Undead freaks, p.1

Undead Freaks, page 1

 

Undead Freaks


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Undead Freaks


  UNDEAD FREAKS

  Jesse Bastide

  Copyright 2014 Jesse Bastide

  All rights reserved

  Contents

  1...

  2...

  3...

  4...

  5...

  6...

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  8...

  9...

  10...

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  1

  Kelly heard the knock on the door downstairs. She was up in the shower, massaging the shampoo into her scalp. It smelled like oranges. She'd gotten it at Whole Foods on her Friday trip down to Portland. The water was on a little hot for summer, but she liked her showers on the hot side. That was just the kind of girl she was.

  She wasn't expecting any company, but more likely than not it was an Amazon delivery. She wasn't signed up for the drone deliveries yet (those were crazy to think about), but that didn't stop her from keeping the UPS guy busy with her online shopping. Her husband Terry didn't say too much about it. Maybe it was because she had no problem ordering that sexy French lingerie he liked.

  Was that the secret to a long and happy marriage?

  She wasn't sure. At least shopping online gave her something to do when she was home. It wasn't like there was much else to do. She and Terry didn't have a lot in the way of outside responsibilities. They had no kids. They were single income, but Terry was fifty percent owner in the Calvert Falls Toyota dealership. When he bought out that old fart Norman Prince, the place turned right the hell around; they were pulling in better sales numbers some months than they were doing quarterly before, and that was making life very comfortable for Kelly and Terry.

  The only thing she'd change, if she thought about it, was her husband's name -- Terry. His first name made him sound like he was Asian and trying to hide it or Black or something. There weren't any people like that in Calvert Falls and it was a damn shame he didn't have an All-American Wonder Bread name like she did. It would probably make sales at the dealership even better. She'd even told him that it would be a good idea to change it (his name), and he'd just laughed it off, like he didn't think she was serious. Maybe that was better. If he'd known she really wanted him to change it she might have pissed him off.

  Terry had a temper. She accepted that as the price of being married to him. Every marriage was a bargain, and part of hers was that she had to deal with his temper. It had a tendency to flare up now and then like a nasty hemorrhoid. She kept the bruises hidden well, and he was careful never to hit her face.

  What happened between them stayed between them.

  She rubbed the latest tender spot. It was on her upper arm, and the bruise was turning yellow. She tried to remember what she'd done to piss him off for that one. It was hard to remember, and there was a good chance he'd been drinking when he'd done it. The yellow spot meant nothing sleeveless for a while, which was too bad because it was warm enough to go sleeveless at night. But she didn't think too much about the physical pain. Bruises healed. And Terry took care of her as much as he slapped her around once in a while. She knew the Amex he'd given her had a fifty thousand limit on it, and he paid it off every month, no questions asked.

  Can you imagine that? she thought. Fifty thousand a month limit and never one bad word about the goodies I get shipped to my door free courtesy of my Prime membership.

  Maybe it was a little excessive. Maybe she was selling out, staying married to a guy who hit her; it was too damn comfortable to leave him. But she didn't want to leave Terry, no matter how she sliced it. They fought, sure, but the sex was still dynamite (especially after a fight). Neither of them wanted kids and she was on the pill. So no condoms to get in the way and take all the good out of it. She liked to think she was still as tight as she was in high school, which may have been close to the truth given the fact that she was only twenty-seven years old and kept herself fresh.

  She heard another knock on the door downstairs. Maybe it was more like a pounding, when she listened.

  She thought: if they want a signature they'll have to come back tomorrow.

  Wham wham wham.

  More pounding from downstairs. Now it was just getting annoying. Whoever was there outside banging on the door wanted to see if someone would answer. She didn't see the point in hanging in front of someone's door knocking if no one was answering. But this was some real banging. Like it was something important.

  She felt her impatience flare up like a newly lit match; she shut off the water. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed her white bathrobe from the hook on the door. She put the robe on and tied the waist and opened the bathroom door. Her long brown hair was dripping. She walked down the upstairs hall toward the bay window overlooking the front lawn; she wanted to know if it was worth answering the pounding at the door, as annoying as it was. Who knocked like hell in the middle of the day?

  She looked down and saw a man hunched over. His head was hanging down and to the side. He had a dirt-stained brown hat on. It looked like it might be Marvin Searles from the Paris Farmer's Union. He'd helped her a few times when she was buying potting soil for the flowers she was growing out back in boxes. But something looked wrong. He looked...hurt somehow.

  He banged again on the door. His arm was stiff. There were red marks and dark red streaks on the exposed flesh of his forearm. Kelly kept watching. This time he was putting his shoulder into it. Taking a few steps back and then running, slamming into the door. But maybe running was the wrong word. His stride had a pronounced limp to it. She thought she should go downstairs and open for him to see what was wrong.

  She heard another sound coming from him. Like a low moan. Was that really Marvin too? It sounded like he had a hell of a bellyache. He kept looking down and pounding with his shoulder trying to break in through her front door.

  Maybe I call the cops, she thought. He's not right. Something's not right.

  She kept looking out the window, wondering when he was going to give up and leave. And that was when she heard the gunshots.

  2

  Marvin's head exploded against the front of Kelly's door, splattering brains and chipped bone fragments against the deep red paint. It was like watching Mythbusters on TV when they were shooting pumpkins with live rounds and making them blow up. Except Marvin's head wasn't a pumpkin.

  Kelly watched in horror as what was left of him slumped down against the door, then slid to the side. He hit what was left of his head, which was bloody pulp, against the stone step.

  She put her hand to her mouth and said, "Oh my god. Oh my God. Oh my -- "

  Two men walked up to the front door. One of them had his gun drawn. It clicked for her a second later that they were in blue uniforms. Cops. Town cops.

  She recognized Officer Frank Soul -- he was the one holding the gun. Soul had pulled her over for speeding twice in the last six months, and both times he'd let her off with a warning. She'd given him her best 'charming girl I might suck your cock' smile and he didn't even try to make her feel guilty. He just let her off. Never bothered to run her plates or even write her a warning. She knew that look almost always worked with guy cops. Especially good ole boys like Officer Soul.

  The cops stopped at the body. Officer Soul kicked it with his boot, and one of the legs twitched. Kelly jumped. She didn't realize that the newly dead might still have reflexes. The officer put two more slugs into what was left of Marvin's head with loud bangs and the twitching stopped.

  That's not right, she thought. Cops aren't supposed to execute people. At least not in this town.

  Kelly tried to let out a scream but she was hyperventilating instead. Her eyes were closing in to black at the edges and she realized th
at if she didn't get herself under control she was going to pass out. She might even crash right on through the bay window and kill herself on her front lawn with the fall. That would be an embarrassing way to go. Especially wearing just her bathrobe.

  She turned and bent down, putting her hands on her knees and her head between her legs and looking down at the floor. She concentrated on slowing her breaths. She saw her toenails. They were red.

  She got her act and her breathing together and went downstairs. She opened her front door and the cops were still there. The body was in front of her, the bloody mess spreading as blood oozed from the mess of pulp and bone and brain matter that used to be a head. The blood looked...darker maybe? She thought something wasn't right about it.

  The officers looked at her. Officer Soul looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry Kelly, we've got a little problem running around town today. Sorry it had to end up at your front door. And don't touch the body, please."

  A little problem? she thought. This wasn't a little problem. This was a catastrophe. People did not get shot by the cops in Calvert Falls. And by the looks of the now very dead Marvin the hardware store guy on her front step, things were getting out of line and out of hand.

  "You can't possibly explain this," said Kelly. "You just shot a man in cold blood at my front door. Sure - he was banging on my door. It was weird, and I was about to call you guys, but I don't see how it went from that to you guys putting
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