whispered. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she raised them and pointed into the pantry, her finger long and pale in the darkness. “Look!”
Abe Braun looked and swallowed hard. Begun? This was just the beginning? If this was the beginning, then what lay ahead for them?
What were they dealing with? He stared through the flashing lights. Bile filled his mouth. He jolted backwards.
Chapter Nine
Where the hooks that held the whole-chickens were lined up there was… had been… some kind of massacre. Some kind of strange ritual. The bodies had been mangled, but in an oddly specific way.
“Voodoo?” His voice was gruff and he could barely manage to raise it above a whisper. “Is this some kind of Satanic ritual?”
Goldie shook her head impatiently. “No. Look closer. Try to see and understand.”
Abe Braun breathed out through his nose as he tried to see what it was that she saw. He tried to understand what she wanted him to know,
Abruptly, he realized the truth. He stepped back with no volition of his own. His flight or fight instinct was set on flight full-force. He shook his head, his face growing ever paler beneath the cover of his fashionably styled beard and the smoke that still streaked his face.
The bodies of the hanging chickens were twisted, mangled, compared to how they had been at the beginning of the round, before the fire. They hung limply from their hooks, their heads gouged and broken, their skulls cracked.
Strangely, that seemed to be the worst of the damage. No other parts of the chickens were as damaged, yet each and every one had head damage.
His mind refused to accept the solution it offered.
“Their brains are gone,” Goldie Locke said, confirming his worst fear. “We are all in grave danger. We must prepare ourselves.”
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Abe Braun’s voice cracked with fear. If they were only now in Goldie Locke’s version of ‘grave danger’, Abe Braun was surer than sure that he didn’t want any part of what was going to happen next.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip and flowed down his temples. He mopped it away with the arm of his expensive shirt. It was ruined anyway. He stared down at it apathetically. Clothes didn’t seem so important, just now. He shook his head, jerking his mind to the unpleasantness that was his present. He felt dazed and a little light-headed. What was it that they had been talking about?
Oh, yes. The chickens. Abe parted his cracked lips and managed to croak out his question. “What are we facing here?”
Goldie Locke grabbed his arms, he howled as her hands pressed against the worst of his burns, but she did not move away from him. She stared intently into his eyes. Her will lent energy to his mind and body. He tried to chase the fog out of his mind.
“Think, man!” Goldie Locke shook him slightly. His arm was an agony, under her hand. “What sort of creature would eat the brains of a chicken? What eats brains?”
Abe Braun shook his head. He weaved in place. He wished he could let the exhaustion take over. He shook his head wildly, protests pouring out of his broken lips. “No,” he whimpered. “No. No. It’s not possible.”
“The scope of reality embraces many impossible things,” the woman hissed, her fingers tightening into claws around his arms. The pain made his head light and red spots dance in front of his eyes. “You know what is happening. You know what it is! Say it!”
“Z-z-zombies,” he said, almost weeping now. He slumped. “Zombies,” he whispered.
Goldie Locke stepped away from him. Abe Braun cradled his injured arm to his chest, whimpering softly to himself.
The word was worse than fire. It spread. They were overheard by the others. They caught onto the word and started whispering it until it almost seemed to be a chant. A name for the face of their fear. A face for the enemy that had destroyed them, body and mind.
Zombies. Zombies. Zombies.
Zombies.
“That’s not all,” Goldie
Abe Braun looked and swallowed hard. Begun? This was just the beginning? If this was the beginning, then what lay ahead for them?
What were they dealing with? He stared through the flashing lights. Bile filled his mouth. He jolted backwards.
Chapter Nine
Where the hooks that held the whole-chickens were lined up there was… had been… some kind of massacre. Some kind of strange ritual. The bodies had been mangled, but in an oddly specific way.
“Voodoo?” His voice was gruff and he could barely manage to raise it above a whisper. “Is this some kind of Satanic ritual?”
Goldie shook her head impatiently. “No. Look closer. Try to see and understand.”
Abe Braun breathed out through his nose as he tried to see what it was that she saw. He tried to understand what she wanted him to know,
Abruptly, he realized the truth. He stepped back with no volition of his own. His flight or fight instinct was set on flight full-force. He shook his head, his face growing ever paler beneath the cover of his fashionably styled beard and the smoke that still streaked his face.
The bodies of the hanging chickens were twisted, mangled, compared to how they had been at the beginning of the round, before the fire. They hung limply from their hooks, their heads gouged and broken, their skulls cracked.
Strangely, that seemed to be the worst of the damage. No other parts of the chickens were as damaged, yet each and every one had head damage.
His mind refused to accept the solution it offered.
“Their brains are gone,” Goldie Locke said, confirming his worst fear. “We are all in grave danger. We must prepare ourselves.”
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Abe Braun’s voice cracked with fear. If they were only now in Goldie Locke’s version of ‘grave danger’, Abe Braun was surer than sure that he didn’t want any part of what was going to happen next.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip and flowed down his temples. He mopped it away with the arm of his expensive shirt. It was ruined anyway. He stared down at it apathetically. Clothes didn’t seem so important, just now. He shook his head, jerking his mind to the unpleasantness that was his present. He felt dazed and a little light-headed. What was it that they had been talking about?
Oh, yes. The chickens. Abe parted his cracked lips and managed to croak out his question. “What are we facing here?”
Goldie Locke grabbed his arms, he howled as her hands pressed against the worst of his burns, but she did not move away from him. She stared intently into his eyes. Her will lent energy to his mind and body. He tried to chase the fog out of his mind.
“Think, man!” Goldie Locke shook him slightly. His arm was an agony, under her hand. “What sort of creature would eat the brains of a chicken? What eats brains?”
Abe Braun shook his head. He weaved in place. He wished he could let the exhaustion take over. He shook his head wildly, protests pouring out of his broken lips. “No,” he whimpered. “No. No. It’s not possible.”
“The scope of reality embraces many impossible things,” the woman hissed, her fingers tightening into claws around his arms. The pain made his head light and red spots dance in front of his eyes. “You know what is happening. You know what it is! Say it!”
“Z-z-zombies,” he said, almost weeping now. He slumped. “Zombies,” he whispered.
Goldie Locke stepped away from him. Abe Braun cradled his injured arm to his chest, whimpering softly to himself.
The word was worse than fire. It spread. They were overheard by the others. They caught onto the word and started whispering it until it almost seemed to be a chant. A name for the face of their fear. A face for the enemy that had destroyed them, body and mind.
Zombies. Zombies. Zombies.
Zombies.
“That’s not all,” Goldie
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