Chapter 39: A Books Woth of Revelations

Chapter 39: A Books Worth of Revelations

 

   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?”

 

   “Why?!”  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.

 

 

   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.

 

   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.

 

  

     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.

 

    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.

 

 

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.

 

 

     We'll see you all back here for an explosive Chapter 40 the week of September 22nd.

 

 

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Chapter 38: Unfamiliar Territory

Chapter 38: Unfamiliar Territory

 

     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.

 

   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.

      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.

 

    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.

 

    “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.

 

   “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.”

 

    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.

 

   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.

 

  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.

 

 

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Chapter 37: A Pair of Jokers

Chapter 37: A Pair of Jokers

 

   “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.

 

   “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!”

 

    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.  

 

   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.”

  

    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.

 

 

 

    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.

 

 

 

We will see you all back the week of August 18th for Chapter 38!

 

 

 

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Chapter 36: Locked Away

Chapter 36: Locked Away

 

 

   “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.

 

   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.

 

   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.

 

    “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.

 

 

      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?”

 

 

   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.

 

 

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The Living Dark