if ever the situation arises."
"You killed him, you killed him, you killed him...” Miranda's words faded into a choked torrent of sobs as she collapsed against Mark, burying her face in his chest.
Glancing back into the green haze of the room, now rendered a ghastly red by a persistent shower of blood, Seth was infused with a morbid need to see Lincoln's body, to know he was dead. To ensure his friend wasn't suddenly about to rise to his feet and become one of these terrible creatures, one of the walking dead. Shambling out of the mayhem with knotted ropes of gnawed upon intestines spiralling in coils out of the great cavern in his abdomen, a big bloodied hole where his genitals once existed.
He knew that Lincoln was well and truly dead, though he hadn't personally seen Black kill him, but the words of the Subversion frontman, though not outright saying so, stated enough to conclude that it was indeed the case.
He couldn't see Lincoln's body, or if he was seeing it he couldn't exactly tell which one it was, there was a tangle of bodies inside and beyond that, more violent death unfolding.
And somewhere in that charnel house of horrible death metal hymns that morphed average fans into bloodthirsty undead beings were three more of his friends, essentially deemed already dead by Black and his posse.
Seth didn't want to believe that, couldn't believe it, but an awful little voice in the back of his mind whispered otherwise.
After all, without the appearance of Black, Blizzard, Tempest and their zombie-chopping blade ensemble, he and his bunch of friends would have been a black metal banquet for the deadite death heads, so how could he expect Buck, Callie, and Adrianna to have been similarly fortunate? Especially if they'd been down in the pit, as Callie had been hinting she was planning to be once the headlining act hit the stage.
It was inconceivable to think the trio had eluded the gnashing, flesh-tearing teeth and organ-searching hooked fingers of the zombie hordes.
He didn't want to dwell on the thought of them trapped in the mosh once the Zombie Trigger was switched on, violently inflicted with the sickness that had swamped all of Seth's friends and then swarmed under a deluge of brutal zombie beasts driven by maddening hunger.
Unfortunately, the cogitations were there already; it was too easy to imagine his trio of absent buddies falling victim to the undead the way Andy had, the way all the others who weren’t susceptible to the trigger had. Blizzard and Tempest yanked the weighty double doors closed behind them, cutting off Seth's view of the hideous activity seething within and the hellish sounds of the Undead Fleshcrave's music as it continued throwing its insidious tentacles of discord over the entire arena.
This probably wouldn't keep the fiends inside for long, it was merely another device to separate them and the undead army, but as these heavy doors were brought shut it was with an air of finality that eliminated any slim hopes Seth may have held for his friends inside to miraculously escape the bloodbath.
He didn't want to think about it, he had to concentrate on making sure Julietta didn't suffer the same fate. Or worse. If there could possibly be anything worse.
They were in a long hallway; to the left would lead them out the way they and every other patron of the concert had entered; to the right was anybody's guess.
Obviously heading left was a no brainer, but for one major obstacle.
A thick cluster of security guards, akin to those standing impassively at the front of the stage while the Zombie Trigger took hold and pandemonium ensued, stood in an impenetrable cordon down the end of the hallway, barring any
"You killed him, you killed him, you killed him...” Miranda's words faded into a choked torrent of sobs as she collapsed against Mark, burying her face in his chest.
Glancing back into the green haze of the room, now rendered a ghastly red by a persistent shower of blood, Seth was infused with a morbid need to see Lincoln's body, to know he was dead. To ensure his friend wasn't suddenly about to rise to his feet and become one of these terrible creatures, one of the walking dead. Shambling out of the mayhem with knotted ropes of gnawed upon intestines spiralling in coils out of the great cavern in his abdomen, a big bloodied hole where his genitals once existed.
He knew that Lincoln was well and truly dead, though he hadn't personally seen Black kill him, but the words of the Subversion frontman, though not outright saying so, stated enough to conclude that it was indeed the case.
He couldn't see Lincoln's body, or if he was seeing it he couldn't exactly tell which one it was, there was a tangle of bodies inside and beyond that, more violent death unfolding.
And somewhere in that charnel house of horrible death metal hymns that morphed average fans into bloodthirsty undead beings were three more of his friends, essentially deemed already dead by Black and his posse.
Seth didn't want to believe that, couldn't believe it, but an awful little voice in the back of his mind whispered otherwise.
After all, without the appearance of Black, Blizzard, Tempest and their zombie-chopping blade ensemble, he and his bunch of friends would have been a black metal banquet for the deadite death heads, so how could he expect Buck, Callie, and Adrianna to have been similarly fortunate? Especially if they'd been down in the pit, as Callie had been hinting she was planning to be once the headlining act hit the stage.
It was inconceivable to think the trio had eluded the gnashing, flesh-tearing teeth and organ-searching hooked fingers of the zombie hordes.
He didn't want to dwell on the thought of them trapped in the mosh once the Zombie Trigger was switched on, violently inflicted with the sickness that had swamped all of Seth's friends and then swarmed under a deluge of brutal zombie beasts driven by maddening hunger.
Unfortunately, the cogitations were there already; it was too easy to imagine his trio of absent buddies falling victim to the undead the way Andy had, the way all the others who weren’t susceptible to the trigger had. Blizzard and Tempest yanked the weighty double doors closed behind them, cutting off Seth's view of the hideous activity seething within and the hellish sounds of the Undead Fleshcrave's music as it continued throwing its insidious tentacles of discord over the entire arena.
This probably wouldn't keep the fiends inside for long, it was merely another device to separate them and the undead army, but as these heavy doors were brought shut it was with an air of finality that eliminated any slim hopes Seth may have held for his friends inside to miraculously escape the bloodbath.
He didn't want to think about it, he had to concentrate on making sure Julietta didn't suffer the same fate. Or worse. If there could possibly be anything worse.
They were in a long hallway; to the left would lead them out the way they and every other patron of the concert had entered; to the right was anybody's guess.
Obviously heading left was a no brainer, but for one major obstacle.
A thick cluster of security guards, akin to those standing impassively at the front of the stage while the Zombie Trigger took hold and pandemonium ensued, stood in an impenetrable cordon down the end of the hallway, barring any
Similar Books
