Locke said. She reached out to give Abe a little shake, but he stumbled away, clutching his arm tighter to get away from her. She shook her head, staring him right in the eyes, forcing him to know and accept the truth. “ Think ! What kind of zombie would eat that kind of brains?”
Abe Braun gasped for air. The darkness was pounding like a jackhammer against his chest. His arm throbbed with pain. He did not even dare look down at it. He wasn’t sure he could face the damage. Flashes of red light filled his vision every time he closed his eyes.
“Say it,” Goldie Locke commanded.
“Chickens,” he wailed like a madman. “A chicken zombie!”
Everyone fell silent. Arms that had clung to each other fell limply by sides. Heads weaved in exhaustion and disbelief. A united breath whispered through the group.
“What did he say,” someone from the outskirts of the exhausted group queried, his voice piercing the silence. Every head turned towards him. They begged him to ask the questions they couldn’t speak.
“It’s true,” Goldie said, turning her dark gaze onto the others, though one hand still gripped Abe Braun’s arm. “I know it sounds like madness. I know it’s hard to understand. The… creature who is doing this is a zombie chicken by the name of Fred.”
Someone laughed. It cut off abruptly. Was she serious? The expression on her face said that she was serious. She wouldn’t lie to them, not now. Not such a ridiculous lie. It had to be true.
Chicken. Zombie.
Chicken Zombie.
Fred.
It was ridiculous, but it was true. Their world was too shattered not to accept that this could be fact. The creature that stalked them had a face… had a name.
No one could ever have expected the identity of their tormentor. A chicken zombie. Their tormentor, their killer wasn’t even human.
Wasn’t even alive.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you warn us,” Abe Braun demanded, his face regaining some of its color as his rage dragged him out of his depression. “You knew all along! You could have warned us!”
“Why do you think I didn’t tell you? If I had told you that this was the work of a zombie chicken from the beginning, you would have thought that I was crazy! You wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. You would have had security drag me from the lot—you know that’s true! The only way for me to help you was to not tell you who was doing this. You had to reach the conclusion on your own. You can see that, can’t you?”
The others nodded reluctantly. Even Abe Braun nodded, his head dropping again as the last spark of energy his fury had lent him drained from his limbs. Why should he not believe in zombies, even zombie chickens? He felt more undead than alive himself.
“What do we do,” someone shouted, her voice laced with panic. “How do we fight him? How can we defeat him? How do we fight a zombie chicken?”
Goldie shook her head slowly, her expression bleak, her eyes dull. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Moans sounded from the group as hope slipped from their reach.
“I don’t know how to defeat him,” Goldie Locke said. How had they not noticed before that she, too was exhausted and broken? Her shirt was blackened where embers had burnt down to the skin. She was not unscathed. She was not some magical hero.
She was one of them, even if her determination was the only thing between them and madness or death.
“It’s not a simple task, trying to defeat Fred,” Goldie Locke said. “As he has proven, he is quite an accomplished adversary. He is wily. He has planned each detail of today’s atrocities down to the Nano byte. We don’t have the upper hand here and he knows it. He has the plan. We need to stick together and fight together, if we want to have a prayer of a chance. We may not be able to defeat him. We can only hope to escape and survive. We have to fight to survive. We have to focus on that. Survival.”
One of the lighting technicians, a tiny woman
Abe Braun gasped for air. The darkness was pounding like a jackhammer against his chest. His arm throbbed with pain. He did not even dare look down at it. He wasn’t sure he could face the damage. Flashes of red light filled his vision every time he closed his eyes.
“Say it,” Goldie Locke commanded.
“Chickens,” he wailed like a madman. “A chicken zombie!”
Everyone fell silent. Arms that had clung to each other fell limply by sides. Heads weaved in exhaustion and disbelief. A united breath whispered through the group.
“What did he say,” someone from the outskirts of the exhausted group queried, his voice piercing the silence. Every head turned towards him. They begged him to ask the questions they couldn’t speak.
“It’s true,” Goldie said, turning her dark gaze onto the others, though one hand still gripped Abe Braun’s arm. “I know it sounds like madness. I know it’s hard to understand. The… creature who is doing this is a zombie chicken by the name of Fred.”
Someone laughed. It cut off abruptly. Was she serious? The expression on her face said that she was serious. She wouldn’t lie to them, not now. Not such a ridiculous lie. It had to be true.
Chicken. Zombie.
Chicken Zombie.
Fred.
It was ridiculous, but it was true. Their world was too shattered not to accept that this could be fact. The creature that stalked them had a face… had a name.
No one could ever have expected the identity of their tormentor. A chicken zombie. Their tormentor, their killer wasn’t even human.
Wasn’t even alive.
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you warn us,” Abe Braun demanded, his face regaining some of its color as his rage dragged him out of his depression. “You knew all along! You could have warned us!”
“Why do you think I didn’t tell you? If I had told you that this was the work of a zombie chicken from the beginning, you would have thought that I was crazy! You wouldn’t have listened to a word I said. You would have had security drag me from the lot—you know that’s true! The only way for me to help you was to not tell you who was doing this. You had to reach the conclusion on your own. You can see that, can’t you?”
The others nodded reluctantly. Even Abe Braun nodded, his head dropping again as the last spark of energy his fury had lent him drained from his limbs. Why should he not believe in zombies, even zombie chickens? He felt more undead than alive himself.
“What do we do,” someone shouted, her voice laced with panic. “How do we fight him? How can we defeat him? How do we fight a zombie chicken?”
Goldie shook her head slowly, her expression bleak, her eyes dull. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Moans sounded from the group as hope slipped from their reach.
“I don’t know how to defeat him,” Goldie Locke said. How had they not noticed before that she, too was exhausted and broken? Her shirt was blackened where embers had burnt down to the skin. She was not unscathed. She was not some magical hero.
She was one of them, even if her determination was the only thing between them and madness or death.
“It’s not a simple task, trying to defeat Fred,” Goldie Locke said. “As he has proven, he is quite an accomplished adversary. He is wily. He has planned each detail of today’s atrocities down to the Nano byte. We don’t have the upper hand here and he knows it. He has the plan. We need to stick together and fight together, if we want to have a prayer of a chance. We may not be able to defeat him. We can only hope to escape and survive. We have to fight to survive. We have to focus on that. Survival.”
One of the lighting technicians, a tiny woman
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