest hitching. “Baby all I did was and go get them Ben Junior did all the real work.” He tells her not out of modesty but amazement. “It wasn’t me honey it was all junior baby and the story he has to tell you.” Ben trails off. “Well it will show you how strong our boy truly is. I am in awe of him Anne I truly am.” Anne looks back to her son the family comes together in the center of the room oblivious to everyone else. Medina comes over to her unit mates exchanging slaps on the shoulder. Jamal smiles politely at Bianca who moves into the circle with the James family. “What a truly blessed occasion and proof of the power of God.” The Sin Preacher blurts out. Once again she has the attention of all present. “James family and friends welcome one and all to the First New Faith Baptist Church. Hopefully the discussion about leaving us can wait until morning now Mr. James. The hour of the day is late and we don’t want to compromise your safety or ours.” Ben gazes down at his wife and daughter. His eyes scan his boys then Bianca and the rest of the group. They look exhausted and at least they are safe and together again. “Miriam I believe that can wait until morning as you suggested.” Ben tells her Miriam claps her hands together with a smile. “Excellent we will make things more formal in the morning. Now if you will all excuse me I have to prepare myself for tonight’s sermon.” Anne looks perplexed. “Ma’am if you’re going to have a sermon tonight my family and I need to give thanks.” Anne squeezes Belinda in her arms. </div>
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The Sin Preacher pushes her glasses up with her index finger. She grins bashfully. “Please Mrs. James call me Miriam.” The women walk to each other the shake hands politely. Anne breaks the silence glancing back at her heroic hubby. “We feel obligated to praise the Lord tonight. He has delivered us from evil no two ways about it.” The Sin Preacher takes in the crowd around her. “Mrs. James I am truly touched but my all night sermons are not for the congregation.” She stands before Anne beaming. “They are my penitence part of the duty I have inherited to lead my flock in the ways of the Lord.” She places a hand on Bianca’s shoulder as she stands next to Anne. “What a gorgeous baby Ma’am.” She tells the recently widowed mother. “I preach all night in order that God may hear the voice of his child and place his protection around his house. It’s exhausting but serving the Lord and leading men usually is.” With that The Sin Preacher dismisses everyone in the room. “Mr. James will you and Sara hang back with me for a moment please?” Miriam turns to her flat footed subordinates. The men stand about smirking amongst themselves. Colonel kneads a damp toothpick back and forth between his unevenly spaced teeth. The large man fills up the room like a piece of borrowed furniture. He has a smug looks of satisfaction etched on his face. “You may all leave as well.” The men’s faces all droop as they are dismissed by the Sin Preacher. Lockett looks between Carson and Medina her eyes imploring “Save me from this bitch. “ The young soldier is guarded she knows the preacher mistrusts her which puts them both on equal footing. Ben has his eyes locked on his wife’s face. Anne doesn’t want to let her husband go their family has spent too much time apart. Ben senses his spouse’s hesitation “Honey please give me a few seconds?” Anne looks hurt stung by Ben’s words. He reassures her with a comforting hug burring her in his thick arms. Anne relents watching this mysterious woman’s hold over the men around her. She knows that she has to guard her husband against this strange woman’s manipulative wiles. Then a light flickers on in Anne’s mind as if she is waking up from the seductive trance of a hypnotist or the song of a Siren. Here is Brother Gustavo‘s puppeteer slyly working in plain sight. Lockett rotates around to face The Sin Preacher placing a hand defiantly on her hip. She keeps a gloved hand wrapped around the grip of her assault rifle. “Hey guys show them back to the room we were in earlier.” Ben instructs Jamal and Carson as the group of survivors exits the room. Three completely different people stand there with but one thing in common. They have all managed to survive “The Event” and the subsequent chaos that has befallen the world. Miriam walks closer in her meticulously clean office that smells slightly damp like a well kept basement. “I want to ask you both a favor.” She stares at Ben her head pivoting slowly almost mechanically over to Sara‘s face. The Sin Preacher can see Ben is far less defensive than Sara. Miriam seizes in on Ben focusing her words in his general direction. “Now that God has brought you and your family back together by the hands of Brother Gustavo. I would like you two to consider coming into my inner circle.” Lockett rolls her eyes which Ben realizes she must do subconsciously. However when she sees the look on Ben’s face she becomes concerned. He has the gleam of a man about to be offered a promotion and the big corner office by his boss. She is panics “He’s falling for this shit” her mind screams while she scratches her head comically. Miriam moves in close extending a hand. She touches a shoulder on each of them with a slight bob of her head. “You don’t have to answer me tonight. I want you, your friends and your family to enjoy our hospitality.” Miriam squeezes Ben’s shoulder letting her hand slide off Sara‘s. “Take time we’ll talk in tomorrow after I rest up.” Stepping back Miriam takes a mental snapshot of each of the brown faces looking at her. Ben smiles almost gushing but Sara tugging his elbow has already made to leave the room. Ben snatches away from Sara angrily stomping his feet. There is nothing odder than watching a full grown football player sized man throw a temper tantrum. The pair exits the pastor’s office separately. She is finally left alone to her own devices the woman retreats into her own thoughts. She looks up at the ceiling moving behind the desk picking up her Bible. She scans around the spacious windowless office. The woman’s eyes beam one would think there were still people gathered about the office. Her cot sits in pressed into a corner unused today so much had happened that she hadn’t planned. She needed a moment alone with God to cry to him for his mercy and guidance. Tonight would test her pushing her faith to its limits but if she was successful. The Sin Preacher would rewrite the Book of Revelations. Changing forever they way Christians and the world saw the Rapture. From outside barley audible in the distance the roar of Brother Gustavo’s monstrous ice cream truck. “Good.” She remarks out loud to the empty office as her time draws nearer. Miriam runs her hand over the ancient intercom equipment. She traces the cracked black cord snaking from the mic as it trails over the edge of her desk. The old cord drifts skyward like a black spider web disappearing into the rafters. Soon Miriam would see if her words and faith were powerful enough to keep the unclean wolves at bay.</div>
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“Ok so we are all agreed?” Private Carson speaks under his breath in the cramped room. Private Lockett has taken up post her back to the flimsy door. This way if anyone were to attempt to gain access to the windowless office they would rouse her. “We leave as soon as we get our bearings tomorrow.” He asks for answers from those around him. “Mr. James what do you think?” Carson looks to their undisputed leader. “Umm … “The husky man stammers. “Mr. James please tell me you’re not buying this chick’s bullshit?” Sara mutters from across the room. She turns to eye the flimsy door she’s propped on. There is a visible gap between the door and the joist where she can see a thin sliver of the outer hallway. “No offense big man but you looked like you were ready to ask for her autograph.” Ben swallows a lump in his throat scanning the room his eyes landing sheepishly on his wife. Anne James folds her arms across her chest. She strikes that prototypical pose a woman does where addressing the idea of her man’s affections for another woman. Every married man knows “the pose.” It means you have about ten seconds to explain yourself or catch all sorts of matrimonial hell. “I … I ….” he blurts fumbling over his tongue. “So far” Ben thinks “not so good.” “I just think we should hear her out. I mean imagine if we have found a secured place to hunker down and ride this thing out.” Anne is less worried about her husband’s amorous intentions than she is about his gullibility. “But at what price Benjamin James?” Anne crawls from the tangle of her children over to her husband’s side. “You would have her subjugate you for a ’safe’ place to lay your head?” Anne stands to her full height but even sitting in a folding chair her man is taller than she is. Ben takes her hands gently in his work calloused paws. “No honey I wouldn’t but for you and the kids I would.” Suddenly all of the air is sucked from the room. Ben’s head hangs low Anne takes her husband’s head in her hand. “Honey you have done fine … done fine by all of us.” She nods around gaining the approval of those whom her husband had collected on his post-apocalyptic journey. “Ben … “Bianca Fullerton places her hand on his wide back. She rubs in a circular motion cradling her infant in her other arm. “Carl told me when he got home that morning after he got bit that we should have stayed with you guys.” Her face contorts emotions long pinned up along with tears burst out. “I know you and Chip …..” He can hear the phlegm clogging her throat. “I … I know you and Chip killed him that night. I also know you had to do what you did to protect us.” Anne squeezes down onto her husband’s broad pier of a lap. She was mad alright mad at this “preacher” who made her husband doubt himself. This woman comes bearing her “Surviving the Apocalypse Made Easy With Jesus Handbook” and peddling easy answers. Ben can’t look Bianca in the face as she speaks. He still feels the guilt of killing Carl eating at him. “Ben …” He drags his eyes about halfway up towards Bianca. He stares instead at baby Cammy nestled in her arms. He longed to exist as the baby did a life of blissful ignorance and when the end came. The baby would only have to endure a few seconds of brief of agony then it would be all over. “Ben if you hadn’t made that shelter we would have been dead the first day.” Bianca regains her composure to a small degree. “Jamal would have made it home only to be ambushed by zombies and these soldiers. “ She nods at the Privates situated around the room. “Well they would have never made it off that bridge.” Carson hunches his muscular shoulders. “She’s kinda right big guy.” Cody Carson gives Ben a hearty pair of thumbs ups. “It’s like six degrees of Benjamin James.” He chuckles. Ben pounds a fist into one of his beefy legs. “It’s been two days people and I feel like giving up. Just let someone else make the life or death decisions for a change.” Anne grabs his chin yanking it towards her. “These are your kids, your friends and I am your wife.” She whispers harshly. “We are your responsibility damn it and you’d better get that straight. I don’t give a shit who’s leading who you are the head of this little group here.” Ben knows his wife doesn’t curse often but when she does she means it. “Look Mr. James … “Sara says rising to her feet. She throws Carson a raised eyebrow and the corn fed farm boy in camouflage quickly takes up her position at the door. “Dude look say what you will.” She moves in close to his ear Bianca Fullerton takes the hint and retreats to a ratty orange couch. Dakota immediately lays her head on her mother’s lap. “I get it this is stressful sir but you can’t tell me you’re buying this righteous horse crap?” Ben tries to look away from the ebony skinned solider. “That whole ‘I want you two in my inner circle’ bit is clearly meant to inflate our egos. Rule number one when you want to conquer a people. You take out their command and control.” Sara Lockett takes her voice back down an octave in case anyone is listening from the other side. “That’s us Mr. James me and you. If she gets us under her thumb she believes everyone else will follow.” She continues to tick off points. Anne jumps in talking through clenched teeth. “Follow my ass” She spits. “Then there’s the little thing of the people locked up on the other side of the church. Don’t for second think they are free to come and go as they please. There’s only on way in or out of that section of the church.” Lockett’s words push Ben’s mind back to their earlier tour. She’s right the people across the way their eyes told him the truth. They all looked drained like whatever they were fleeing from outside is the only reason they choose to stay here. “Let‘s not forget the strange faceless guy in the carport.” Lockett reminds those who have yet to meet Brother Gustavo of the creepy voice from the garage. </div>
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“Oh … oh!” Medina yelps from the corner covering her mouth instinctively. “Hey …. We met the presumed owner of said voice.” She rummages through one of the bags she’s leaning on. “He beat the ever living shit out of White Magic.” “What?” Sara and Ben call out in unison. “Yeah he did really bad honey. He accused Magic of blaspheming.” Anne gazes down at her dumbfounded husband. “Magic stumbled down into his cellar. His face was a mess and he told us this guy in a ‘souped up ice cream truck’ was waiting on us.” Anne James holds Ben’s gaze a burst of static startles everyone causing baby Cammy to cry out. “Sorry …” Medina blushes scratching the fuzzy gauze wrapped around her head wound. In her hand she covers the radio Anne’s father had given Ben on the porch as he fought off death. Her fingers twist the radio’s tiny black knobs as she holds a torn sheet of paper up. “Hey … hey White Magic you out there?” She calls hunching over the radio attempting to silence the device. Medina stands dialing down the volume on the radio. She comes to the center of the room for everyone to hear. “Des … I … am.” Magic’s voice burst from the radio in all of its smashed nose glory. “Are you safe Magic? We are at The First New Faith Church with a lady named The Sin Preacher.” Medina holds the chipped black radio tightly. The sound that escapes the radio is harsh braying laughter. “Yeah I’m safe y’all the Sun is down and I’m locked up tight.” A collective sigh goes up from most of those present. “I know her …. Everybody here does. She’s one o’dem Bible nuts …. Only talks about the bad parts though.” Suddenly almost on cue a burst of feedback squeals from a mounted brown speaker over head. All eyes scan the ceiling in the corner they find the old battered brown dust covered speaker tucked in the corner like a barn owl. There’s a crackle “Yeah …. Though I… walk …. Walk … I walk through the … the … valley of …. The shadow of death,” The Sin Preacher’s voice spills out the tinny sounding speaker. Her breathing comes in panting gasps. She must be right upon the microphone of the out dated sound system. There is apprehension in her normally fluid voice. More feedback as the woman stammers into the microphone. “I …. I … I will fear ….no evil!” She yells the last two words. “For thou …. Thou art with me; thy rod and thy …. Staff they comfort me.” Her breathing slows down becoming less overbearing. Private Lockett cuts her eyes at the speaker. “I’m here to tell you if she’s going to be doing that.” She exhales dramatically. “It’s going to be a long night people.”</div>
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So our favorite family of the post apocalypse has been reunited. The Sin Preacher has managed to bring all of the member of Benjamin James' group together in one place. The problem may or may not be the place in which this coming together has happened The First New Faith Baptist Church. They all find themselves making plans to severe their uneasy alliance with The Sin Preacher.</div>
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Come back the week of June 23rd for Chapter 35!</div>
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</span><br />Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-77294965344046442162013-05-27T21:03:00.000-07:002013-05-27T21:03:12.450-07:00Chapter 33: Inside the Sin Preacher's House<span lang="EN"><div align="JUSTIFY">
Chapter 33: Inside the Sin Preacher’s House</div>
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Big Ben James assists his son Chip as he maneuvers his wheelchair. Belinda sits in Chip’s lap as they descend a small set of stairs coming into the back of the gleaming white church. Ben is happy they are safe for the moment but he has a larger concern. He and his recently rescued children are now separated from his wife and younger son. Well that's just one of his concerns the other is the disembodied voice belonging to the unseen mystery man at the rear of the barn/carport. He would definitely have words with Miranda the Sin Preacher as to this man's true identity. Benjamin has developed one rule of thumb since becoming a parent. "If my child doesn’t like somebody then I don't like them." He funnels through his mind as Chip's chair bangs down the last hollow wooden step. "Alright Mr. James and company let us help you get settled in so you all can catch your breath.” Miranda speaks while the group gathers in the tight dusty hallway. She hangs her hunting rifle on a brown wall mounted coat hook outside a flimsy plain chocolate brown colored door. On the door in those tacky gold and black peel off letters you buy from the hardware store to put on your mailbox it reads "Pastor's Office." "Mr. James if you don't mind I'd like to get everyone situated. Then I have some things I’d like to show you and Sara." Miranda asks politely. Ben and Sara eye each other with a measurable sense of unease initially. The Sin Preacher senses the apprehension floating about the two like dust in the air. Sara as usual speaks first "We aren't surrendering our weapons period." The soldier says bluntly. "Nor would I want you to Sara. I firmly believe in this time of Tribulation the Lord wants his soldiers well armed." Miranda responds in almost the same manner a politician would address an irksome reporter. "Follow me everyone." She continues leading the group down the musty smelling hallway. Sara intentionally falls to the rear of the line. Her trust issues have served her well thus far in life so why buck the trend now? The group is standing on the lower level of the church. They head through a small brown cork wood door coming into a wide area filled with tiny offices and classrooms on either side. At the far end is a common area decorated with mustard colored furniture older than mostly everyone in the group. Lining the walls are folding tables filled with various foods. Some of the foods are prepared others bags of snacks like a high school vending machine has been upended and poured across the tables. </div>
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There are a few women and children along with one or two men they haven't met milling about. "This is where my inner circle of trustees and I live along with family and a few close friends." The Sin Preacher points out to the group. "Everyone ..... Everyone can I have your attention please?" She brings the people to order they all gather around the meek librarian looking woman. "This is Mr. Benjamin James ..." She directs the crowd's attention to Ben who smiles and waves as if he's a nervous game show contestant. "These are his kids and some members of his group. Some of whom are ....." Miranda turns confused her face puckering up as if a thought has caused he brain to seize. She waves the index finger on each hand at Privates Cody Carson and Sara Lockett. "Are still ..... Orrrrr… were military how's that work?" The question seems to genuinely puzzle Private Carson who looks to Lockett his de-facto commanding officer. "Still military Ma'am." Sara answers curtly. "Well hell then where's the rest of your people?" A large man in a red and black flannel shirt asks. His girth barely held at bay by a pair of bright yellow well worm tape measure patterned suspenders. The elastic clearly working overtime to restrain his belly from spilling over his belt. "The last time we saw them they were pretty well spread out." Lockett answers the man's question shifting her rifle in hand. "Spread out where?" The hefty man’s reply comes with a deep chewing tobacco tinged chuckle. "The ground." Sara tells the man with his inquiring line of questioning. Her face is stony devoid of emotion unlike the jubilant basement dwellers in the church. "The last time we saw any of our people other than Private Medina who is currently with the rest of our people. They were spread out in pieces mostly all over the ground. We were posted up at St. George's hospital the day after 'The Event." Sara decides to spare some details as there are a few children present. "The Sun went down and as I am sure many of you have seen or heard by now. Everyone who is bitten by an infected but survives until nightfall will die and reanimate as soon as the Sun sets." Somewhere a woman gasps aloud and judging by the looks on some of faces present not everyone knows this last nugget of information. "We imagine being at a major hospital the only one with power within a hundred miles. Now imagine almost everyone there with some type of bite or wound from an infected person. Now imagine what happened when the Sun went down." Lockett looks to Carson the bulky soldier is pale. She can tell he hasn't thought about the first night since it happened. "It was a massacre the infected pounced as soon as their eyes opened or they could drag themselves from their body bags. In less than ten minuets several hundred medical staff and soldiers we all dead, dying or busy being devoured." The room goes silent. "How'd you escape then?" The man in the flannel asks indignation dripping from his words. Private Sara Lockett has quickly grown tired of The New Faith Baptist Church and all of its occupants. "We were lucky is all I guess." Lockett tells the crowd dismissively. "We fought our way to an Armored Personnel Carrier. Then by the skin of out teeth we escaped using the hulking APC we plowed over everything in our way." The man’s braying donkey like laughter erupts as he slaps the arm of a younger man standing next to him. Miranda turns to Sara. "I'm sorry Private Lockett will you please forgive my dear brother Jeb? We don't believe in luck here at New Faith." Lockett raises her arms dropping her rifle to her side in frustration. "Well then I guess it's a good thing none of you were there." Sara is caught in one of those rare moments where a person wants to storm off dramatically but doesn't know the environment they are in. Her dramatic exit would loose a lot of muster if she inadvertently ended up in a bathroom or some place equally stupid. </div>
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The Sin Preacher raises her hands to calm her exasperated congregation. "Look everyone these are my personal guest. So let us do away with the inquisition and remember there but for the grace of God go I." Heads being to nod in acceptance around the room as the preacher continues. "We have all for the most part been blessed to have been ....... somewhat removed from the ills that have plagued others during the rapture." Sara crinkles her nose up at the word "rapture." She makes inadvertent eye contact with Ben. She bugs her eyes wide in mockery as if to say "I told you so." Private Lockett readily admits she doesn’t know much about the Bible but this does not fit what she does know. "They actually think this is the rapture?" The question works its way from one side of her mind to the other as she stands silently. "Mr. James .... Private Lockett we can continue the tour while the others change clothes and eat if that's ok?" Miranda’s suggestion to split the group up is met with immediate rejection. "I'm not leaving my kids ..." Ben says defiantly. "We'll be ok dad I can handle it." Chip speaks up from his chair. "I will be right her Mr. James." Jamal blurts clapping Chip on the back. "I will not let them leave my sight." He reiterates stepping forward. "And I won't let him leave my sight." Carson chimes in playfully bumping Jamal. It is only in these closed confines that Ben realizes how big Cody is. Ben looks from Cody to Jamal and he thinks he can sense a bond with the young men. It looks like the James family has just grown by four. "Alright Sara if you don't mind?" Ben breathes deeply forcing out a smile trying to disguise the apprehension he feels. Private Lockett marches forward like stubborn child. The Sin Preacher leads the pair from her lair up a small boxed in flight of stairs that banks to the right. They come to a dimly lit landing two oil burning lanterns the kind you find in almost any camp site flicker. Behind them there are several stairs that lead up the locked doors of the church’s small sanctuary. It doesn’t appear as though the sanctuary is being used much these days. "Good day gentlemen." She announces to the two men flanking either side of the heavily barricaded church doorway. "Pastor" Both men acknowledge in unison like frightened school children. "I have some guest to introduce to you." She tells the two shadows. Both men step up into the cone of soft dancing light. "This is Mr. Benjamin James and Private Sara Lockett of the United States Army." Miranda gesture motions in the general direction of the two men currently pulling guard duty at the main doors to the church. "This is Deacon …" She tells Ben and Sara. "And in a bit of irony not lost on me He is also a Deacon in the church." Her attempt at humor was dry to say the least. "To his left ..." Miranda says pointing to a large well built older looking gentleman missing two fingers on his left hand. "We call him Colonel as he is retired military." Miranda grins broadly at Sara showing off her sparking white teeth. It's like she is saying "see I have soldiers too." </div>
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There are handshakes all around the Sin preacher continues on. "I picked them up as they were being relentlessly pursued by the unclean.” Sara frowns up and now out of sight of Miranda congregation she wants to have a question answered. "'Unclean?” Lockett speaks up. "Why do you call them that?" Sara scans the men present but never let The Sin Preacher's face out of her gaze. "What do you mean when you say unclean?” The Preacher says her words becoming icy with frustration. "Because that's what they are filthy rotting sacks of lost humanity. The unclean vessels left behind after God has unleashed his Rapture calling up the souls that once dwelt with in them.” She squints attempting to read the girl's brown eyes in the dim light. "This is clearly the beginning of the end times my young friend you'd better come to terms with this fact.” The men wisely hold their tongues regardless of what they are truly thinking. "That's almost comical ..." Lockett says. She had been waiting to tangle with the preacher. Sara Lockett didn't believe in religion much but she believed in man even less. She viewed this 'Sin Preacher' in much the same light as the charlatans on television. They twisted the word of God, manipulated men and women all for their own personal gain. Sometimes when she thought no one was looking Lockett would read the Bible to herself just to see what the fuss was about. She was a free independent thinker the idea that she needed someone to talk to God on her behalf troubled her. "Do tell Private Lockett …” The man with the missing fingers takes an aggressive step towards Sara Lockett. "Stand down this instant!" Miranda admonishes the man showing her temper for all but the briefest second. He slinks back like a beaten circus animal. “What then Sara would you have us call these decrepit wanders?” She chuckles the way a parent laughs at a child trying to walk in their shoes. “What are they Private Lockett … zombies… the undead? You think what we believe is comical? Ha!” The Sin Preacher scoffs. “If you don’t believe in God Private Lockett then why must you force that upon others who do?” Lockett stands there the lights dancing off her brown skin. She and the Sin Preacher are now entwined in a genuine good ole fashioned stare down. “Suddenly you have nothing to say?” The Sin Preacher blinks first. “Typical … well Sara nothing personal but you may find people whose beliefs are based in the word of the most high and mighty in a house of worship oddly enough.” She crosses her arms glancing down a set of stairs opposite the one they came up. “Colonel …” Miranda appears to have moved on after having taken Private Lockett’s cynicism to task. “Tomorrow morning I want everyone ready. We will be assigning tasks and chores in my office. There will be no exceptions if we are to make this work.” The man may be on the business side of forty five but his physic is impressive. “Yes Ma’am …” He answers with a deep gravely voice. “Is there anything to report on watch thus far today Brothers?” Miranda cocks her head towards the door. “Nothing serious Ma’am just saw a few of the unclean ones passing through the area around the church.” Colonel relays the gist of what they have observed on this bright sunny day. “I want you to go out after Brother Gustavo returns and give them release understand?” Both men shake their heads to show their compliance. “Brother Deacon I am going down to show my guest the other survivors would you please accompany us?” She asks the man in a manner that suggests he can in no way refuse her off. “Yes Ma’am … “He says before bounding down the staircase that was tight as the one they’d come up banking down to the right. Miranda follows Brother Deacon the Deacon. Ben stops letting Sara pass him tugging her arm. He blows an angry sigh in her direction through clenched teeth like an angry teapot. Brother Deacon opens a flimsy brown door at the base of the stairs. Muted light drifts from the room. They enter the room unlike the one on the opposite side of the church. Compared to where the Sin Preacher and her inner circle reside a pall hangs over this space. There were people packed in every nook of the space. Nobody smiled there was just a constant murmur of human speech. All that ended the second the Sin Preacher enters the room. Silence fills the packed space the smell of so many unwashed frightened bodies only adds to the worry Ben feels taking roost in his gut.</div>
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Well it appears there is both good and bad to be had in The New Faith Baptist Church. The Sin Preacher has welcomed the James Survivor group into the church. After a brief tour and some clear tension between Private Sara Lockett and The Sin Preacher. Even as Sara urges Ben to bid farewell to the church and its inhabitants things seem to take an odd turn. Ben has some questions of his own and now that he's enter a room opposite the preacher's inner sanctum he has even more concern.</div>
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Come Back for Chapter 34 of The Living Dark the week of June 7th. The survivors will be here will you?</div>
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The Living Dark</div>
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</span>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-56422156885337927612013-05-12T20:06:00.002-07:002013-05-12T20:06:55.124-07:00Chapter 32: Unredeemable Qualities<span lang="EN"><div align="JUSTIFY">
Chapter 32: Unredeemable Qualities </div>
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Magic limps his way down into the basement stairs creaking under foot. He wants nothing more than to lock himself away again. He mulls the nagging question of how he plans to raise the false wall section downstairs. The pain in his face is his singular thought and right now it‘s all consuming. Even though his chest has been throbbing since the crazy man in the ice cream truck had kicked him in the gut. By the time he hits the mid point on the stairs he realizes he won't have to worry about opening the secret door. A shaft of light illuminates part of the packed dirt floor in the basement. Magic can barely make out the sounds of children laughing somewhere far away. He shuffles across the basement right into the tunnel clearly annoyed they had left the door open wide. "Behold" he thinks to himself upon seeing the rusty inner door partially ajar as well. He's not trying to disguise the noise he makes or sneak upon the women. He simply can't move any faster in his current state. He finally makes it to the door and pushes it inward with the last of his strength. The startled women and children are shocked to a one they freeze in place where they stand. All except Private Medina she is kneeling besides his hydroponics plant station. The young Hispanic soldier grabs her black rifle rising it up as if she means to shoot. "I .... I …" for a brief moment Magic fears the lunatic has broken his jaw. Holding one hand up in a submissive gesture Magic takes his time. "I ... not zombie." He manages to get out before before collapsing. The women rush to his aid Bianca Fullerton getting to him first. "My God what happened to you?" She shouts cradling his head on her lap. Medina is knocked aside as Anne James wobbles over on her tender foot towards Magic. "Where is everyone else? .. Where are my children? ... My husband.” She screams falling to her knees placing a hand on the boy's frail chest. He winces from her touch to the same spot he'd been kicked in. "Easy Anne …" Bianca cautions her. Just then baby Cammy starts fussing in her makeshift crib. "I got her Mrs. Fullerton." Brandon James calls from behind his mother. Anne's gaze washes over Magic coming back to his partially opened eyes. He tries to manage a smile but feels a molar pop loose landing on his tongue. Leaning to his side Magic spits the tooth and a wad of blood on to the floor. "Family ....okay." He forces out of his damaged mouth. </div>
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They slowly sit Magic up on his backside. He swallows hard hoping to tell their tale in one breath. "Your kids we got dem." He grits his teeth at the pain. "We ... got .... separated ... Sara blew up.… Truck to…distract zombies." Magic stifles a cough dropping back to the floor in pain. "Get him up …" Medina orders moving over to the first aid pack Carson had left. She riffles through the sack coming up with the pain pills that Mrs. James had given the soldiers for her the previous day. Looking around she sees a bottle of water sitting near the children. Medina carefully steps by the boy rolling about the floor corralled by Anne and Bianca. "Here … here!" she calls out to the women offering up the pills and water. They gingerly place the pills up to Magic's swollen lips. Bianca tries her hand at assisting Magic with drinking the water from the bottle. Magic chokes down the pills spraying water back over Bianca and Anne. "Soo … sorry." He offers up an apology. "Th … thanks..." Magic continues to attempt to swallow the pills down. After much effort he succeeds in doing so. Magic places his busted right hand on Anne James hand. "A guy .... A… big… nuuu ... nut job in a suped… up ice cream truck ....pick ... me up." He fumbles looking directly at Anne James. "Says ... hisss ... hisss." Magic proceeds to vomit the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor. "Eww …" Dakota Fullerton shouts from across the room. He lays there surrounded by greenish puke momentarily looking truly content. "The … guy … says his Preacher found ... your people …rescued them. He says ... they ... are at ... a church cross da…… county." Anne is bolted to the floor tears welling up in her eyes. Bianca reaches over placing her hand in Anne's. The two women embrace in a motherly sisterhood a bond that comes from knowing all is well with their children. Medina attempts to help Magic off the floor but he brushes her hands away. "I just want to relax." He breathes in swallowing hard. Magic sits cross legged on the floor methodically breathing in and out. His busted nose whistles with each breath. He places his bruised head in his hands his composure slowly finding its way back. "The asshole ... that did this to me is waiting for you all. Got his … rrrrr .. Rig parked out …front." He speaks much slower deliberately focusing on not causing himself more undue pain. "Why is he waiting on us?" Anne says the confusion evident on her face. Magic looks up "He... wants to ... take you guys to the …” Magic closes his eyes squeezing them shut a single tear spills down his cheek. "Ahh man .... That hurts." The young man looks defeated as he wipes blood from his nose absently. "He wants to take ... you toooo .... the church where ... your family is." Anne gets it now her eyes light up. Medina steps in offering to play devils advocate. "Mrs. James ..." The soldier sporting the head bandage begins. "How do we know this guy is telling the truth?" She holds up a hand stifling Anne’s protest. "Also what the hell happened to you and are the others in the same shape as you? You have to come with us Magic you can't stay here in your condition." Bianca nods her head. "Agreed Anne I know how you must feel but we have to think this through. I mean a mysterious church, suped up zombie proof ice cream truck driven by a mad man." Magic snaps his fingers from the floor waving his hands. Medina clears her throat. “I’m just saying it all sounds far fetched and no offense I find this all hard to believe.” </div>
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Together they all lift White Magic to his feet He throws an arm around Medina and Bianca. They guide him back to his CB radio cluttered desk. "Brandon." Anne calls out painfully coming up behind the trio. "Go clear Mr. Magic’s seat for him please." Anne James younger son darts down the length of the room. "Yes Mom." Brandon pushes the rickety chair up bracing it from behind. They sit White Magic down taking great care not to jostle the boy. Once he is safely seated White Magic spins around in his chair to open the top desk drawer. He pulls out a yellow tablet of paper and begins to write. Minutes later he hands the tablet of paper up to Medina. Her first thought is how exquisite Magic's handwriting is. She starts to read out loud. "The ice cream man did this to me. He was cool one minute the he started whopping my ass the next. He said I ‘blasphemed.’" Medina looks up in disbelief the other women are equally appalled. Medina reads on. "He described your husband and kids down to their clothes. He knew what your daughter was wearing even the color." Magic lays his head down on the desk feeling the cool wood soothe his aches. She reads on “Let me get this straight Medina. The world was cast into almost total darkness. We are huddled in a bootlegger‘s cellar as zombies some of who can talk roam about outside and yet you don‘t believe my story.” Medina chews her bottom lip cocking an eyebrow upward as common sense filters slowly into her mind. “Okkkkkay …” She says defensively. “When we you say it like this anything sounds logical now moving on.” Carlita finishes reading Magic‘s hastily written summary. "I can't go because I am ‘unclean’ he told me." Magic his head still on the desk dismissively holds up his arm the bite mark now in full view. "That's not acceptable ..." Bianca blurts. "You're one of us now." She looks to the other women pleading. "He's one of we can't leave him here. He took us in when we needed help." Magic lifts his head with much effort as Medina slaps the tablet of paper down on the desk besides Magic. He stares at the women coming to his defense clearly perplexed. He views them as no more than bumbling unwanted vacationing in-laws. He couldn’t wait for them to move onto greener pastures. They on the other hand had absorbed him into their clique making him one of their own. Medina pulls a lever on her assault rifle dropping the magazine into her hand. With a quick flip of her wrist he jams it roughly back into the receptacle on the weapon then pulling back its slide. “I say we go visit this mystery ice cream man Mrs. James.” Says the Private through teeth gritted not in pain but in anger. “Yes Ma’am I say we go see him this instant.” Anne James agrees Medina slipping her arm under Anne’s shoulder for support. </div>
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The two women move slowly for the door until Medina stops. She takes the pistol on her side from its camouflaged holster. Medina extends the weapon in Bianca Fullerton’s direction. The woman takes the pistol she eyes it with a great deal of unease. Carlita Medina points a finger down at the pistol which looks oversized in Bianca’s petite hands. “Flip this lever down …” Medina shows the housewife how to use the safety. “Hold the pistol with two hands Mrs. Fullerton. Aim for the center mass or chest if your target is human. You have seventeen shots so count them off ok?” Bianca’s mouth hangs open “Ok ….. I guesssss.” Bianca looks to Anne for guidance. Private Medina taps Bianca Fullerton on the shoulder grabbing her attention back. “Mrs. Fullerton you and this pistol are all that stands between the children and this lunatic …. your children. I don’t need you to guess I need you to know if it comes down to it you have the life of everyone down here in your hands.” Bianca Fullerton glances quickly at the kids around the room. “Yes … Private Medina … I can and I will protect them.” White Magic has propped his head up on his arms absolutely amazed at the women’s sudden resolve. Medina and Anne make there way down the tunnel into the basement side by side. “Mrs. James you take the lead in the talking and I will keep my weapon at the ready.” The two women walk Medina helping Anne who is attempting to tear away from her. Private Medina was starting to feel sorry for the “ice cream man.” Anne James’ mood had darkened like a storm had rolled in across her face. Boldly they go up the stairs into the living room and out onto the front porch.</div>
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Medina feels even dumber as she steps out into the sunlight behind Anne. One could have given White Magic the word skills of a literary master. He still would not be able to do justice to that which stands before them. “Good Morning ladies my name is Gustavo but everyone at the church calls me Brother Gustavo.” The man bows slightly leaning against his massive blood stained truck. Anne looks from side to side along with Medina searching for any signs of the undead. “Good day Sir my name is Anne James and this is Private Carlita Medina.” Anne says motioning to her dutiful helping hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. Now ladies if you don’t mind I still have much work to do today.” Brother Gustavo points a finger up the ladder leading into the rear of the truck. “Umm not so fast Brother Gustavo. We have some questions we need answered. Not that we aren’t appreciative but how do we know you aren’t lying to us.” Gustavo looks offended for the briefest of seconds. “The desire of a man is in his kindness: and a poor man is better than a liar. Proverbs chapter nineteen verse twenty two.” Gustavo speaks then stands stoically but Anne simply bats her eyes. She speaks almost as soon as Brother Gustavo has uttered his last syllable. “I said in my haste, all men are liars Psalms chapter one hundred sixteen verse eleven. Quoting the Bible neither explains who you are or your intentions Brother Gustavo.” Anne’s hands move up to her hips as she becomes more confrontational. The woman teeters on her injured foot momentarily ignoring the pain she feels. “All it does is show you know the Bible when Satan tempted Jesus the book of Matthew it showed he too knew the Bible.” Gustavo’s heart starts to flutter smiling broadly clapping his hand over his heart. “My sister you know the word of God too!” He shouts with glee. “Yes Mr. Gustavo so do my kids and many other people. It wasn’t written just for you in case you were wondering. Now why did you beat my friend so badly?” Gustavo moves towards the bottom step of the porch. Medina tenses up on her rifle at the sight of the gun in the stranger’s hand. “Remember this, that the enemy hath reproached, O Lord, and that the foolish people have blasphemed thy name. This my sister as you know is …” Anne cuts the gangly man off mid sentence. “Psalms chapter seventy four verse eighteen. Now that still doesn’t explain why you had to hurt my friend. You can’t use the Bible to bully people Mr. Gustavo Jesus died for all of our sins. The most prevalent theme in the Bible is forgiveness.” With that Brother Gustavo begins to stammer tugging nervously at the tie around his neck. Medina smirks from besides Anne James this feisty side of her was new. “I am … No bully Mrs. James I practice the way the Old Testament tells us to.” Anne rolls her eyes at the man. “Why can’t our friend go with us Mr. Gustavo?” Medina asks placing a steadying hand on Anne. Gustavo can’t believe the mouthy pair of women. Here he was trying to do them a favor. He could wait to get back to First New Faith where the Sin Preacher ran a much tighter ship. “Miss I presume due to your age but your friend can’t come with us due to the fact that he’s been bitten.” Gustavo hunches his bony shoulders. “We all know what happens next I am afraid.” Medina doesn’t know if it is wise to let on what they know of Magic’s condition. She’s concerned about what will happen to their host if others find out he maybe be some kind of anomaly. Anne James however doesn’t have the same common sense caution. “He was bitten the day after ‘The Event’ thingy Mr. Gustavo. His wound has been healing itself as long as he is inside by nightfall and under ultraviolet lights.” Medina taps the woman’s elbow to get her attention. “Really? …..” Brother Gustavo breaks off mid sentence.</div>
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He spots it in the distance several miles across the dried barren field. Along the back route he had taken to get to the Olmsted Farm. A lone figure emerges from the tree line falling face first in the dirt. The figure awkwardly attempts to right itself before finally rising to its feet. “An Unclean” He says absently as if the women aren’t there. “Ladies the time for talk has drawn to an end.” He says pointing in the general direction of the lone zombie. Medina trots over to the edge of the porch looking over the rail. Just then a second and third zombie makes their way from the thicket of tree. “Shit we got Rotters Mrs. James.” Anne’s face goes white with fear. “Look ladies …” Gustavo pleads. “I swear to you I know where your family is and I will take you right to them but we must hurry.” Private Medina blows air through her clenched jaw. “I’m afraid he’s right Mrs. James. If we don’t leave now and that’s a zombies becomes a Trotter tonight we could have our position compromised.” Anne finds her nerves. “Worse yet we could leave White Magic here alone having inadvertently given up his hiding spot.” Anne cautiously makes her way to the top step. “We’ll go with you Mister ….” Anne rethinks her options seeking to curry favor. At this point it is clearly evident that they will be visiting The First New Faith Baptist Church by way of a monstrous ice cream truck. “Brother Gustavo we need to know if we choose to leave your church we can and you need to draw those things away from here when we go.” Brother Gustavo is lost in thought having reset his brain to the task of dealing with ‘the unclean’ as he calls them. “Yes Ma’am you have my words on both counts.” He responds flatly without taking his eyes from the dead spilling across the field. “Private Medina will you hurry and gather the rest of our people and our things.” Anne says as she is assisted down the stairs by Gustavo with all the chivalry of a date to the senior prom. Medina vaults back into the house. She bull rushes back down the stairs ignoring the dizziness that has clouded her mind. An unwanted by product of the concussion she had suffered. She burst into the room with the remnants of the van’s occupants. “Let’s go guys we are leaving.” She yells sending everyone with the exception of White Magic scrambling about. “Mrs. Fullerton there are zombies in the area and Mrs. James is on the truck already.” Medina is picking up sacks and duffle bags as she goes. “Please lead the children out behind me we are in a hurry. She takes the time to go back to the injured young man resting his dreadlock covered head on the desk in the midst of all the commotion. “Magic look …” She says barley able to make eye contact with the houses sole living owner. “We are leaving you the pain pills and I swear to you we will be back for you.” “You have our word.” Bianca shouts from the front of the cellar. “I will lock you up tight on the way out.” Magic interrupts tearing off a sheet he has scribbled numbers on. Medina is confused by the strangely written number sequences. “I don’t get it.” She says in a fog partly due to her concussed brain. Magic pats the CB units on his desk then motions a finger to the bottom of a pack slung over Medina’s shoulder. “Oh … Oh these are the radio frequencies you’re broadcasting on. Magic beams back a smile from his pulverized face. He also holds up a thumb signaling that she is correct. “Also you hydroponics systems is awesome I went and grabbed some fruits and veggies from upstairs. I rigged them up so in several days you should start seeing edible produce growing to sustain your non existent food stock. I had to toss out your weed though.” The mask that is White Magic’s face droops downward. His thumb soon follows as he turns it down signaling his disapproval. Medina smiles as he lowers his head waving a hand over his head. “Go!” Medina urges Bianca and the kids forward. They exit the door into the tunnel Carlita uses her weight to push the door close satisfied once she hears the metal latch. They head out into the basement proper Medina repeats the process slamming the fake section of wall down and sealing White Magic back in his hiding spot. Medina resembles a weighed down pack mule but she still takes the lead. She guides Bianca and the kids back into the living room where she hears the first gun shot. “Fuck!” She mutters to no on in particular. </div>
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Upon exiting the house the ice cream man is no where to be found. “Let’s go babies!” Anne James screams from her perch leaning out the rear of the truck waving. “Mrs. Fullerton you need to get the kids up the ladder now and hurry.” Private Medina orders dropping down of the front porch. She dumps every pack at the base of the metal ladder and starts to search the immediate area. The dead are now coming from the end of the driveway as well as across the field. She can see Brother Gustavo has ridden out to meet the incoming dead head on. Medina watches the man he has only a pistol in one hand and a big rock in the other. Behind her she hears the first child move up the ladder. Checking their rear to assure the dead aren’t boxing them in and encircling idling the truck. Medina sights down her rifle at the dead coming up the driveway they will cut off their driver as he foolishly bashes in the Rotter’s head with a rock. The first shot drops a corpse spraying brain matter up and out the back of its skull. Brother Gustavo turns at the sound of the gunshot. Medina furiously waves the man back to the truck. From overhead Bianca Fullerton calls out. “We’re in Medina pass me up the bags.” Medina fires a three round burst mowing down the advancing dead. Brother Gustavo’s lanky legs carry him back in great strides kicking up dust as he comes. Medina lets her rifle falls to her side and begins to toss bags up and into Anna and Bianca’s waiting arms. Three gunshots echo over her shoulder as Gustavo shots down a walking corpse with less than stellar accuracy. Medina turns throwing the last few bags into the ice cream truck. “Get in.” Cries Brother Gustavo tucking the gun in his waistband he lifts the rock with both hands over his head. He brings it down comically atop two zombie’s heads in rapid succession but there is nothing comical about his results. The dead fall at his feet their heads now a dark cranberry color pulp. Medina moves up the ladder her concussion catches up with her as she wobbles about the mid way point. She pitches to the side only to feel hands lock on to her. Anne and Bianca catch Private Medina before she can fall. Brandon heroically has his mother by the waist ensuring isn’t pulled from the truck. They drag Medina into the truck as Brother Gustavo comes sprinting the dead hot on his heels. He takes to long strides before hitting the ladder full speed plowing into the women clustered in the doorway. Brother Gustavo whirls around grabbing the ladder tugging it upwards but not before a zombie latches its cold dead grip onto the steel. Gustavo looks as the bloodied rock in his hand smiles and lobs it into the dead postman’s forehead. The crack of bone is loud the corpse pitches backwards into the dirt. He snatches the ladder up and into the truck letting it clatter to the floor. The noise instantly starts the infant on board to start wailing. The rear door is slammed as the living dead begin battering the truck again. </div>
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Gustavo weaves his way past his passengers. “Can we please have some ice cream sir?” Brandon James grins at the though of being in an ice cream truck. “No!” Brother Gustavo points a bony finger at the children. “Don’t touch those freezers matter of fact don’t touch anything.” The man demands sitting down roughly his familiar driver’s seat. “Mrs. James …” He shouts over the moans of the dead as they beat the sides of the truck snarling in the mesh covered windows. “You wanted me to lead them away from you snake tongued friend?” Gustavo runs his own tongue across his teeth. He flips the switch “pop goes the weasel” rings out from the speakers atop the truck. “Next stop First New Faith Baptist Church.” He squeals putting the truck in gear he slowly rolls away from the house crushing the dead under the thick black off-road tires. He swings wide of the house past the stagnant “James and Sons Construction” van. Driving across the field behind the house he heads towards the way he’d come. Directly into the thick of the dead pouring from the tree line leading the trotter’s right back the way they’d come. The heavy black tires chew up the dead almost as easily as they do the loosely packed soil. They make small talk as Gustavo drives further away from the corpses struggling to keep up. They pass by the scattered cluster of wandering zombies he’d left earlier. Brother Gustavo takes a mental note. “I still have work to do” He cautions himself. Some time later he is backing the truck into his shed. He summons Brother Silas over to the front of the shed. “Take these folks straight down to the Sin Preacher’s office. So she can reunite them with their family and friends.” The obese man with the round belly nods his head. He appears to make an effort to stay well away from Brother Gustavo. Which all of the adults present take notice of. Brother Gustavo gives the man further instructions. “Tell her I was side tracked but I will complete the Lord’s work as she ordained before the sunsets. Tell her I will brief her fully upon my return Brother Proctor.” “Yeah … Yeah … yeah.” Silas offers up hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible. With that they part ways the women and children head into the church and Brother Gustavo takes back to his vessel of the apocalypse. Anne watches the man disappear back into the shed with the truck. She is immediately struck by how mislead Brother Gustavo is and how little of the Bible he must truly understand. The question she has floating around in her head is “who is his puppet master … who pulls his strings?”</div>
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Well looks like the James family is on it's way to a family reunion. Seems the ice cream man is going out of his way to help reunite of family of survivors. It also looks like Anne James doesn't fear the odd Bible quoting loner.</div>
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Come back and see us the week of May 19th for Chapter 33.</div>
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Sincerely:</div>
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</span>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-38320980254564189792013-05-05T20:21:00.000-07:002013-05-05T20:21:07.753-07:00Chapter 31: I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream<span lang="EN"><div align="JUSTIFY">
Chapter 31: I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream</div>
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Gustavo draws in deep refreshing breaths of air. He tugs one of the wrought iron spears free of the sheath mounted next to the covered window. Brother Gustavo hooks one of his fingers into the loop bent into the end of the implement. He takes a knee staring out the mesh covered window. The zombie horde is vast its numbers are far greater than he’d imagined. This was not what he envisioned when he first agreed to do The Sin Preacher’s bidding. Gustavo felt confident in the woman’s presence. She was bold in her servitude of the Lord and it was contagious. Those infected with false life shuffle closer. He was close enough to hear the moans rising up from their foul mouths. The tall rail thin man was feeling an unwanted sensation creep up from his stomach. “Fear has found me.” Gustavo thinks from his kneeling position. He has no real way of knowing if the ice cream truck will hold up to the onslaught he’d driven into the midst of. Like one of those idiotic storm chasers on the television Gustavo had the feeling his quarry could turn on him. Unlike a tornado death at the hands of the undead would not be quick. His death would be agonizing and prolonged. “Forgive me Father I have faltered.” Gustavo mumbles under his breath. The first growling corpse begins to jam its gnarled fingers through the mesh covering the window. “I must find my strength from your words.” Gustavo turns his head up to the Heavens closing his eyes. The lone man in the grotesquely modified ice cream truck now encircled by zombies recites a passage from the Bible to comfort himself. The dead no longer moan sheepishly having caught the sight of flesh. The zombies jostle about both sides of the truck snarling. Their behavior oddly enough fell in line with what Gustavo was used to from the counties unruly young folks. “Ezekiel chapter 34 verse 8.” His voice cracks. “As I live, saith the Lord God, surely because my flock became meat to every beast of the field,” He shakes as the words renew his faith his conviction. “Because there was no shepherds, neither did my shepherds search for my flock, but the shepherds fed themselves, and fed not my flock.” Gustavo’s glossy wet almost sickly eyes spring open. He is staring at the roof of the truck forcing his breathes through gritted teeth. He brings his head down slowly looking over the crowd outside the window. There were bumps and bangs from every side of the truck’s metal body. Neither the sounds of the undead nor the mechanical wail of “pop goes the weasel” could break his focus now.</div>
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He came to see the face closest to his a man dressed in boxers wearing an open gore covered bath rode. The man’s face bore the unholy signs of being eaten. His nose had been torn literally off his face. “Thy will be done.” Gustavo calls out loud. The lanky ice cream man crouches down even more until he and the zombie are at eye level. There was nothing else in the world except him and the walking dead man. Gustavo stares in the milky white eyes of the agitated zombie. He asks himself “what must it feel like to be raptured?” To have one’s soul fly freely among the clouds ascending to the throne of the Almighty God. The frantic zombie gnashes its teeth against the mesh. Gustavo watches intrigued as the dead man’s teeth begin to shatter and splinter on the metal. It didn’t matter he inches closer his long beak like nose almost touching the mesh. Satisfied Gustavo brings up his spear aiming it though one of the many diamond shape holes in the mesh. He lines it up to the corpse he’d just been locked in a gaze with. He diligently aims for the dead man’s eye socket. Gustavo drives the spear forward popping the fetid eyeball quickly he spins the rod with his finger. The zombie’s frontal lobe is scrambled instantly Gustavo yanks the spear back as the zombie drops from sight. Before the corpse could hit the ground the others surge forward to take its place. Eyes now locked on a new undead a grin crosses his face. The next soul has presented itself to him he begins the hypnotic stare down with a fat dead woman in a tacky blue jogging sit. Gustavo becomes lost in her jellied eyes like he was trying to climb from the back seat to the front of a driverless car. The woman sways from side to side gently her dead movements less feral than those around her. The dead woman’s attempts to get at Gustavo are clumsy like her kin. Her actions however appear calculated and measured to a certain degree. Gustavo drags his tongue fiendishly across his sterling white teeth. “But blessed are your eyes, for they see.” He speaks softly almost a whisper to a lover. “Matthew Chapter 13 verse 16.” His grip on the improvised thrusting spear relaxes. Gustavo had fervently absorbed the words of the Bible all his life. From childhood to adulthood he would become lost in the pages of God’s holy Bible. As he sat in school other children about him learning to plot their course in life. Gus as he was known then reflected on his most favored passages. He read and absorbed the word from cover to cover. His parents paid their odd child no mind they simply indulged him. When teachers told Gustavo’s parents their son had “difficulty comprehending.” They took it to mean the boy was “slow” but that eventually he would understand. Gustavo’s hands tensed as he disengaged his hypnotic attachment to the undead woman. He blinks as he swivels his head on his shoulders like a snake charmer laying eyes on the next zombie pressing against the cage.</div>
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Gustavo looses himself in his work as the hours of the day melt away. He goes on methodically purging the soulless bodies marching about the fields. One by one as Brother Gustavo stares deeply in each zombies eyes in an effort to prove his theory. He wasn’t doing this out of malice he was doing the Lord’s bidding destroying the hollow undead husks. He had to relocate the monstrous ice cream truck over a dozen separate times. The bodies of the now truly dead littered the back roads of the small rural farming towns in thick festering piles. Brother Gustavo knows there are now exactly thirty two shuffling corpses eagerly bumbling after the bloodstained truck. He craves a smoke with every fiber of his being as he navigates the truck back in the direction of Clow Oaks. Gustavo reaches over to his truck’s dashboard flipping off the switch activating “Pop goes the Weasel.” The dead would follow him anywhere he was now a shepherd tending to a flock that would greedily adhere to any trail he blazed. As long as he uses his flesh for bait they were blind to the obstacles and subjugated to his will. He gave the truck gas causing the cluster of corpses to fall further behind cresting a ridge Gustavo could see the burning sub division. The raging fire had consumed more than half the homes that once dotted the landscape. There were almost no dead he could see from this distance. The fire still danced over some of the houses. Gustavo came across a small foot bridge next to a flowing stream. “This is the perfect place for a quick puff.” He muses shutting down the engine. Gustavo moves through the truck looking at the blood and pieces of flesh strewn about the floor. He knows the truck would have to be cleaned before he turned in for the night. He removes a revolver from its hook on the wall squeezing it tightly in one hand for comfort. Unlocking the rear doors Gustavo check’s his rear flanks for the unclean. There are none so he plops down on the resting his feet on the bumper sitting in the open doors. His gaze settles on the calm peaceful calendar like scene. The wooden bridge and clear flowing water put his mind at peace. Gustavo saw God’s hand in everything in life none more so than in breath taking beauty of nature. Pulling the pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket he shakes one loose. Balancing the white tube of hand rolled tobacco between his lips Gustavo flicks his lighter sparking up a flame. “Heaven my Lord yes … this is simply heavenly.” He says taking in his first drag of cancerous smoke. There he sits cigarette in his left hand gun tapping his knee in his right. His perpetually one step off mind allows him to enjoy this peaceful moment even as an extinction level pandemic rages on across the globe. The sound of water splashing snaps Gustavo back from his meditation. In the distance a water logged corpse has pulled itself up from under the bridge. </div>
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The dead man staggers towards him as he continues to enjoy his smoke break. He levels the revolver at the hunched over figure lumbering in his general direction. Gustavo thumbs back the weapons hammer sighting the dead man allowing him to come closer. The corpse looks left then right scanning the area cautiously startling the lanky man. “The soulless don’t do that?” He asks himself. Instead of waiting for an answer Gustavo cocks the revolver hammer down and calls out. “My Brother are you dead or are you alive?” The man jumps somewhat then speeds up his approach. Gustavo can see why coming over the hill below are his followers. “Nah man I aint dead.” The shivering man with the matted dreadlocks shouts. “I just needs some help dog I gots at get back to my place is all.” Gustavo is taken aback by the man speaking through chattering teeth. He speaks like he’s in a movie “I been stuck in that cold ass water all day bro.” The man says coming closer Gustavo stands bent over slightly in the doorway. He detested profanity the way The Sin Preacher despised smoking. “Hey man my name is White Magic and I would show appreciate it if you let me in yo sweet ride and gave me a lift.” The man whom he could see standing below him was much more a boy. White Magic’s eyes nervously dart back in the direction of the approaching zombies. Gustavo’s gaze carries up from the man tap dancing like a child about to wet themselves to the marching dead. “Listen to me my friend and listen well.” Gustavo kneels down flicking his cigarette butt away. He is keenly aware that the work The Sin Preacher has set him to do is priority number one. She won’t like him having to comeback and drop off this survivor in the midst of his preordained task. “And the King will answer” Gustavo looks the soaked shivering man in his eyes as he speaks. “And say to them assuredly I say to you inasmuch as you did it to the least of these my brethren, you did it to me. Matthew chapter twenty five verse forty.” The man flip s his hair back over his head his face showing fear and a hint of confusion. Gustavo knows the nature of man is to do anything to save himself. It is then the man clasps a hand onto the bumper in an effort to pull himself up to safety. There is a length of soggy white gauze hanging around his wrist. Gustavo grows concerned halfway up the man’s arm is a nasty wound. It’s shaped like a human mouth black flesh outlines where the teeth would’ve made contact. Stepping down Gustavo places his huge foot painfully on top of White Magic’s fingers. Magic cries out in pain as the undead are close enough to hear. Magic looks back in a panic “Come on man please.” He pleads. Gustavo doesn’t budge. He lays out the way things will be with White Magic. “Listen boy I have work to do ... do you understand? You will not interfere with my work nor will you deter me understand? You will hold your profane tongue on this vessel and in my presence.” A low howl erupts from behind them. “Yes …. Yes …please.” Magic pleads squirming under Gustavo’s now blood covered shoe. “I only help you as it is God will that I do for you not my own.” Gustavo lifts his foot grabbing the thin young man by his wet collar. White Magic is yanked into the truck as dead fingers catch the bottom of his shoe. He snatches his foot free of the feeble hands scampering further into the truck panting. </div>
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Gustavo walks to White Magic standing over him pointing down a condemning finger inches from his nose. “I say to you heed my words. Deliver me from the workers of iniquity, and save me from bloody men. For, lo they ….” The ice cream man stabs a finger back at the living corpses clamoring at the open door. “ …. Lie in wait for my soul: the mighty are gathered against me; …..” Gustavo shouts drowning out the zombies. “Not for my transgression, nor for my sin, O Lord.” The finger becomes a helping hand spread wide offered to White Magic. “Psalms Chapter fifty nine versus two and three my name is Brother Gustavo.” Magic takes the man’s hand and is lifted to his feet coming up eye level to the man’s breast bone. They stand before each other White Magic is laughing awkwardly. “Thanks a lot Lurch.” White Magic insults the man who‘d just saved his life. “I‘ve been in that river all day freezing man.” Gustavo sizes the young frumpy looking stoner up. “How‘d you get there?” He asks. Magic stands up off the side of the truck. “Some people came to my house yesterday. So I lets them in and it turns out they was missing like two o they kids. This morning we left some of them at my crib and went looking for them big man and we found them. There was a little girl and a muscular dude in a wheelchair.” Brother Gustavo’s ears perk up. “A kid in wheelchair and a little girl you say?” He pokes a finger in Magic chest. “Their father was he a husky large black gentleman and did they have some soldiers with them?” Magic frowns at his savior “yeah how’d you know?” Brother Gustavo grins. “My Pastor found them and took them to our church over in the next county.” White Magic rolls his eyes. “Well I‘m all warm and fuzzy to know they‘s safe and all specially after the blew up my ride back. The rest of their group‘s at my house waitin‘.” Gustavo pulls his golden cross from under his shirt gently he kisses it. ”Where abouts do you live my young brother?” Gustavo knows the Sin Preacher will be pleased if he completes his mission and reunites the family as well. “I stay a few miles up the way off of Bereman Road.” Magic hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “The Olmsted Farm?” Gustavo knows the area. “Yeah Lurch the Olmsteads are my granparents yo. They hiding out upstairs in my place.” Gustavo steps back clapping his hands together. “This is God’s will my fiend don’t you see? I can take you there and we can all make it back to the Church before dusk Amen!” He’d still be able to finish his work and save the day Gustavo bubbles with joy. “Yeah Yeah I get it bro …” He looks down to his left at the zombies. “You got yo’self a mean zombie killing ice cream truck for Jesus.” Magic’s attention is in the wrong place he doesn’t see the anger storm across Gustavo’s pockmarked face.</div>
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The large man’s solid fist catches Magic squarely across the right cheek. The pain hits Magic as suddenly as he collides with the stainless steel floor. Magic’s world is hazy his vision cloudy like water in a dirty fish tank. Brother Gustavo stands over him dropping the heavy silver revolver absently to the floor. “Why do this man thus speak such blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God?” Gustavo drops down on White Magic straddling his chest. “Mark Chapter two verse seven.” Gustavo unleashes a second punishing blow to Magic’s unprotected face. The blow is followed by two more in rapid succession. Gustavo is seething with rage his paper hat wafts down from atop his meticulously combed hair. Gustavo wraps both of his cold clammy hands around Magic’s neck. He begins to slowly choke the life from the foul mouth boy. He draws his face down to Magic’s. “You ….. Will ….. Not …. Blaspheme.” He slams White Magic’s head against the floor before standing winded. Magic if left writhing in agony on the floor his face battered and bloodied. Gustavo is not finished he reaches for Magic tugging him by his shirt. Magic is dropped inches from the open doors coughing up blood. Gustavo places his foot on the boy’s chest pinning him to the floor. The dead go wild with anticipation. One corpse standing on its toes manages to grab a hold of a stray blond dreadlock. The zombie rips the hair free taking a small piece of scalp with it. Greedily the big undead soldier devours the piece of bleeding scalp flesh hair and all. “Do I make myself clear fool?” Gustavo asks impatiently flipping his thick greasy black hair up. He runs his fingers through his locks attempting to regain his lost composure. “Yes” Magic wheezes out barely audible. Gustavo leans over pulling both doors close from the top. The doors with their steel edges cleanly sever the zombie soldiers arm above the elbow. Ending the undead’s attempt to seek another morsel of flesh. Gustavo steps over White Magic as an after thought. He looks down at the boy in disgust “What is your name boy? Your given name not this foolishness you go by disrespecting yourself and those who have raised you.” White Magic chooses not to answer the man who’d just thrashed him spitting a wad of blood on the floor. Brother Gustavo pivots a foot bringing it down onto Magic’s hand. The crunch of bone lifts up from the truck’s rear. “Humphrey ……. Humphrey.” Magic screams in agony. Gustavo uncoils a kick to Magic’s unprotected gut. “From this point on in my presence, in the presence of everyone and in the presence of God you will answer to your given name. You will be known once again as Humphrey.” Gustavo strides boldly back to the driver’s seat. He doesn’t even cast a glance back at the heap on the floor. He shows no fear sitting down and starting the truck up. Even as the boy lies mere inches from a wall lined with guns. For Brother Gustavo knows his life is in God’s hands not the insignificant whelp he punished for his blasphemous tongue. Gustavo sets the truck in motion taking a note of where he was geographically. </div>
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Giving Clow Oaks a wide birth Gustavo navigates the off road equipped ice cream truck. He churns up dirt as he tears across overgrown farm fields making his own path to the Olmsted Farm. They approach from the rear pulling up alongside the quiet house. There are no perusing zombies in sight but Gustavo knows they are around a permanent fixture in this new world. Gustavo can see a battered white paneled van stopped out on the road “James and Sons Construction.” Looks like the James family had done there fair share of surviving based on the condition of the van. “What a blessing …” Gustavo murmurs softly. “This man has managed to keep his family intact through the chaos of the end times.” He leaves the truck idling next to the front porch of the big house. Gustavo makes his way back to the rear doors once more. White Magic flinches as he reaches down to scoop up the revolver on the floor. Gustavo ignores his passenger on the floor. Opening the door gazing up at the Sun he guesses the hour to be early afternoon. He lowers down the ladder then climbs down “Come now Brother Humphrey.” White Magic looks at the man standing on the ground through his bloodshot right eye. White Magic’s left eye has doubled in size and almost swollen shut. He sees his hand extended once again offering him assistance. The streaks of blood on the man’s powerful but skinny hands belong to him recall. In spite of himself he takes the man’s hand. Gustavo drags White Magic forward carefully lifting him of the truck. He sets the injured young man down and scans the area. No problems appear to be of an immediate threat to them. “I want you to understand something Brother Humphrey.” Gustavo keeps his hands on White Magic to steady him. “What happened between us was not personal my brother. Nor is the fact that I will not be taking you back with us.” Magic looks shocked. “The wound on your arm marks you as unclean my friend.” Brother Gustavo points to the bite on White Magic’s forearm. White Magic does not protest he had no plans of leaving with this lunatic anyway. Gustavo pulls Magic in close hugging him tightly. “I forgive you Brother Humphrey and I will pray for your soul. Now make haste and bring the remainder of the James family unto me. For Brother Humphrey I have much work to do before the Sun sets this day.” Gustavo releases Magic from his embrace. He watches the beaten young man sway on his feet. Soon White Magic finds the strength to walk. He staggers up the porch leaning heavily upon the weathered banister. “Remember God Loves you Brother Humphrey.” Gustavo calls up from the besides the truck as White Magic staggers into the house. <br />
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Weeeeee're baaaaack! Well it seems out good buddy White Magic has resurfaced. He's run into no other than Brother Gustavo the demented ice cream man. From all appearances it didn't work our for good ole White Magic as well as it could have. What happens now that Brother Gustavo has escorted White Magic home to retrieve the rest of the survivors from the James group?<br />
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We return next week the week of May 12th for a Mother's Day Chapter of The Living Dark. See you then.<br />
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</span>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-65429104568984720582013-04-14T23:16:00.000-07:002013-05-05T20:30:36.886-07:00Chapter 30: Deserving of Suspicion?<span lang="EN"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN">Chapter 30: Deserving of Suspicion? </span></div>
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The adults riding in the rear of the Sin Preacher’s camper covered pickup truck are fidgety. Currently they are driving further away from where the rest of the group is camped out. They squirm as they sit wearing damp clothes from their trek across the river in advance of the undead. Ben and his group have found themselves in a shiny blue pickup truck covered with a white camper. Bouncing along dirt farm roads courtesy of a woman who'd emerged quietly from the woods telling them she was a Sin Preacher. He kept his eyes glued to his two rescued children Chip and Belinda sitting in the cab with Miriam. Meanwhile he, Jamal, Sara and Cody Carson slide about the trucks spotless bed. "Now remember our goal is to get back to our people." Ben whispers as every head nods in agreement. Lockett looks suspiciously at the woman driving the truck before she speaks. "We need to lay some ground rules." She tells the men then proceeds to count of her points on her fingers. "We don't give away our exact number of people. We don't surrender our weapons or at the very least don't give up everything. We also don't tell exactly where we are from or heading to." Jamal sheepishly raises his hand. "Where are we headed to no one told me anything?" Carson palm plants his hand up to his face grinning. "She means where we are headed back to bro." Jamal's smile brightens considerably. "Ok good." He remarks. "Why are we being so secretive I don't see the problem?" Ben challenges his young charge. "Look Mr. James the apocalypse tends to bring out the worst in people. This chick just strolls out the woods all creepy and shit like it's just any other day why is that? What was she doing out here alone?" Private Lockett offers in her defense firing off the mostly rhetorical questions in rapid succession. "How many religious folks have you seen in movies and read about in books that go nuts during the end times. One minute they are friendly the next minute you‘re picking out matching jumpsuits." The men simply stare in disbelief as the truck hits a rut in the clay road. "What books have you been reading Private?" Ben asks snorting. "All I care about is getting back to my family. We have all seen things that defy movies in the last few days. I suggest we all stop equating real life to the movies. We are making this up as we go along." Private Lockett scoots in closer. "I agree with you a hundred and ten percent Mr. James. Therefore I say we thank her for the ride then ask to borrow some mode of transport and get while the getting’s good." Ben’s head bobs up and down with a grin. Finally Lockett is seeing things from his perspective. "Deal." He sticks his hand out and Sara shakes it vigorously.</div>
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A tap on the window startles the conspiring troop of survivors from their semi circle. Miriam slides the window open "Welcome to The First New Faith Baptist Church ladies and gentlemen." Out the right side of the truck's camper a pristine white steeple stands majestically. Atop the spire sits a glistening chrome cross it seems to sparkle in the early day sunlight. The church sits out front of two smaller separate utility buildings. One of the buildings is actually nothing more than a shed. "Miriam you don't seem to have much in the way of fortifications." Private Carson crab walks his large body forward to the window. "We don't need anything more than we have. With things the way they are now out of sight and out of mind is the best defense." She talks smiling up into the rearview mirror. They drive up to a tall razor wire topped fence a short squat man wobbles out of the church's side door and begins to work thick chains off the fence. Fencing wraps the back half of the church's property encompassing the larger of the two utility structures a large tin roofed storage building. "Why the fence then?" Carson continues to probe. "It was up before the Rapture came to pass young man as I said we haven’t done much.” She hunches her shoulders dismissively. Carson sighs looking back to Lockett. "Ma'am I'm sorry." He apologizes red blush spreading up his cheeks. "It's just that given what we've seen in the last few days. It is extremely hard to believe you have survived in this unassuming church." They pull through the gate and to the rear of the property moving for the larger utility building. "Young man we haven't survived here we have simply benefited from the grace of God. He has protected us and allowed use to continue his work in these difficult times." The truck idles out front of the building’s metal doors for several minuets. A brief look of frustration crosses the Sin Preacher's face. The doors roll back from inside she pulls forward slowly entering the dimly lantern lit structure. There are dozens of cars parked inside they are no more than barely visible dark silhouettes. "We hide all the cars trying to lessen our presence." With that she steps from the light weight truck. "All the survivors who choose to stay with us we store their transpiration for them.” She drops the lift gate opening the camper’s Plexiglas door upwards. "There are others?" Ben asks pushing Chip's wheelchair out. He looks up getting his answer two men now flank the Preacher each stands silently holding up flickering lanterns. Ben stands from the truck bed unfolding the chair. "Yes Sir Mr. James we have found others and others have found us as well." Ben excuses himself as the others climb from the truck’s rear.</div>
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He makes his way up to the front of the pickup his son is waiting with the door open. "Hop off B." Chip instructs his sister then he hefts himself out of his seat dropping down into the seat of his wheelchair. Ben holds his arms out anxious to hug his baby again. "Daddy." She squeals leaping from the truck’s cab narrowly missing hitting her head on the roof. He spins about on the dirt floor the small girl on his hip. Chip rolls on his father's heels back to the rear of the truck. The portly man who rolled back the fence has now joined the group. As Chip comes into view all three men noticeably drop their eyes to his chair. "This kids in a wheelchair." The chubby man with the round belly reports as if no one has yet noticed scratching his head in confusion. "What? What!?" Chip shouts nudging the chair forward in the dirt. "So nobody in the world has ever seen a person in a wheelchair before?" Ben reaches down placing a reassuring hand on his son's chest. "Calm down Junior." He says using that old parental trick of talking softer to an agitated child. It doesn't work with Chip as the stress and strain have merged with the unwanted pity everyone seems to have for him. "No Dad I won't." He says defiantly shrugging Ben's hand down with one of his own. "Last night I rolled down a hill through a car wreck fighting off zombies then jumped in a truck drove down the block. I found a house that had a zombie living in it. She let us in at some point I had a seizure and when I woke up killed and the zombie. Then I held off an army of zombies til my dad and his friends came along all while keeping my little sister safe. What did you do last night Captain Chubby?" Chip swipes his damp hair back from his eyes. The husky man not taking too kindly to being insulted moves for Chip then freezes in place. Now Ben makes his presence felt depositing Belinda into Chip's lap. "Do we have a problem here?" Ben inquires puffing his wide chest up stepping between the man and his eldest son. The aggressor says nothing he's more focused on the cool sensation of metal pressed against the back of his head. Private Lockett sports a sly grin on her face the lantern light dancing off her flawless brown skin. She doesn't say a word to anyone. It is in this moment that Benjamin James knows he can trust his family to the juvenile soldiers and that they are now a part of his team. "Yes we do have a few problems." The Preacher steps up cleaning her glasses. "First and foremost Silas Proctor apologize for as God proclaimed to Moses.” Who made the deaf, the mute, the seeing and the blind was it not I?'" The Sin Preacher slowly raises her hand gently placing it atop Sara Lockett's. With subtle pressure she convinces Sara that they mean no harm as the weapon is lowered by both women. "Brother Proctor you have shown disrespect to this man and his family make you apologies this instant. You and I both know this boy can move better than you even in a wheelchair." Silas exhales feeling the pressure of the gun against his skull abate. He takes his hat from his head refusing to make eye contact with anyone except Benjamin. He extends a hand in a gesture of genuine good will. "I'm sorry buddy aint mean no harm just aint seen nobody around who's disabled. If this kid done did all them things like yawls saying then my hats off to ya." Ben and Silas shake hands the tensions eases from the room. Miriam interrupts "Now we still have one other issue to resolve Mr. James." She leans in closer to Chip before she speaks. "Here in our church children must respect their elders at all times young Mr. James. The Bible says 'Honor thy mother and father and here we take the letter of the Bible seriously son." Ben doesn't understand where Miriam is going initially before he weighs in. "Trust me Pastor my children are well aware of their behavior and the word of God." The Sin Preacher raises her gaze to the father towering over her. "You are strong in the word of God Mr. James this is good." Ben's mouth hangs agape "Umm No Ma'am my wife is far stronger in the word than I am." Ben admits to the preacher who responds in turn. "Well I can't wait to meet her then." Miriam stands looking about. "Where are my manners?" She claps one of the men standing besides her on the back. "James family and friends these gentlemen are members of my humble little house of worship." Miriam introduces the tall burly man in blue jeans and flannel holding a lantern to her left first. "Pardon his grey hair it comes from years of Earthly knowledge. This is Jim Hosstrum one of the best men I know." The man smiles and passes handshakes all around even managing to include little Belinda James. Miriam doesn't stop moving to the man on her right. "Now this is Ben Culverson we call him BC and please don't mind the disgusting wad of chaw in his mouth." She rolls her eyes at the man condemning him with just a look. With a move only a seasoned veteran of chewing tobacco would attempt. He swallows the lump of wadded tobacco in much the same manner a kid does when busted chewing gum by their teacher in class. Private Carson feels his stomach churn having grown up on a farm and realizing the septic brew the man had just "gutted." "You fine folks have already met Mr. Silas Proctor here." The preacher motions to the chubby farmer. After a rousing round of handshakes the dimly lit building falls silent. All present seem to be waiting for the preacher to speak. "Brother Proctor anything to report this morning?" She asks. "No Ma'am nuttin at’ all been as quite as kept round here." He says slapping his hat atop his balding head. "Good … good." She scans the building. "We should be able to go this way." She points to a door near where they had pulled into the large shed. "This will lead us into the church then we can go to my office." Private Lockett raises her hand having holstered her pistol. "Private ... Lockett" Miriam reads the name stitched on the girls uniform. "As long as what you say is not blasphemous please feel free to speak." Sara Lockett looks mildly agitated for a second attempting to gauge if the woman is serious or not. "Oh I only did that to get everyone's attention. Unless you have more Stars and Bars on your uniform than me I pretty much say what I please." She glances dismissively at their host. "Where are all the people who these cars belong to?" The men all appear to bluster at the tone the young female soldier has used with the pastor. Miriam raises a hands palm up calming the men instantly without a word. "They are all in the church of course my child as I have said we offer the same thing as we did before the Rapture." Lockett teeters inward waiting on the answer "annnnd that would be?" Miriam glides across the grouping to Belinda tussling the girl’s wild locks of curly sandy hair. "Shelter." Miriam gives a one words response her face goes blank. </div>
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"Where is he?" She asks flatly as the men a take turns looking to each other unsure of who should answer. Jim clears his throat and hitches up his pants. "Pastor he doesn't tell us where he is going or what he's doing and quite frankly Ma'am that's fine with me." Miriam's eyes narrow her displeasure is immediately clear. "I'm here." A voice calls back from deep in unseen black shadows. Every head pivots towards the sound of the voice. The Sin Preacher stares into the darkness unmoving. In the thick stillness of pitch black solitude she can see a faint glow. His "one flaw" she thinks to herself watching the cherry orange of a cigarette intensify the fade. "Brother Gustavo what have we spoken about as it relates to cleanness in the Lord’s temple?" The glow trails to the earthen floor then vanishes. "Excellent Brother Gustavo now have you thought about our discussion this morning? How feasible is it that we can be successful?" The man in the rear makes no attempt to move up and be apart of the group. His deep emotionless voice is enough to send Belinda James crawling from her beloved brother's lap into the safety of her father's arms. Ben is keenly aware of his baby girl shivering in his arms he doesn't know if the sensation comes from fear or the fact that she's chilled. "It depends on the size of the opposing force Pastor." Miriam cuts her eyes at Ben then replies to the shrouded apparition. "These nice folk here were hunted by somewhere in the neighborhood of two to three hundred lost souls. They are flocking this way out of the Clow Falls, Clow Oaks area. I beseech you Brother Gustavo have faith. For it was Judges 15:15 that Sampson did slay a thousand men with the jawbone of ass." Silence drapes the claustrophobic improvised carport. His words boom back. "If I use the lay of the land to my advantage I believe the Lord will grant me success in this endeavor." The weight casting a pall over Miriam's face lifts. "Excellent Brother Gustavo I pray for your safe return we shall convene in my office once you are done." The Sin Preacher falls to her knees. The three men with her see the woman prostrate on the ground and follow suit without question. She begins to pray aloud. "Dear Lord we humbly beg you grant our Brother Gustavo safe passage as he seeks to do you will. Keep your hands around him as you did Daniel in the lions den." The men surrounding the Preacher mumble in fervent prayers under their collective breath. The new group of survivors stand befuddled at what they are witnessing. Private Lockett turns to Carson making the international hand gesture for crazy. Circling her index finger around her temple while crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue Sara Lockett mocks the people praying. Belinda James giggles slapping her hands over her mouth her father shooting her a disapproving stare he shifts her from one hip to the other. "Amen." With that the thin woman in hunter's attire rises back to her feet. Jim and BC follow suit with relative ease. The group stands about watching Silas Proctor comically struggle to get to his feet with all of the grace of a two legged turtle. Miriam cocks her head at the rotund little man. Jim and BC both set about helping Silas to a standing position. "Go forth Brother Gustavo and bring us the victory. Now let us go become acquainted with the others in the church and plan on how we can get you back to your family." Ben and the Preacher lead the others out of the front door into the warm sun. The shadow at in the rear of the building is briefly visible he exits through a rickety door closing it quietly behind himself.</div>
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Gustavo plods across the dense overgrown grass from the building to the shed the Sin Preacher had given him to conduct his pre ordained tasks in. He walks slightly hunched over but at almost seven feet tall most people wouldn't notice. His dusty tattered overalls ride up over his gnarly brown work boots. The wind blows at his thick unmoving black hair styled in a decidedly Elvis like pompadour. His meticulously combed hair sways but manages stay in place. Gustavo stops at the red pad locked doors of the smaller shed. He fishes the keys out of his pockets using his long thin spider like fingers. Waiting for the others to enter the front of the church before unlocking the padlock on the end of a heavy rusted steel cross bar. Gustavo pushes the bar up then sliding his rail thin body in the slight opening in the door. Once inside he's greeted by dark and unmoving air Gustavo grabs a steel identical bar on the opposite and lowers it. He snaps the padlocks through a ring securing the bar in place. Assured he's alone the quirky loner fires up his lighter placing a cigarette in his mouth. Smoking was his lone vice in pious life of servitude to the New Faith Baptist church from handyman to gardener he did it all for the church. Now with the Rapture upon them he has been called to do his greatest work for the church in the name of the Lord. Reaching down in the darkness he feels around for the small generator then pulls the handle back. After several choking sputters it burps to life powering eight small light bulbs strung four each alongside the cramped structure. Beat up tools benches line the walls but each is neat and orderly. He takes a long step over the metal bomb shelter hatch at his feet that leads to an underground passage. This gives him direct unseen accesses into the belly of New Faith. A large misshapen vehicle sits under a white tarp only it's massive off road tires are visible. His mind wanders as it has the tendency to do. Thinking to himself he smiles "My greatest creation ever my Frankenstein’s Monster." Walking in long odd strides he squeezes past the truck headed for the rear door. The doors were a patch work of reinforced welded steel plates that rolled pack on well oiled tracks. These doors run flush with the exterior fence. Gustavo directs his eyes above the door following the thick insulated cable that he's used to complete circuit when he electrified the fence running around the church. With one flip of the long black handled switch on the right side of the doors electricity would surge through the metal encircling them. In the corner sits the most out of place thing in the room a simple small brown dresser with a chipped oval mirror nailed to the wall above it. Inside the top drawer he has pulled open is a uniform from his second job the only one he could get. Gustavo is the lone ice cream man in the entire sparsely populated county. Today the Sin Preacher would allow him to marry the two things he loved the most into one.</div>
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Minuets later Gustavo stands dressed head to toe in white wearing a set of highly polished black shoes. Looking in the mirror he straightens his black bow tow placing the paper triangle hat slightly off to the left atop his thick bristly black hair. Today there would be no delivering of ice cream treats to the waiting mouths of children. He would be instead delivering the Lord's vengeance to the lost souls wandering aimlessly about. He grabs the corner of the cloak hiding his work and tugs. The white tarp falls away to reveal a highly modified pristine white ice cream truck sitting four feet off the ground on those thick black tires with the deep treads. His eyes trace the right side of the truck the window where he'd once sold cool ice cream treats was replace with thick metal grates. He’d done the same procedure to the window on the left side as well. His front windshield was protected by the same mesh steel grate. Gustavo cranes his long neck to catch a glimpse of the roof to which he took time to affix a chrome overhang. It hung over the edges of the ice cream truck and there were winches attached to each side. Collapsible hydraulic legs at the corners to keep his creation from being tipped over. The only thing that remains untouched on the roof is a twirling two foot tall illuminated ice cream cone. As it slowly rotated on the trucks roof the words "Cool Treats" spiraled around and around… With his hunched Sasquatch gait he makes his way to the generator shutting it off casting the building in darkness once more. Gustavo lifts a ladder from the floor placing it against the rear bumper he climbs into the truck heaving the ladder in behind him. He places the ladder on hooks welded to the wall. Then slams the rear door of the malformed ice cream truck a pair of cabin lights gives off a small measure of light. Half a dozen thick bolts later the rear of the truck is secure. He turns about checking his work making his way to the driver’s set. The long deep freezer remained along left side beneath the window. Above freezer on the wall he had half a dozen hunting rifles on hooks below them sat boxes of ammunition. Neatly welded to the side of each window is a metal box containing dozens of spiral metal spears each with a finger loop bent into the end. Each spear had its end flattened out and ground to a razor sharp edge. Gustavo squeezes his way past all of his self made implements to his seat. Where a passenger seat would have been stands a control panel which had had installed to utilize all of his upgrades with ease. He sits on the worn black leather seat which bounces under his weight. Gustavo leans forward pulling the key from under his shirt it dangles on a silver chain around his neck. Taking great care not to muss his hair he takes the key off its chain. Sticking it into the ignition He reaches over his head to the visor pressing a white button on a small black rectangular box. The metal doors he's facing pop open with a metallic clank much like a bank vault door. Sunlight floods the utility shed as the doors part. Gustavo can see miles of hilly green rolling pastures the sun is shinning while birds chirp in the trees. He rubs his clean shaved chin thinking "This one section of the world has yet to see the festering filth of the apocalypse." Turning the key the engine catches smoothly throwing the truck into gear he rolls the beast out into the sun for the first time. "Thy Will Be Done" he mumbles under his breath. Depressing the button on the visor again he waits for the doors to close securely before heading of on his mission.</div>
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Gustavo is enjoying a drive through the desolate countryside as the minuets and miles tick by. He knows the route the Sin Preacher had taken along the back roads into Clow Oaks. If he didn't all he needed to do was follow the massive black cloud of smoke fouling the beautiful blue sky as the sub division burned. He spots the first zombies wandering aimlessly in a field coming over a steep hill. Gustavo wishes he had the mental acuity to figure out how the dead tracked their victims. They never gave up they never slowed down they just kept coming. The only thing he was sure of is what he had told the Sin Preacher. They are attracted to sound as their eyes are clouded over their vision must be terrible. He had gone out on his usual run the morning after the power had gone out trying to sell off his treats as they were melting in the sweltering heat. He almost didn't make it back to the church alive but the Lord had given him a vision an idea. He stops the truck letting it idle reaching to his right he flips a switch. Overhead a low whine starts the hydraulic legs deploy out in sections. The mounted motor driving them deep into the soft earth until the Ice Cream truck is braced. He wants a smoke so bad his lips are dry but he won't foul his vessel while he works. He shuts the engine off taking the key and hanging it back on its hook. Now came his favorite part flipping the switch on the dashboard. "Pop goes the weasel" begins to blare from the speakers. That song from every one's childhood that signaled the ice cream man was coming. For the undead lost souls of the apocalypse it was no different. The dead pivot in unison making for the wailing truck. They shuffle falling over tumbling down the hill like happy children. There one was difference however these forms beating their way blindly towards the ice cream man wanted a treat of a different kind. It was warm and had to be pulled fresh from the bone it was human flesh. Gustavo waited rising from his seat he takes a black leather apron from a hook on the wall pulling it over his head deftly tying it around his waist. Next came two elbow length cauterized rubber gloves he fits onto his hands. The Ice Cream Man was open for business as "Pop goes the weasel" play in its tantalizing repetitive cycle. </div>
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We find half of our group of survivors guest at the New Faith Baptist church this week. Where as they plot on a way to get back to the others. They find themselves suspect of the woman who has lent them a helping hand saving their lives. What makes them even uneasier is the voice of the man they can not see. Who is Brother Gustavo and why is he driving a souped up ice cream truck into a horde of zombies anyway?</div>
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Come back and find out the week of Sunday May 5th for Chapter 31 of The Living Dark.</div>
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Until them like us on Facebook at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark">www.facebook.com/TheLivingDark</a></div>
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Follow us on Twitter @TheLivingDark we'd love to hear from you.</div>
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Sincerely:<br />
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The Living Dark</div>
</span><br />Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-6078443119569279052013-04-01T21:33:00.000-07:002013-04-01T21:33:17.531-07:00Chapter 29: Enter the Sin Preacher<span lang="EN"><div align="JUSTIFY">
Chapter 29: Enter the Sin Preacher</div>
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Everything goes blank for Benjamin James his mind fills with visions of his children being torn apart while screaming for his help. He stares down at the pileup of twisted cars littering the intersection at the bottom of the hill. Ben doesn't realize that he has the gas peddle pinned to the floor until White Magic starts tugging his shirt. "Find something to hold onto." He shouts out the open window over the rushing wind. Private Lockett stands up cautiously gazing over the cab of the truck. "Wha … wha ..." Looming ahead of them the jagged wreckage. "Oh Jesus ...." she says dismissively to no one in general. With no warning the pickup truck veers hard to the right throwing Lockett off balance. Before Lockett can right herself they hit the curb and plow over a soft earthen hump. She realizes she is no longer tethered to the truck's bed. Instead she’s momentarily weightless like an astronaut. Carson lashes out with his left arm while securing himself the speeding vehicle with his right hand. His eyes never leave the floating girl he reels Sara in by the waist as the truck comes down bouncing hard against the asphalt. Ben takes the truck up and over the embankment into the sub division. He obliterates the white wooden sign reading “Welcome to Clow Oaks.” Pieces of the splintered wood fly up and over White Magic’s dead grand pa’s truck as it chews up grass fishtailing onto the sidewalk. Ben drives as recklessly he’s a bull in a china shop of the living dead. He doesn’t swerve when confronted with an oncoming shuffling pack of zombies. Ben crashes the ton of Detroit steel he controls through the middle of the group. The vast majority of the undead are crushed and tossed about like cigarette butts on the ground. White Magic flinches as a pair of zombies ride the hood up and over the cab landing in the midst of the grouping in the truck’s rusty bed. Privates Carson and Locket have yet to uncoil themselves from their embrace. They are lying on their backs when a wadded up corpse lands atop them. Carson reacts out of shock at the attacking zombie whose jaw is broken into splintered bony spikes. Letting go of Lockett Carson grabs the dead man by his filthy gore stained suit coat heaving him out of the speeding truck. Lockett safe in the knowledge that Carson can handle himself reaches out seizing the mangled barefoot of a female zombie pulling herself towards Jamal with her one good arm. The young Iranian man sits up against the cab with his eyes closed clutching his baseball bat to his chest. His lips move silently as he mumbles to himself. “Jamal..!” Lockett screams into the wind to get his attention as the truck races onward. Jamal opens his eyes and fear takes over in an effort to get away from the dead woman he scurries up and off balance. He topples sideways until Carson Grabs his elbow. “Gotcha….” The big soldier yelps. Lockett comes to her knees deftly drawing her knife once more. She jabs the blade down with such force it penetrates through the zombie’s skull clanking off the truck bed. Carson uses a thick hand to pound the window angrily “Hey cut us a fucking break please?!” Carson looks at the two men in the cab getting his answer. Ben doesn’t even acknowledge the world around him his thick hands fiercely kneed the steering wheel. White Magic however has a wild eyed look of terror as he has both hands planted firmly on the dashboard like terrified senior citizen watching their grandchild weave the in and out of traffic. “Aw shit.” Cody Carson blurts dismissively as they round a corner having made it in record time through Clow Oaks. </div>
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“Lockett Mr. James has tunnel vision.” He says breathlessly to his partner who peers to the side taking in the ever growing crowd of zombies coming up fast ahead of them. “Alright if we want to survive this rescue mission we have to work together.” Lockett says into the stream onrushing wind caused by the speeding truck. She readies her M-4 patting herself down realizing they can’t get involved in a shootout she and Carson don’t have more than fifteen clips between them. “Carson you and I are on clean up detail. Jamal …..” She looks up to see the dazed look in their compatriot’s eyes. Lockett snaps her fingers to get his attention. “Jamal …..” After squeezing his chest with one hand Jamal seems to find his nerves once more. “Jamal stay between us you take care of the stragglers understood?” “Yes Lockett.” He responds tightening his hold on the baseball bat that had seen him through several undead close encounters. “Man Lockett he aint stopping …” This is as close to a complete sentence as Carson can get out before Ben hops the truck back up onto the sidewalk. Lockett is aware of why Carson is so concerned. Ben James plans to simply drive the truck as close to the house in question as he can get it. This course of action will place them smack dab in the center of a large horde of zombies. Lockett makes her way to the two men standing leaning heavily on the truck’s cabin. The three of the scan the hellish landscape in the distance a battered white pick up trucks sits stalled against a tree. “Hey guys see that truck?” She says pointing as the truck they are riding in clips a hapless zombie. “I think our missing people might be in that house.” Lockett can’t help but admire the resolve of the younger James if he has survived. Even if he wasn’t in a wheelchair to make this far fending of the dead alone while protecting a child was certainly impressive. They close in on the house being assaulted and Ben guns the engine across lawns. A two muffled gunshots pierce the air as the pickup skids onto the lawn of the house bowling zombies in every direction. “We got survivors people.” Lockett shouts. The truck’s momentum has barley stopped Ben emerges from the driver’s side door in full blown panic mode leaving the truck running “Chip …..Belinda!” He bellows moving across matted grass. “Dad!” a scream answers from inside the house. “Christ he’s not even paying attention.” Carson shouts Benjamin James cares about one thing and one thing only his children. “Jamal go with Mr. James.” Lockett orders over the eyesight on her rifle. Without hesitation Jamal bails over the side of the truck. “Carson back to back you take out the ones coming I got the ones on the porch. Magic slide over into the driver’s seat and close the door.” Lockett opens fire on the zombies who have turned their attention away from the door onto the man foolishly charging empty handed into their number. Lockett and Carson begin laying the undead flat permanently in their designated fields of fire. </div>
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Ben is vaguely aware of the gunfire around him even as Lockett skillfully cuts down the dead gathering on the porch. A one arm corpse reaches clumsily for him Ben throws a crushing right hook to its jaw. “Chip! …. Is that you son?! “He shouts back dismissing the zombie sprawled at his feet. Jamal appears at Ben’s side smashing the zombie’s head into paste before it can stand. Ben doesn’t flinch taking his first step up the porch. He watches two zombies stepping down from the porch as their heads explode less than a foot in front of him bodies toppling down the steps past him “I’m coming son!” Ben calls feeling what he first believes to be raindrops pelting his shirt in actuality they are tears. He has no idea why his eyes are dribbling tears down his face and he doesn’t care. “Hurry dad.” Chip’s disembodied voice beckons from the house two more gunshots from inside. Ben pushes up the stairs onto the body littered front porch. Jamal turns to see a zombie at the base of the stairs he draws back a full swing. Jamal swings the bat arching towards the side of the aggressive zombie’s head. Which explodes seconds before Jamal’s bat deals a devastating blow. His momentum unchecked Jamal goes spinning of balance Lockett nods her head sharply back up the porch. Ben latches onto the shit collar a zombie who has its arm stuck shoulder deep into the cracked open door. He brutally smashes the dead man in hospital scrubs head into the door stop over and over creating a thicker read streak with successive each blow. He doesn’t hear the dead firefighter Lockett is desperately trying to get a clearer shot on creeping up besides his exposed arm. Back in the truck Lockett steadies her shot the first two she had attempted ricocheted harmlessly off zombie’s sturdy black firefighter’s helmet. The undead firefighter with Rodriguez emblazoned in neon yellow on his thick black coat clasps his vice like dead grip on Ben’s exposed arm. The zombie’s mouth opens impossibly wide teeth preparing for the fatal bite. Jamal flies in knocking the dead man hands off Ben. Using his bat he pushes the corpse onto its back dislodging the protective black helmet which clatters across the porch. Jamal brings the bat down with two hands as if it were an axe. The dead firefighter’s soul is put to eternal rest as his head is crushed. “Dad .. Dad they’re coming in the back too.” Chip calls from behind the door. Jamal leaps to his feet. “Everyone they are coming in the back of the house too. “ Ben shoves his way in the door seeing only his son gun in hand pressing back against a cabinet propped across the door. Coming down a hall several undead townsfolk bump about making their way forward. “Where’s Belinda Chip?” Ben hollers coming over the downed China hutch “Daddy!” Ben spins around to see his daughter’s tiny scarred head poking out of a closet door with a smile bright as the midday sun. The undead have now noticed her too “B get back in there.” Chip shouts firing a wild shot at the pack of walking corpses. Ben’s head swivels around the room. He presses his son’s hand holding the pistol down pushing his chair to the side. Ben James grabs the cabinet that has been blocking the door in a rage. In a display of Herculean strength Ben lifts the hutch up just as Jamal, Lockett and Carson pile into the door behind him. The incensed father with his furniture battering ram charges down the narrow hallway. “Man I though he was brutal driving the truck.” Carson says absently. The sound of bodies hitting the back of the hollow cabinet reverberates about the room. Ben finally tosses the bloodied China hutch on top of the remaining zombies pinning them in place. He turns back as the Privates Lockett and Carson along with Jamal in tow move in to finish off the twisted zombies crawling about the floor like partially stepped on ants. Ben James twists the door knob yelling out for his little humming bird “Belinda.” When the door doesn’t open he blindly puts one of his big feet through the door. Ben kicks and kicks at the old door until it’s just splinters. He reaches his baby leaps into his arms “Daddy … Daddy … Daddy.” She says squeezing her father’s thick neck pressing her smooth cheeks against his tear streaked ones. Ben falls back into the wall hugging his daughter dropping to knee as Chip wheels into the reunion. The James family embraces in the center of the hall the front door burst open. “Hey all them motherfuckin’ zombies we saw at the house are here and they bought some friends too.” White Magic shouts slamming the door Uzi in hand with Ben‘s rifle over his scrawny shoulder. “Hey is this the right dude in the wheelchair we was lookin’ for?” He says with his usual lack of tact. Lockett pushes past Magic pulling the door open cautiously. “Holy shit there’s at least two to three hundred hostiles.” The dead they had put down to get into the house lie scatter across the ground were but a fraction of living dead force hunting them. Private Lockett watches a sea of bumbling corpses coming from both ends of the block. The dead flow from between houses like moaning flood waters. The zombies have come for them en mass using their sheer numbers to overwhelm the living. </div>
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“Out the back people it‘s clear.” Carson shouts running up from the back door. Lockett reaches into the pocket of her flack jacket. “Hey Magic I’m sorry.” She says stepping on the porch. “Sorry for what?” White Magic says looking at the others. Lockett produces a grenade she has retrieved from her pocket. Pulling the pin on the explosive she lobs it under handed watching as it lands in the bed of Magic’s grandfathers still running pickup truck. Quickly she moves back into the house closing the front door. “Fire in the hole.” With that said Lockett and the others duck. While Benjamin James shields his children. From out front the explosion is deafening rattling the prefabricated house knocking out the remaining windows. Flames billow in the shattered windows igniting everything in the houses living room. “Go … go while they are distracted.” Lockett stands heading for the back door of the house. “What the fuck did you do bitch!” Magic’s face is red with anger. He tosses down both guns stepping to Lockett. “I can’t be without my lights you fucked my ride back.” Magic stops ripping off his sunglasses he pivots and bolts out the backdoor. “Magic wait …..” Carson calls out getting no response as the dreadlock headed man disappears from view “We got no time for him.” Lockett steps gingerly by the fire licking from the doorway scooping up the dropped weapons. Ben James rises placing his daughter in her big brother’s lap. He pushes the kids around the down China hutch avoiding the corpses on the floor. Ben follows Carson and Jamal out the back of the burning house with Lockett bringing up the rear. “Where the hell did he go?” Ben asks looking at the empty suburban backyards. “Doesn’t matter Mr. James we aren’t going back the way we came. So the task at hand now is survival.” Ben pushes his kids across the stained wooden deck and helps Chip maneuver down the stairs. “Come on we need to go down to that river and cross it.” Carson leads the charge down the sloping overgrown grass to a fairly calm river. The back of Clow Oaks and the other side of the river appear to be blessedly devoid of zombies for the time being. Locket stares back into the house the fire consuming the structure grows ever more menacing. “We need to get across and get out of sight or they will follow us.” She agrees with Carson. “Alright here’s how we do this.” Chip hands Belinda to their dad. He tucks the pistol in his waistband like his father along with the Lucky Mallet. His fingers dance along the wide skinny rims he secures his chair’s wheels in place. “Bring my chair will ya?” He dives head first into the cool late summer water feeling the slow current tug gently against his body. The one thing Ben did not fear with his handicapped son was the boys swimming abilities. Considering Chip’s muscular trunk he was more than capable of swimming. He crosses the river easily his arms rising and falling in rhythmic unison. “Well let’s go guys and gals.” Ben tosses Belinda on his shoulders then folds up Chip’s wheelchair. Before he can lift it up Jamal politely takes it from him “I have it sir.” They wade into the water taking quick but careful steps. Carson looks at Lockett hunching his shoulders sloshing out into the water. Belinda giggles most of the way across having been reunited with her father. Chip waits patiently watching from the other side of the river flipping his hair back up out of his face. Tessa’s house was now engulfed in flames the smoke blowing in would shroud their escape. Jamal comes out of the river first taking the chair directly to Chip. Ben watches his son climb into his chair as he had done hundreds of times before but this time he felt some thing strange pride. Not proud that his son was physically handicapped but proud that the boy hadn’t allowed his disability to define him. “Head out everyone we’re coming.” Lockett calls from the center of the river black rifle held high over their heads. Jamal and Chip wait for Ben and Belinda before the all hustle off together. Seconds later Carson and Lockett weighed down by soaked battle fatigues beat off chasing down their group. </div>
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The survivors run up a ridge then down a hill the smoke now the only sign of the chaos they’d left in Clow Oaks. They run on for what seems like an eternity crossing an expanse of grassy country overgrowth giving wide berths to any vegetation more than chest high. “Do we know where we are or are going?” Ben huffs stopping to catch his breath he places his daughter Belinda besides him. “Everybody huddle up.” They gather about in a circle wet and tired everyone panting except for Chip and Belinda. Sara Lockett looks back the way they had come the smoke spiraling skyward was now off to their left instead of behind them. “I don’t know this area and that damn coward bugged out on us.” She hisses. “Still I hope he made it if he can’t get back in time Mr. James he could prove to be a very dangerous adversary to everyone at the farmhouse.” They all look to their De Facto leader who is lost in thought. “Damn this is getting old.” He thinks rubbing his forehead. The sound of a branch breaking echoes from a dense thicket of trees a few acres from where they stand exposed. Carson taps Lockett’s shoulders pointing two fingers at his eyes then to pair of massive dead tree trunks. She motions for them to take cover and they all scramble for the trees. Once they are hidden Lockett hands Ben the hunting rifle. She hesitates briefly before giving Jamal the Uzi White Magic has tossed aside. “Look umm the safety is off sooooooo ….” She taps the short stubby barrel. “Point this end away from us and pull the trigger.” She gives the shy former college student a short lesson on proper firearm safety. Chip presses against the tree Belinda at his side he retrieves his dad’s pistol. They all aim over the fallen trees at the tree line waiting for this new threat to materialize. “If they don’t see us let them pass stay low and quite.” Lockett whispers around. “If who doesn’t see you?” a woman says behind them. They turn shocked to see a lean brunette woman with gold wire rimmed glasses standing behind them. She had come up on their rear as they focused on the tree line. “The zombies …” Locket says cautiously to the woman in the hunters camouflaged. She wears at cap on her head with a ponytail dangling from beneath it. Her hands are shoved low in her pockets a beautiful hunting rifle hangs lazily over her shoulder. The woman appears not to have a care in the world as if the whole zombie apocalypse thing hadn’t affected her. “Yeah I heard about them zombies and let me tell you The Lord is clearly not pleased with us.” She says looking back toward the smoke miles away. “I’m sorry where are my manners? You folks look like you could use a hand.” She takes a pronounced step forward. “I mean you no harm name’s Miriam Jacobs ….” She stops abruptly her hands held passively in the air. “…. I am Pastor Miriam Jacobs of the First New Faith Baptist Church to be exact.” Miriam notices the group relax upon hearing she is the leader of a house of worship. “I was out hunting for food for my congregation I got a truck back in the woods a bit. I will take you folks back with me it’s a little safer where I’m from.” Lockett looks to Benjamin James for guidance. “My name Benjamin James Ma’am and we have to get back to the rest of our group Ma’am but thank you anyway.” The woman produces a set of binoculars focusing back the way they had come from. “You sure cause it looks like you have some followers.” She can see a group of corpses some of them still smoldering coming into view miles behind them. “I’ll get you back to your people later but I suggest we leave now.” She cocks an eyebrow. Ben looks over the logs he can just see the relentless zombies now. “Alright Pastor Miriam Jacobs we’ll take that now ride …if you don’t mind.” Ben picks Belinda up. She turns back the way she’d come. “Follow me folks and no need to be so formal folks round these parts call me The Sin Preacher.”</div>
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Benjamin James has lead a group to successfully rescue his children Chip and Belinda but at what cost? White Magic their host who knows then ends and outs of the farmhouse where the rest of the group is hold up is missing. Now the question arises how much damage can the man who was bitten the day of "The Event" inflicted if he turns? The group is cut off by a huge heard of zombies so they run. While fleeing the undead they find themselves needing help of a Pastor who calls herself The Sin Preacher.</div>
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What's next for our survivors? Come back the week of April 14th to get the answers in Chapter 30 of The Living Dark.</div>
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</span>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2098700782080779795.post-89552821171366687252013-03-24T22:25:00.000-07:002013-03-24T22:25:04.122-07:00Chapter 28: We Leave At Dawn<span lang="EN"><div align="JUSTIFY">
Chapter 28: We Leave At Dawn </div>
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"Goooooood Moooooooorning zombie apocalypse survivors!" The static burst filled highly appropriate imitation of Robin Williams startles awake everyone sleeping in the damp concrete bunker. The old man on the other end of the microphone was one of the people White Magic stayed in contact with overnight. "Ernie you scared the crap outta of us dog wasup with that?" White Magic laughs into his handheld microphone. The whites of his blue eyes are red and not from lack of sleep. While the others slept White Magic partook of his time honored relaxation technique. The ashtray on the CB is packed with a healthy amount of ashes and joint butts. "Well I figured since we shared the same time zone that you and your guest needed know the Sun was up." White Magic scans the room quickly seeing the survivors who'd come knocking at his door yesterday. They’re already up and moving in a frenzy. "They are up now and so am I so it's time to get down to business Ernie. I'll talk to you tonight my bro." Magic releases the call button. Big Ben James comes stalking through the chaos right at Magic. Ben has the rifle his father in law gave him slug over his shoulder. "Let's go now!" White Magic hesitates for the briefest second. He takes in Ben's lack of tact and gratitude. Maybe it's the look on the man's face his dark skin sprinkled with sweat already or maybe its empathy. This is something White Magic has lacked for his entire life. He says nothing giving the distraught father a quick nod. "Alright Ern I’m checking out my brother you stay safe today alrighty?" Magic gingerly places the microphone back on the top of the black and chrome CB. "Hey ... hey Magic Man you still out there?" The grumpy old man shouts into the CB. Magic stops pulling the mic back up to his mouth. "Yeah Ernie I'm still here wasup man?!" A squelch of static pours from the ancient radio unit. "Do me a favor young buck. You tell that family with you that I'm not much on faith right now but if I was I'd be praying they find them kids of theirs safe and sound." The voice on the radio goes silent as does the bustling bunker. White Magic looks up at Ben James the man is chewing nervously on his bottom lip. For the first time in the short time he has known the husky black man. Magic sees a crack in the hard exterior Mr. James portrays. He deliberately moves the mic back to his mouth eyes still set on Ben. “I will Ernie …….I will and trust me my brother they appreciate yo concern. Stay safe bro we’ll keep ya posted Ernie.” Magic drops the microphone atop the CB. </div>
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“Are you ready Big Poppa James?” Magic asks from his seat behind the desk. “First don’t call me Big Poppa …” Ben rubs his hand impatiently across his lips. “….and second of course I’m ready. Now can we go please?” Magic stands up chest to chest dwarfed by the much larger senior James. His picks up his sunglasses hesitating before placing them on his face. “First you called me Vanilla Ice yesterday Pops. I looked that motherfucker up online last night.” He taps the bulky black laptop with his index finger. “Ha ha very funny … So I figure I can call you Big Poppa James it makes us even.” Magic snorts placing the mirrored shades on his face. He takes his time to look about the room. His eyes settle on Anne and Brandon James. Leaning in to keep the conversation between the two of them White Magic speaks. “Big Poppa look here when I say are you ready? What I mean is you ready for what happens if yo kids aint out there? If we don’t find them man or worse yet bro if we do and…. And …well.” Ben’s burly chest heaves once White Magic takes the opportunity to step back and give the man his space. The rest of the occupants of the underground former bootleggers den stare at the two men in the rear. “No I’m not ready for that but I have to know for sure … for my family.” A look passes between the two men. White Magic pats Ben on his chest pushing past him he picks his Uzi from the rickety desk. The two proceed to the front of the structure joining the main group. Private Sara Lockett has the groups attention focused on her. “Mrs. James with your foot injured we will leave you here where it’s safe with little man.” The girl winks at Brandon who grins broadly his cheeks flushed beet red. “Private Medina will stay here as well. She’s up to holding down the fort but the effects of her concussion are much to pronounced for her to be good on the move.” She motions over to Bianca Fullerton. “Ma’am I assume you’ll want to stay here with your little ladies?” Bianca looks sheepishly at Anne James. “Yes .. Iffff that’s okay?” She says Anne reaches over pressing her hands over Bianca’s. “Its fine honey God knows we could use the company.” “How’s the ankle feeling Mrs. James?” Private Carson inquires. “It’s doing better sweetheart thank you for bandaging it for me.” She responds swiping a blond bang from her face. “So now that we settled that Mr. James the rest of us will be heading out now. I will take the lead Carson will bring up the rear anybody have any questions?” Locket feels her confidence returning thinking nothing of ordering the men gather about her around. “I have a question.” White Magic raises his hand. “I’m hungry can I grab something from my stash before we head out?” Private Lockett‘s mouth curls up at the corner. “No White Cheddar your stash is gone we fed the women and children first thing this morning. Also next apocalypse can you stock more rations than Twinkies, Mountain Dew and cheese spread?” Magic’s displeasure is obvious as he glares about the room pulling his glasses down. “So we…..” Private Lockett begins but is cutoff. “I have another question.” White Magic raises his hand defiantly. “Are you a lesbian?” He blurts as everyone in the groups shoots him disapproving glares. Private Locket chuckles not the first time a man with low self esteem has asked her the same tactless questions. “No White Bread why do you ask are you hoping I am so we can hook up?” Snickers from the adults gathered about the door cause White Magic to grit his teeth. He dramatically pushes his sunglasses back up to cover his eyes using his middle finger. “Seriously your home you lead the way White Lightening.” Private Lockett steps aside. “Oh well thank you my sister.” White Magic offers the girl a black power fist salute. “Now we gots to clear the house before we go outside we might be coming back in a hurry.” He twists the handle pulling the heavy door open with an ear splitting groan of rusted metal. Ben takes this time to head over to his wife kneeling down to kiss her lips. “Bring back our babies please Ben?” She pleads her eyes are glassy and red for the exact opposite reason White Magic’s are. “I will do everything I can baby I swear I will.” He tells her as Brandon dives into his father’s arms. Unlike his parents the tears flow freely down Brandon’s smooth cheeks. “Keep mom and the other ladies safe for me chief ok?” Ben tells his youngest son. The boy tilts his head up at his dad giving him an agreeable nod. “Mr. James we are waiting for you. “ Jamal says softly. Ben places his son down next to his wife. With that the group moves down the dirt corridor to the secret door. “Now check this out peoples this is the most dangerous part. If one of dem fuckers got in the basement last night we are gonna run right into it.” White Magic raps the false door with the stock of his Uzi. The hollow sound thrums through out the packed dirt tunnel. He waits having heard nothing ready to bang on the door again. Carson catches his hand. “Dude your slapping a loaded weapon with its safety off against a wall not smart.” Unlike his tit for tat with Lockett White Magic doesn’t offer up any sarcasm to Carson. Due in part to the fact that the younger Carson is easily twice Magic’s size. “Sorry Captain …” is all he says. Carson pounds the doors with one of his huge fist. They all listen closely “Aight we good.” White Magic pronounces. He reaches down for the handle on the bottom of the door. Those with guns ready them just incase. Jamal takes position at the back of the group holding his metal baseball bat he’d retrieved from the James duffel bag. Magic raises the wall section stepping back allowing it to roll up and back on its own. The group steps out into the dark basement it’s silent and devoid of any of the living dead. Lockett moves to the base of the stairs White Magic is on her heels with the rest of the group falling in line behind them. Once Lockett reaches the tops of the stairs she presses her ear against the wood. White Magic turns to the men following. “Yo check it me and the ball buster here will clear the back of the house. You three take the front and we will meet up there.” Lockett kicks the door with a combat boot covered foot. Lockett points two fingers at her eyes then at White Magic. He returns the gesture with thumbs up. Lockett swings the door wide her M-4 rifle held high moving methodically to the back of the farmhouse. Carson leads Ben and Jamal into the living room. </div>
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It takes the survivors several minuets to clear the house from top to bottom. Back down in the center of the living room light beams in from various points. Lockett stows her rifle at her side. “Carson run back down stairs and let them know the house is secure. Tell them we are going to lock the door back and not to take chances.” Private Cody Carson takes off back downstairs as ordered. “White Rice do you have a plan as to how we are going to hit this sub division?” Ben can see the frustration brimming in the young man’s face. He taps Lockett’s elbow hoping she will relent or at the very least ease up until he no longer needs the boy’s help. White Magic goes into a side bedroom peeling back the curtain covering the window enough to see the battered white cargo van. “Well you guys brought company but they seem to have thinned out.” He holds the slit wider leaning back for everyone to see. About twenty zombies mill about in the general area of the stalled van waiting to catch the scent of the living. “The second we are exposed they will be drawn to us like flies on stink.” Ben says. “There is no way we can make it safely down there with them chasing us. I was hoping we could gas it up Magic I don’t relish the idea of walking. What if we have to go farther away from the farmhouse?” Magic lets the curtain go as Carson comes up from the basement. “Big Poppa don’t fret playa I have no desire to go for walk out there either. In the farm out front is my grandpa’s beat up ass pickup truck.” They move back to the front room of the house. Magic produces a set of keys jingling them seductively. “I know it runs cause I fired it up yesterday. We check the front of the house head out to the barn hop in our chariot pull out lock the barn and get down there and back here. I don’t want to be outside long I need to be near my lights and bunker.” He announces holding up his wounded arm. The white gauze is filthy with a deep blackish stain surrounded by a wide brown ring. “Hey bro let me clean that for you it’s looking kind of ratty.” Carson offers his first aid skills having reentered the living room. “Nah ….” Magic looks at his arm the white gauze was indeed grimy looking. “It’ll be fine I hope it’s healing well.” Magic catches the look passing between Lockett and Carson. “You two got a problem or something’?” Magic steps up defensively. Carson does a double take at the dreadlock covered cliché puffing his chest out. Carson tells White Magic. “Look I don’t give a shit about this whole zombie thing your theory on turning is as sound as anything else I’ve seen low these last few days. I need to make sure you’re healthy you’re not invincible you can still succumb to an infection. We and the James family need you healthy and on point that’s all we care about understand?” Magic and Carson size each other up briefly tempers getting the best of them. Ben steps between the pair asserting his male dominance. “Hey tone it down I need to get to my kids and I need you both so put your nuts back in your pockets.” Private Lockett snickers moving past a confused Jamal who clearly doesn’t understand the metaphor he’s just heard. She kneels down looking out of the filthy window. “Hey White Wash …….I’m sorry White Magic can we do this? The smell up here is really getting to me and we need to get this mission underway.” An angry sigh from the young man shows that her needling is having an effect on their host. “Yes ….” He forces through gritted teeth. “Hey Bigfoot you bring up the rear pull the door shut and giggle the knob to make sure it’s locked ok?” Carson opens his mouth to speak but Ben stifles his words with a paw to his chest. “Shut your mouths and open your damn ears.” Ben’s words are low and fierce. He takes time to stare into the eyes of each member of his rescue party. “My fucking children are out there somewhere and right now unfortunately you guys are helping me find them. However let’s be clear about one thing I don’t need you to help me I am going out this door with or without you fine people.” His speech brings all present back to reality. “We are going out in to what is essentially an apocalyptic wasteland. So if not for me at least for yourself pull your heads outta your asses and pay attention. Not a one of us is immune or guaranteed to make it through today alive get it?” Ben moves up besides the front door cocking the bolt on his hunting rifle. Lockett avoids eye contact with Ben James moves up placing a hand on the cold bronze doorknob. Magic crouches behind her as Jamal and Carson bring up the rear. Ben whispers to Carson. “We three will hit the ground running Carson you will secure the door and Jamal you will watch his back ok?” Carson signals yes with his head as Jamal answers “Yes Mr. James.” Private Sara Lockett raises three olive gloved fingers in a silent count down. When she hits zero Lockett pulls the door wide and bolts out into the bright crisp sunlight. Magic and Ben follow on her boot heels. </div>
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Jogging down the porch and across the grass each with their respective weapons raised high. Private Lockett encounters the first zombie ambling forward near a large tree. The armless female moans into the wind alerting other nearby walking corpses. Lockett doesn’t slow unsheathing her polished jagged combat knife. Sara drops the rifle to her side flipping the knife around savagely driving the blade down into the zombie’s forehead. Lockett moves on drawing closer to the barn. She picks up at least four corpses bearing down upon them two from the driveway and two adjacent to the old red barn. Lockett reaches the barn first turning her back on the locked doors she takes up a flanking position on the right of Magic. Ben nervously takes up position on the left he can see Carson and Jamal barreling down off the porch. Now in plain view on the side of house Ben notices the pack of zombies making its way up from his construction van. “We have company coming Magic.” Ben says bringing his weapon to bear on a lone zombie several feet away. Jamal moves in quickly crushing the dead man’s skull before Ben fires a shot. Ben sights another zombie who has wondered into the space between Carson and Jamal. Benjamin aims the rifle muzzle over Jamal’s left shoulder. He’s distracted by a melodic whistle from Carson. Ben freezes as the athletic young soldiers pulls his blade jabbing it under the preoccupied corpses chin by reaching up from behind. Private Cody Carson lifts the slack zombie up off its feet tossing it aside like a garbage bag. “Got it!” Magic shouts pulling the latch on the doors open. Tossing the truck’s keys to Ben he backs into Lockett clumsily knocking her forward into the two zombies coming down from the gravel driveway. Lockett doesn’t panic she drives a boot into the kneecap of the zombie on her left. Simultaneously she lashes out with an elbow pulverizing the nose of the corpse on her right staggering her attacker. Chaining her blows Sara Lockett buries her knife up to the hilt in the eye socket of the undead woman with the crushed kneecap. Snatching the gore covered knife free she flips it in the air catching it with her free hand. Sara slams the blade into the top of the disorientated zombie with pulped nose’s head. Magic is still staring slack jawed at the female soldier whose actions seems fit more Hollywood than reality. The well maintained engine on the twenty year old rusty blue Ford pick truck catches with the first twist of the key. Ben pulls the truck out past the quartet with zombies approaching from their right. “Get in back guys!” Ben screams out the window of the idling truck. Jamal and the pair of soldiers hop into the rear bed of the truck as White Magic hastily secures the barn doors once more. Magic makes it’s to the cab of the pick up jumping in next to Benjamin James narrowly avoiding the grasping fingers of the dead as he tugs the door closed. "Go ... go ... go Big Poppa!" Magic screams leaning over hoping to avoid having the window shatter in his face. Ben drops the pickup in to gear pounding his foot to the floor. The truck peels out fishtailing throwing gravel and dust up as they speed away from the farm. </div>
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The two men in the cab flinch as someone pounds on the window behind them. "Slow down ..." Carson yells through the glass. Magic pulls the sliding window section open. "Slow down are you crazy Big Money?" He calls back to the blond soldier leaning in the window. "No I'm not man the house is surrounded by those things. We couldn't see the one's on the other side." Ben brakes hard the truck skidding sideways to a stop. His breath freezes in his lungs when he catches a view of what's behind them in the side view mirror. A zombie horde moves in mass from the opposite side of the house. It overtakes engulfing the smaller pack that was pestering the group as they headed for the barn. The zombies that had chased the survivors from the massacre at the blockade had encircled the house during the night. Ben presumes it was all in a futile attempt to locate the living. "Thank God he stopped me from coming out last night." Ben thinks to himself. "We have to lead them away I'm not for any of that Night of The Living Dead crap." Carson says though the window. “When we comeback they will be waiting on us Mr. James." With that he disappears out the window. Carson stands up in the truck bed placing two fingers in his mouth unleashing a shrill high pitched whistle. Moans go up from the dead their aimless shambling becomes a staggering gait with a purpose. "Hey guys we're heading this way ..." He mockingly waves to the gathering zombies. "Cool now we just have to stay in sight Mr. James. If the can see us I assume they will follow us even from a distance." "Good catch Carson ....." Ben tells the young man who smiles before taking his seat. By the time the beat up pickup rolls to the end of the white gravel driveway. The truck is towing several dozen of the undead begrudgingly behind it. “Big Poppa make this left and we will slope right down into that sub division I was telling yawl about bro.” Ben does as he’s been told following the gravel until it opens to an asphalt road. The road merges seamlessly onto the road that had carried the James children away from the relative safety of their family. “Uh Mr. James can we speed it up a bit please?” Jamal says politely through the window. The zombies at the head of the pack are now less than five feet from them. The truck driving faster crests the top of the slope with the scene spread below them. “There … there Mr. James.” Lockett slaps the roof of the truck motioning in the distance. They look down to the right across the expansive decimated sub division below. In the rear of the sprawling development dead center in the last row of cloned houses they see hive of undead activity. One house seems to be very popular with the living dead. Zombies flock in droves to the front of the besieged house attempting to get at whoever is unlucky enough to be trapped inside.</div>
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We find the survivors waking up and rallying to get their search for Chip and Belinda James. The group is apprehensive not knowing what they will find in their search. Ben has to lay down the law with the rambunctious younger members of his troop. What will they find in the house at the bottom of the hill? Will it be Chip and B and will they get there in time to save them?</div>
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Come back and read Chapter 29 the week of March 31st.</div>
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</span>Robert Benjaminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143623103671890840noreply@blogger.com0