The Undead Possession Series: Book 2: Resurrection, page 1
Resurrection
The Undead Possession Series - Book 2
Justin boote
Copyright © 2021 by Justin Boote
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art By Francois Vaillancourt
Edited by Lyndsey Smith with Horrorsmith Editing
Contents
Get Your Free Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Interested in What Happens Next?
Get Your Free Book
Also by Justin boote
Get Your Free Book
Visit my website at www.justinboote.com to sign up for my newsletter for your free copy of Visions!
Chapter One
They quickly ducked behind an upside-down car when they saw the figure shuffling towards them. He was on his own, which made it even better—just what they were looking for.
He staggered from the shadows and into the path of the weak moonlight, and Chris saw something else about him—it—that was an added bonus. The figure was dressed in what was left of a soldier’s uniform, a revolver still firmly sitting in the holster. Chris guessed the half-breed had never figured out what it was for—probably didn’t even know it was there, which was just as well.
Chris elbowed Gary, who was looking the other way, his face a mask of terror and fear as always. Chris could never quite understand how that man had survived so long without giving himself a heart attack. Every time something moved in the shadows, or a rat or dog kicked something over, he would give a squeal of fright and, worse, almost fire his gun accidentally. Chris had begun to think Gary was becoming more of a hazard rather than a help.
“It’s one of them,” whispered Chris. “And look, he’s got a gun with him. Even better. We could do with the extra ammunition.”
“But what if he sees us and shoots us? Bad enough the fuckers eat you, without getting an arm blown off as well.”
“Gary, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know it’s there. You know the plan. As soon as he walks past us, I grab him. You taser him. Don’t taser me.”
“Yeah, man. Sure.”
Then a dog, terribly thin and haggard, barked from behind them at the half-breed shuffling down the road. Gary jerked, inadvertently squeezing the trigger of his taser gun. It missed Chris’s chest by millimetres.
“Shit, sorry, Chris.”
Chris swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down to its habitual position. This was going to be tough. He kept one eye on the dog and the other on the soldier; the dogs were not to be ignored anymore either—many survivors had learned that lesson the hard way.
The ex-soldier slowly ambled past them, then stopped, sniffing the air like a dog himself. The half-breeds were slowly deteriorating, their skin visibly flaky and falling from their bodies, the flesh cracked and filled with sores and pus that ran down the skin like snot. Many also now bore great holes all over where they had fought with each other in an attempt to feed. Maggots crawled in the flesh wounds, and flies constantly hovered over their heads like storm clouds.
A year on from the outbreak of the virus, Chris and the other survivors still hadn’t gotten used to the sight of them, or the smell.
The soldier looked their way. Chris guessed it had heard the dog and thought dinner might soon be served. The dog must have been thinking the same thing because it edged ever closer to the half-breed, growling, baring its teeth, its filthy, shaggy mane on end. This was not good. They wanted—needed—the half-breed, but they couldn’t afford to get in the middle of a fight and risk getting attacked or bitten. The dogs probably had all kinds of diseases by now.
“What do we do?” hissed Gary.
“We wait, Gary. Or do you want to go get him and risk being mauled by the mutt?”
Gary shook his head vehemently.
Dog and soldier faced each other like some bizarre, surreal stand-off—one growling, the other yapping and snarling. Chris thought that if he closed his eyes, he would be hard-pressed to decided who made which noise. Then the soldier charged the canine. Despite their decaying, ruined bodies, it never failed to shock Chris how quickly the things were still able to move. That, too, was something several others had learned the hard way; their aspects were most definitely deceiving. The soldier’s hands caught the dog around the neck as it leapt, and they both fell to the ground and began to roll around, howling and snarling, each trying to sink their teeth into the other’s throat.
Normally, Chris would have hoped for the dog to win—they were the lesser of two evils—but in this case, he hoped the soldier would swiftly take care of it. After a few seconds of tussling, the soldier rolled over on top of the dog and sank his teeth into its jugular, thrashing his head from side to side as though trying to imitate the dog itself. The dog yelped and died when the soldier sat up, a great chunk of furry meat in its mouth, which it slavered and chewed over before swallowing. By the time the soldier had finished, very little of the dog was left.
The soldier gave a cry of victory and struggled to his feet. One of his arms was barely hanging on, torn at the elbow and swinging back and forth at impossible angles. It hadn’t slowed it down during the fight, though. Blood dripping down onto an already blood-stained army jacket, he held his head high and howled at the moon like a wolf before moving along. Within seconds, the dog was already being assaulted by an army of rats and bugs burrowing their way into its stomach.
“Right, Gary. You ready?”
Gary turned, his face very pallid. Chris thought it had a greenish hue to it as well. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a yo-yo.
Don’t you dare throw up on me.
“Don’t mess up, Gary. Just do it.”
Chris took a deep breath and quietly stepped from behind the car. He pulled his revolver from his back pocket and crept towards the soldier. His heart shuddered in his chest once again, and he felt almost sick with nerves, like that time all those months before when he had gone after Samantha. Hadn’t he changed since then? Didn’t seem like it.
When he was directly behind the half-breed, he pushed all thoughts from his mind and leapt onto the soldier’s back, bringing him down instantly. “Now, Gary!” he cried.
The soldier startled, grunted, and snarled like an injured animal, thrashing his arms, the wrecked one almost flying off at the elbow. Instead, it swung and smashed Chris in the face as he desperately sought to hang on. Chris gripped him with all that he had, his arm wrapping tightly around the half-breed’s neck so it couldn’t bite him, his other arm trying to impede flaying limbs from striking him again.
“The hell are you, Gary? Hurry up!” He twisted his head slightly to see Gary standing there, frozen, seemingly incapable of moving. “Gary!” he screamed.
Gary jerked as though he’d been slapped. He gave a small cry of shock, as though seeing the scene for the first time, and dashed over.
The soldier continued yelping and howling, frantically trying to clamp down on Chris’s arm, his head swinging from side to side, up and down, headbutting Chris in the face. Just when Chris thought he might not resist much longer, Gary, trying to keep as far away as possible, stretched out his arm and pressed the taser into the zombie’s chest. The half-breed jerked and spasmed, growling ferociously, then fell still and quiet. Chris pushed him off.
He stood up, at that moment wanting to punch Gary for risking his life, for acting like such a coward, but refrained. He knew how it felt to be utterly terrified of the creatures.
“I’m sorry, man.” spluttered Gary. “I dunno what happened. I just froze. I…I…”
“It’s okay. Forget it. Just help me tie him up.”
Chris put his gun back in his pocket and brought out two plastic zip ties to use as handcuffs. He didn’t know exactly how strong the half-breeds were and wanted to be safe. He brought the zombie’s arms behind his back and restrained him, making sure they were as tight as possible, praying that the destroyed arm didn’t finally snap at the elbow and come free.
“C’mon, help me get him up.” They pulled the zombie to his feet, but not before Chris took out the revolver and put it in his pocket. As an afterthought, he rifled through the creature’s pockets to check for any more potentially useful tools. He pulled out two loaded cartridges, a hunter’s knife, and even two grenades. Those he carefully put in his jacket pocket.
Jesus, he thought. Imagine the half-breed pulling one of these out of his pocket a
From some distance away, dogs began barking madly. “Shit, let’s go,” said Chris, and together they dragged the zombie back toward the shelter. One of the dogs began to howl and yelp, then fell silent.
On the way, they were forced to taser the soldier again after he began to stir, but eventually they made it back. When they were let in, some of the other survivors began to scream and back away. Another pulled out his gun and aimed it at the zombie.
“It’s okay,” said Chris. “He’s unconscious. For now. Let’s get him down to the basement.”
Terry Hopkins, an American in charge of communications, ran ahead of them and opened the basement door. Between the three of them, they carried the half-breed down and chained him to the wall. Chris finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“You sure he can’t escape?” asked Gary, still evidently nervous.
“No. You’re perfectly safe. It’s reinforced steel with six-inch screws holding him there. Although,” he said as an afterthought, “maybe we should assign someone to watch him. Just in case.”
“Not me, man. Don’t ask me,” said Gary.
“I wasn’t going to. In the meantime, let’s see if my antidote works.” He went and collected a syringe, filled it with some transparent liquid, and injected it into the now waking half-breed’s arm.
After nine months of tests and failed experiments, Chris prayed that this time they finally had a cure.
Chapter Two
Mark heard the commotion and guessed the others had managed to finally capture a live zombie. He said another prayer as he lay in bed, asking God for His help in ensuring the antidote’s success and for their safety. Mark told himself that he was never going down to the basement again if one of those things was there. Just looking out the window and seeing one as it staggered along gave him chills and filled him with dread and repulsion.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of good things. Safe things. A world where God had given them the gift of salvation, free from zombies, ravenous, treacherous dogs and rats, and they could begin all over again. The first thing he would do would be self-proclaim himself as the town’s new vicar, despite being only sixteen. He thought he was more than capable and experienced enough now to help others with their suffering and prayers and offer consolation to those who had lost loved ones as the country was rebuilt. He had first-hand experience in seeing loved ones die.
And yet, somehow, he knew it didn’t stop with just finding a way to kill the zombies or convert them back to true human form. There was another out there, far greater and more dangerous than the zombies. He had been in her presence, listened to her demented, demonic rantings and ravings. Her plans. After he had been rescued by Chris, Jackie, and Gary, and they had managed to escape to the newer shelter, they had questioned him intensely and non-stop about what she said and did, but he didn’t tell them. He couldn’t. He had to tell himself that the things she said were just the words of one who had lost their mind. Had succumbed to the tragedy of mental loss. She hadn’t really glided along like a ghost, possessed abilities that could only be found in Satan’s cursed brethren. In his stress, he had imagined it. God might have put the zombies on Earth to teach a lesson for sins committed, but He would never permit such foulness to roam too.
His prayers relaxing him, allowing a brief smile to cross his frail features, Mark’s eyes grew heavy, and sleep came in its invisible carriage to take him far away.
Far, but not far enough.
His hands were tied tightly to the headrest behind his head, his feet also secured. The rope cut into his skin, burning and stinging every time he resisted and tried to break free. A group of zombies stood around the bed like guards, yapping and howling, hands reaching out for him, then swiftly withdrawing as though afraid to touch him. Their teeth chattered together, drool and nameless secretions running down their chins and dripping onto Mark’s naked body. Flakes of skin and flesh also dropped onto him as if going through some bizarre process of rejuvenation. Only in this case, no new flesh or skin formed upon their bodies, leaving muscle tissue and bone exposed. One of the zombie’s eyes was hanging delicately on its chin, held there by a single, thin ligament. It swung from side to side like a metronome, as though trying to hypnotize Mark before whatever horrors they had in mind took place.
He tried to scream for help, yet when he opened his mouth, a bug lazily crawled out instead. Its antennae tickled his nose. After a few seconds, it scampered down his chest until one of the zombies picked it up and ate it. Another climbed out of his mouth, ran across his face, and disappeared. Mark felt his bowels loosen, warmth flooding his groin. The zombies cackled and screeched in what might have been their idea of laughter. The zombie with the dangling eyeball lowered its head and lapped at the growing wet patch on his body.
Then, they all went silent, staggering back away from Mark, cowering, their arms covering their faces as if to ward off blows. A foul breeze blew into the room, so thick with death and rot Mark could see it, minute particles floating and blowing through the room, each a fragment of some dead person’s soul. Vomit erupted from Mark’s mouth because of the stench and ran down his chest. Bugs squirmed in the vomit.
A presence emerged, gliding slowly into the room, bringing with it terror and unspeakable evil. Even the zombies, mindless, thoughtless creatures with no room for or concept of fear, shrank away.
The shadow, a great, dark thing with no substance or definition, stopped at the foot of the bed, hovering and swirling in infinite shades of darkness and warped grotesquery. Slowly, it took on shape, grew into human form. Eyes, burning with feverish intensity, bore into Mark’s mind, reading his fear, revelling in his horror.
Samantha.
She stood over him, now in her more human, less atrocious form, and chuckled.
“Where is He now, boy? Where is your God come to rescue you?”
“He sent you to the fiery pits of Hell once. He will do it again,” he said as firmly as his terror would allow.
“Your God is dead, boy. As are all His followers. Or you think my Legion answer to His beckoning?”
“They answer to no one. They’re wasted, senseless vermin. That the best you could do? Mindless vermin with no brains?”
Samantha’s grin wavered. Her eyes burned hotter. “They did okay with your parents, didn’t they? Where was your God when my Legion feasted on their raw, warm flesh? And they will do the same to you. But not before you give me what I want.”
Samantha was naked. Juices ran from between her legs and trickled down them. Her nipples protruded like unlaunched missiles, her breasts defying gravity with their firmness and enormity. She levitated into the air and hovered over Mark, her juices dripping onto his groin. When he looked, Mark was horrified to see his penis standing tall and erect, a sentinel ready and waiting for orders. He willed it to retreat, wilt and shrivel like a dying weed, yet no matter what he tried to think of, it refused. Besides, he could think of nothing as terrifying and despicable to help his cause as what was happening now. Maybe Samantha could read his mind and thoughts because she laughed and cackled, spreading her legs in mid-air, waggling a finger at his stiff member and shaking her head.
Slowly, she lowered until she was mere centimetres above him, the throbbing tip of his penis teasing her pussy, caressing it. Mark tried to scream once again. He closed his eyes, his head thrashing from side to side. Multitude of prayers flicked through his mind, yet he couldn’t focus enough on one in particular, rendering them useless. Besides, he was sure Samantha was corrupting his mind, purposefully playing with him so he couldn’t use his faith as much as he needed.
