Death Row Apocalypse (30 page)

Staring back at them each in turn, I matched their gaze. “It’s what I do,” I said, and returned my attention to the zombie trio.

The group’s protestations were barely audible over the wet chewing sounds emanating from the trio that now tore into Sandra’s carcass. They pulled and clawed at her limbs, spilling Sandra’s still-warm blood over the corridor floor. We backed away from the barred door just far enough to avoid the expanding crimson pool that once filled Sandra.

“Jesus, Blaine! Did you really have to do that?” Joe asked.

I turned my gaze from the zombie corridor picnic back to Joe. “She was dead anyway.” I paused, then continued: “It was fast and pain-free.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Joe trailed off, unsure how to argue that any further.

“How could you? That was awful. Worse even than the knife thing you do,” Lucy chimed in as she dried her eyes on her shirt cuff. “That’s what you did—what got you slammed up in here to start with!” She paused. “You’re the Blender Butcher, aren’t you?”

I nodded once at Lucy. The emotion in her eyes betrayed her feelings. I saw her pain as she realized what I was and what I was capable of. It’s really quite strange to me that she seemed so surprised. I’d been running around in bright-orange prison clothes since meeting her, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why this would be such a shock for her.

“Er, what exactly do you plan on doing with Sandra’s head?” Joe asked.

I then realized her head was swinging by her hair, and I still gripped it in my left hand. I threw it past Joe and Lucy, and it rolled down the corridor and eventually disappeared into the darkest of shadows.

“Jesus, Blaine!” Joe said.

“Aw God, sonny!” said Violet.

“Blaine! Really?” Lucy said quite sternly.

“What?” I said, completely confused by their complaints.

“This can wait. First things first, little lady,” Henry said to Lucy. “Got any ideas how we get out of this pickle with those three halfway through dinner?” Henry questioned, first looking to me, then to Joe.

“I say we wait till those three are done with . . . Sandra. Then maybe they’ll go away,” Joe answered.

“They won’t leave,” I responded, then added, “Once they’re done with her, they’ll turn to us and begin their howling all over again. Before you know it, the corridor will be full of them pushing against that door. It won’t hold them for long. I say we go forward.”

“I agree!” Henry responded. “What do you say, pudd’n pop?”

Violet winked at Henry as she held the lengthy machete, and though it was massive in her tiny hands, she shook it with vigor, striking and stabbing at the air in front of her as drops of Sandra’s blood dripped from its edge.

Violet cleared her throat. “Count me in, honey!” she responded.

“Me too!” said Lucy.

Lucy drew out from her waistband a foot-long skewer with a wooden handle, then shook it—also at the air, but above her head instead.

“I guess it’s unanimous then. Let’s do it!” Joe said firmly as he pulled out a pair of heavy meat cleavers, one in each hand.

“Ummm, how?” Lucy said, drawing all eyes to her.

And as if they were at Wimbledon, watching an intense game of tennis, their heads all turned as one back to me, and they waited for an answer.

“Obvious, really. We’ve got to kill them,” I responded, and looked from person to person.

I could swear that, like me, each of them was slowly changing. Perhaps not for the better in terms of humanity, but certainly in terms of the will to survive. Our small group now resembled a bunch of angry chefs holding a variety of sharp kitchen implements from a TV cooking show that had turned seriously ugly. And I grinned.

“Okay, sonny, lead the way,” Henry said. “I’m right behind you!”

And with that, Violet, Joe, and Lucy grimaced in response as each of them prepared themselves and their weapon.

“Lucy, the keys please,” I said.

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked with a sincere look of concern.

“I’m going to open the door of course,” I said with a wink.

Lucy passed me the keys, but instead of raising her spirits, my boyish grin—okay then, probably more like a grimace—made her look rather disturbed.

“Thanks,” I said, and turned my attention back to the door.

As my mind raced ahead, considering all the eventualities and possibilities that I now faced on opening the barred door, my focus diverted back to Lucy, and I hoped that perhaps after this ordeal she might yet want to know me. Once more I had to pause as I tried desperately to figure out where these thoughts of—dare I say it, romance—had come from.

Joe and Lucy stood closest, with Henry and Violet at the rear. How they were holding it together simply amazed me. They stood at the back, as serious as one could be in a situation like this. In their expressions I could see that their resolution was set in rock and their determination was cast as if in iron. I guess they had seen some pretty tough times in their day. Perhaps when this was over I would find time to get to know the old gal and her man.

“Stay back! Get ready . . . If they get past me, don’t hesitate for one moment. Stay clear of their teeth and you’ll be okay. Aim for the head and kill the brain. It’s the only way to stop them! Just like in the movies.” I advised as I inserted the key into the door lock and then turned it anticlockwise.

“If you get the chance to make a run for it, do it! I’ll catch up.”

The mechanism disengaged the lock with a heavy steel clack, and as I pushed against the door with all the strength I could muster, the three zombies howled in response. They had not been slow to react, as each of them leapt to their feet before the door had barely pushed them an inch. If I didn’t make this happen now, we were going to have a problem. I strained against the three zombies, who were now focused on getting a piece of me and had abandoned Sandra’s decimated carcass. Most of her clothing was gone now, ripped to shreds when the zombie trio had obliterated her once-shapely form. Her exposed buttocks, though once edible but in a totally different way of course, were mostly gone now, along with massive areas of her thighs and waist. They had made fast work of devouring her. Amongst the blood, stomach contents, and long intestines surrounding the remains of her body I saw her breast implants. As far as zombie diets go, I guess silicon is definitely not on the menu.

The trio were getting excited once more and fought against each other and the door in their attempt to reach me. I wouldn’t be able to hold them off for much longer. As I pushed against their combined weight with the door, I managed to pin them between it and the wall. I was now slipping in Sandra’s blood, and there was no way I would be able to keep them at bay for much longer. Sandra had provided these monsters with their supper of Buttock
à
la Sandra, and now they craved Crème de la Blaine, a meal that I was in no mood to serve.

Cold, dead hands gripped my hands and forearms, trying to pull me closer towards eager and snapping mouths. They roared in my face only inches away. The cold exhaust from their guts forced its way into my nose. I can only describe the smell as unbelievable. Never have I been exposed to anything so pungent, so utterly, indescribably rancid. Imagine, if you can, the worst dog fart ever, and if you happen to love those wonderful entities, you’ll know exactly where I’m coming from. Dog farts have to be the worst of all. They invade one’s space and rape the shit out of your most sensitive senses. Oh, you can scream and you can cry, you can even beg it to stop, but it won’t, not ever! Your fine, pure-breed pedigree pooch will lie there on its back, its legs rigid and its ass pointing in your direction. You should wonder, how is it that the mutt happens to always be pointing in the right direction during the gaseous evacuation? Coincidence? I think not! I put it to you that he is proud and feels the need to share. His fart will just sit there lingering, burning even the hair in your nose. My God! Even your eyes will attempt to hide from that foul odor.

If you’re particularly blessed and have a pooch that indulges in anything it comes across, from a rotting mouse to four-week-old pizza, just to really turn your stomach, your dear four-legged friend might even chow down on a solid piece of dog shit, sometimes even swallowing it in one go. If that’s your dog, then you’re not alone, and you have my sympathy. So, having summed that up nicely, you should really appreciate the onslaught on my senses during the attack.

I had finally managed to open the door as far as it could open but soon began to slide backwards. I didn’t have the grip to be able to fight against their continual resistance. My back had been turned, but I heard Joe and the others make their way past me and toward the freedom that was so close. I guess it was fitting that they should survive while I had been given the chance to make a difference to their lives. I was happy with that. Finally, and for reasons I had yet to understand and probably never would, I had done something meaningful and good. I had changed in so many ways that, had my mother survived, she would not know the man before her.

Knives slashed and stabbed; a cleaver struck downwards at an angle, cutting deeply into one zombie’s neck. It immediately lost control over its arms, which flopped by its sides, becoming motionless. Its knees gave way and the beast collapsed. As it fell to the floor, the zombie continued its howling but was now paralyzed and was no longer a menace to anyone.

A skewer slid past my left ear, close enough for me to be concerned about accidental piercings, but not close enough to draw blood. I watched with glee as it entered the second zombie’s nostril, forcing the zombie’s head backwards. Its head slammed against the prison wall behind it, and it roared in anger or agony—I don’t know which. As the delicate hand pushed the skewer ever deeper into the nasal cavity of the doomed zombie, it passed deep into the thing’s already partially dead brain. The skewer had been pushed with a strength lent by passion and anger. The steel spike penetrated the zombie’s brain and broke through the brain casing, striking the wall with a thud. This zombie died—again, I guess—and for a few seconds it remained standing with its head tilted backwards. Death had come instantly and permanently this time.

As it fell away, landing on top of the first zombie, its lifeless form now hindered the struggles of the third zombie, which was desperately seeking my flesh to feed upon. I looked over my left shoulder directly into Lucy’s smoldering eyes. She smiled back, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end as I once again felt my foundations give way and wanted, with all my soul, to fall into hers. To say I became charged is an understatement; I felt fucking fantastic!

I turned my mind back to the lone zombie that currently and desperately sought my attention. Grabbing it by its hair in the same manner that I had dealt with Sandra, I now did so with this overzealous zombie. Its head was slightly larger than Sandra’s, causing its skull to audibly crack as it passed through the gap between the bars. In frustration, it wailed and roared, but I wasn’t finished yet—not by a fucking mile! I grabbed one arm at a time and, levering it against the steel bars in the door, I snapped each one in turn. The zombie roared in anger. Unable to use its arms any longer, it snapped its mouth open and closed, causing several teeth to crack and break. Dark blood seeped from the self-inflicted wounds and poured out from its mouth. Green viscous fluid oozed and mixed with congealing blood as the beast continued to bite at me, still only inches away from my head.

I looked over my right shoulder and expected to see Joe wielding the cleaver that had almost beheaded the first zombie. Instead, Violet stood there, empowered and looking twenty years younger. I must have appeared shocked as she responded to my questioning gaze.

“Guessed you might need a hand! Are you going to stand there forever, sonny?” Violet added with a seemingly cheeky grin.

She knew something but was apparently happy enough to keep it to herself for the time being.

I turned away from the door and was just about to make my way toward the exit when Lucy hit me with her body. She pressed against me, and her hands found my head. With more than an ounce of force, she held my face and drew it down to meet hers. Our lips touched, and when they touched, oh God! When they touched, fire and passion burnt between us; it was beyond reality. I wanted to devour her, to swallow her whole, every iota; I wanted to be in her and she in me. The pain and anguish of desire was almost too much to bear. I had to have her!

Lucy drew back from the embrace. The look on her face was one of confusion and bewilderment as she backed away further, then ran for the exit. Violet placed a hand on my shoulder, and we shared a moment before she too drew away, but not before she deposited a single sentence with me. Violet looked at me, then gripped my upper arms with a strength unusual for her generation.

“Blaine,” she said. “I think you have a fan!”

The echoing sounds of destruction reached us while echoing from deep within the prison. In the distance I could imagine the zombie hordes massing for their next attack and heading for our location. It was only after long moments that I finally made out what had caused the commotion. The washroom door had finally collapsed against the weight of a thousand zombies that had pressed themselves into the relatively small space. The door hit the opposing wall, and the partially liquefied remains of a thousand zombies flooded from the doorway into the corridor in a macabre scene not dissimilar to the elevator scene in
The Cabin in the Woods
. Body parts not larger than a hand flowed into the corridor space, creating a mini-tsunami of the spilt and liquidated. From the depths of the prison, I heard a zombie’s call to arms. The call came from far further than the washroom though.