Flesh Ravenous : A Zombie Horror Series -Book 2 Page 2

  Lawrence led as they began up the stairs, moving with slow, soft steps.

  “Fuck me,” came a raspy voice of a woman. The sound of scratching sped.

  Lawrence stopped, looked back at everyone, and chuckled quietly. Ally and Tristan both looked either confused or disgusted. Sonya felt confused and disgusted and partly curious and amused. Shit, maybe I’m desensitized, too.

  “Hello?” Lawrence called out.

  “In here!” went the man’s voice.

  “Fuck me!” went the woman’s voice. The scratching became a repetitive banging, the sound of someone angrily slamming their fists against a door.

  “Can we just get out of here?” Ally said. “This is probably some kinda nasty, domestic affair, which is completely none of our business. Sounds like that woman just needs to get laid.”

  Tristan’s eyes lit up. “Someone needs our help, Ally,” he said.

  Sonya wanted to laugh. Yeah, your help, apparently.

  “Come on, guys,” said Lawrence. He hurried up the stairs, likely eager to witness this nasty, domestic affair. The three of them followed him.

  They reached the top of the stairs and discovered the source of the banging. Down the hall stood a woman at a closed door full of scratch marks. Her back was turned. She was obviously an old woman, judging not only by her gray hair...

  The woman was fully naked.

  Wrinkled flesh sagged from the woman’s back, ass, and thighs. Wrinkled flesh wobbled as she continued pounding at the door with both hands.

  Tristan gasped. “Oh, that’s really gross,” he blurted.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” said Lawrence.

  “Can we seriously get the hell out of here now?” said Ally, slightly panicky. “I’ve already seen enough. I don’t like this. This is…This is not okay, guys.”

  Sonya couldn’t hold it in. She burst out laughing. Because it was just so absurd and…funny. Yup, I too am desensitized now.

  It looked as if Lawrence wanted to laugh, too. “Sonya,” he said, “I think your laughter is inappropriate.” A smile cracked his lips. “You shouldn’t laugh, Sonya.”

  “Oh, man,” said Tristan. “Oh, man, this is so gross.”

  Sonya stopped laughing when the old woman suddenly stopped banging at the door and turned around. The woman spotted them.

  “Oh, hi,” Lawrence said to the lady. “Um…Hi?”

  The woman had the most grotesquely distorted facial expression. Her nose wrinkled, her open-mouth smile crooked, and her eyes, excited yet menacing. Her fingertips were bloody from the door scratching. Her hands were held at her chest with fingers curled, much in the manner of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Sonya didn’t want to laugh anymore. She now pitied the old lady.

  The woman slowly approached them. Her limp breasts swung as she walked unstably, teetering, as though taking a step could potentially cause her to fall over.

  “Come…here, handsome…young man,” said the lady, her voice slow and gruff.

  “Listen, lady,” said Lawrence, “I’m very flattered that you think I’m handsome, but we need you to tell us what’s going on. Are you all right?”

  The woman only continued her slow approach. “Come…here…handsome young man.”

  “Well, she’s obviously senile.”

  “Fuck me, handsome…young man.”

  “…senile and horny.”

  She kept approaching. “Fuck mmmeeeeee.”

  Lawrence swallowed hard. “Um…no…No thank you,” he replied politely. “Maybe my friend Tristan would like to.” Sonya wasn’t sure if Lawrence was joking.

  “Well…” Tristan began. “Maybe in a really dark room—I mean, no—hey, fuck you, Lawrence.”

  A string of saliva spilled from the corner of the old woman’s lips. She made no effort to slurp it up or wipe it away. That made Tristan gag hard till his eyes watered.

  “Shoot her, Sonya,” said Tristan, wiping the wetness from his eyes.

  “Tristan, I’m not gonna pointlessly shoot some random person,” said Sonya. “Do I look like Lawrence to you?”

  “Richard was turning, Sonya,” Lawrence replied defensively. “It’s not like I enjoyed shooting someone.”

  I seriously doubt that, Captain Desensitized.

  “Can we just go?” Ally said. “This house seriously smells like death and poo. And I think this lady’s some kinda meth addict.”

  The woman didn’t stop her approach. She was getting closer. “Fuck mmmeeeeee,” she was shaking, as though having a seizure or a temper tantrum.

  “Stay the fuck back,” said Lawrence. “Because I’m now feeling threatened by your unwanted advancements. I have no desire to engage in intercourse with you. If you don’t listen to me…” he lifted his axe. “I swear, bitch, I will chop your head.”

  The woman kept coming. And shaking. Now she was slobbering.

  Lawrence gripped his axe and raised it over his shoulder. “I’m warning you, lady. Sonya, shoot her in the leg or something. No, really, shoot this bitch in the leg—she’s stressing me out.”

  “No,” said Sonya. “Let’s just get out of here like Ally said.”

  “Kill her!” said the man’s voice from behind the closed door. “She’s a zombie! Kill her!”

  Just as the bellowed warning came, the old woman dashed toward Lawrence with mouth wide open. Lawrence lifted an arm in defense. The woman bit down into his foam mat bracer. Sonya raised her gun to aim.

  Ally acted quicker, already with the blade of her pipe spear imbedded into the lady’s face. Blood gushed from the opening between the old woman’s eyes. Ally pulled her blade out. Lawrence nudged the lady off his arm and then shoved her down onto the floor. Blood continued to pour out from her and leak onto white carpet. She laid motionless.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Lawrence yelled in frustration. “She was talking and being all obscene and…Did you guys even see a bite on her?”

  Sonya shook her head. She’d only noticed saggy, wrinkled skin, unblemished on that demented old lady.

  “I told you all we should just go,” said Ally, flustered. She wagged her spear to shake the blood off the blade.

  Tristan stood petrified, his sword clutched in hand and hanging limply at his side. “Fuck,” was all he said.

  “Hey!” the man survivor cried out from within the closed room. “In here!”

  “That fucking guy,” said Lawrence. “I bet he had something to do with this crazy shit. I’m gonna chop his head.”

  “Lawrence!” Sonya scolded. “Cool it, will you? You’re overreacting. Maybe that guy has some answers.”

  “I’m not really gonna chop his head. I’m just so confused and, and so emotional right now.”

  The four of them hurried down the hall to the scratch marked door. Lawrence grabbed the knob, but it wouldn’t turn.

  “It’s locked,” said the man in the room.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Lawrence replied. “I’m chopping this thing.”

  Sonya, Ally, and Tristan stepped back to give Lawrence some swinging space. He struck at the knob with continuous downward hacks. Wood splinters flew and screws and metal parts came loose. Lawrence rammed his shoulder against the door, cracking it open, sending more splinters flying.

  The four entered the room, instantly hit with the pungent odor of feces and the saltiness of urine. Sonya covered her nose and mouth with her arm, as did Lawrence, Tristan, and Ally. They groaned and cursed at the foulness.

  It was a large bedroom, presumably the master bedroom of the house. A lone man sat on the carpet, his gray trousers were unzipped and had stains at the crotch area—which would explain the existent smell. He was a big, blubbery man, young looking, perhaps early to mid-twenties. He might’ve been crippled, seeing that he wasn’t moving from his spot.

  “Oh God,” said the fat man. “I’ve been in here for two days.” He looked at the four. “Please, I need water, I need food.” His pudgy face was fretful and pitiable, conveyed desperation.

  “Ok
ay,” said Lawrence, reaching into his bag. “Don’t worry, man.” He took out a can of corned beef and bottled water and dropped it at the man’s side.

  The man scooped up the water bottle, twisted the top, and guzzled eagerly. He took the bottle from his lips and panted for air. “I needed that,” he said in a weepy tone. “I needed that drink.” He looked up at Lawrence, studied him, then did the same to Sonya. “Titan Storm Brigade,” suddenly his mood was giddy. “It’s totally blowing my mind!”

  “Yeah, thanks for noticing,” said Lawrence. “You have a name, friend?”

  “I’m Anderson Andrews.” This guy only continued to look upon their cosplay outfits in awe.

  “Okay. Well, I’m Lawrence McArthur-Macy. I also have two last names, I guess.”

  “My friends call me Andy.” Anderson—or rather—Andy, spit when he spoke. Sonya doubted this guy had any friends—even prior to the pandemic. “Did you see the episode when the Storm Brigade fought the titan with two heads and—”

  “Stop fucking talking right now,” said Sonya. She instantly hated this guy, he stunk and was unpleasant and stupid. “Explain to us how that lady was one of those things.”

  Andy picked up the can of corned beef and pulled back the lid’s tab. He shrugged. “I don’t know why she was like that,” he replied nonchalantly. He tossed the metal lid aside and began scooping the beef out with his fingers. He shoved chunks into his mouth, closed his eyes, and chewed slowly, dramatically, as though to savor the taste of preserved meat.

  “Sonya, let him eat first,” said Ally, her voice muffled through the arm protecting her nose and mouth from stank. “He’s been trapped in here for…” She trailed off. Her eyes shut tightly and watered as she gagged hard.

  “Can you walk?” Lawrence asked Andy. “Can you stand up?”

  Andy shook his head, not looking away from his food.

  Sonya saw that this large room had a bathroom attached. If Andy could get up and move, he would’ve went for the toilet. Even if there wasn’t a bathroom, he could’ve went in the corner or at least taken a shit in the closet. But no, this fucker went and shit in his pants.

  “So what’s the deal?” Sonya asked. “Are you crippled? Are your legs broken?”

  Andy paused a moment, looked up at everyone briefly, and went back to shoveling corned beef.

  “Answer my questions!” Sonya swung her hand and swatted the can from his grasp. The corned beef flew and hit the wall.

  Andy let out a helpless moan. “Hey, my beef. You knocked away MY BEEF.” He put so much emphasis on those two words—it was intense. “Why’d you knock away my beef?”

  “I’m about to knock you the fuck out is why. You gonna cry now?”

  “Sonya, why’d you do that?” said Lawrence. He walked over to the wall and picked up the can. “Just let him eat, okay?” He came over to Andy and handed his beef back to him. Andy swiped the can from him and didn’t bother with a thank you.

  “My beef.” Andy went back to his beef shoveling.

  Sonya thought of her childhood bully Olivia. Sonya had no patience for slow-minded individuals who acted uncouth and brutish. Andy seemed to have the intelligence and sense of a ten-year-old. “We saved your life,” she said. She was now hovering over him, threateningly. She had the urge to shove the corned beef can in his face, and perhaps pummel him afterwards. “The least you can do is give us answers.”

  “Settle down,” said Lawrence, grabbing Sonya’s arm and tugging her away from Andy.

  “Don’t fucking touch me.” Sonya pulled her arm from his grip.

  “Okay, Andy,” said Lawrence, “you just sit tight and eat your beef. We’ll be back.”

  Andy nodded listlessly, hands and mouth still working on HIS BEEF.

  Lawrence started his way to the bedroom door, motioning for the three to follow him out.

  “We’ll let Anderson Andrews enjoy his precious beef,” Lawrence muttered quietly once they reached the hallway. “We’ll ask him questions later. For now, let’s check out the rest of this house.”

  “There’s no way we’re taking him with us,” said Tristan. “He can’t get up. We’d have to carry him—I don’t think the four of us can.”

  “What’ll happen to him then?” said Ally. “He’ll starve here by himself.”

  They stepped over the naked old lady’s body and the blood-soaked carpet. They went over to the stairs and started downward.

  “When he gets hungry,” said Sonya, “I picture him trying to gnaw into his own fat fucking fingers, saying ‘mmm, my beef, mmm, nom-nom-nom-nom.” She started laughing. Lawrence and Tristan also laughed. She wasn’t surprised by her lack of sympathy for Andy. If she were to witness him being attacked and eaten by the dead, she’d laugh her ass off. She wondered if she’d sympathize for anyone in a situation like this. Perhaps her sense of humanity was fading. A small part of her feared, that in time, she’d lose her morality completely, lose it all to survival instincts.

  “If we don’t help him, he’ll die,” said Ally, who was currently being a buzzkill, and who simply couldn’t loosen up a little.

  “How do you plan to help him, Ally?” Lawrence asked. “Do we start by rolling him down the stairs?”

  “If he came with us,” said Tristan, “it’ll be like having to take care of a large baby.”

  Ally sighed. “You guys don’t care anymore, do you?”

  None of them replied. It was true enough for Sonya. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to risk her life for a useless person like Andy, a stranger—a large baby—who wasn’t fit to survive such a world.

  They reached the bottom floor. “Let’s search the kitchen,” said Lawrence. “Take anything edible and unrotten. We stay together.”

  The four went into the kitchen and began their rummage through cupboards and cabinets. They peeked in the fridge and freezer, the oven and microwave, all of which were empty. It only took minutes to complete a thorough search. They came away with two cans of tomato paste, a can of olives, a box of dried turkey stuffing, a half-full container of salt, a matchbox, can opener, flashlight, and hammer. Sonya stuffed all the edibles and the can opener into her bag and pocketed the matchbook.

  Lawrence took two of the curtain rings from the kitchen window and fitted them onto his belt to hang the flashlight and hammer at his hip. Tristan took a metal cooking pot, stuffed it with a few potholders, and placed it snug on his head to serve as a helmet. Lawrence, Tristan, and even Kyle, at the time, were cleverly resourceful. Must’ve been from all the videogames they played or from watching countless do-it-yourself videos on the internet.

  Something on the freezer door caught Sonya’s eye. Held by a fridge magnet was a photo of Anderson, standing between an old pair, presumably a couple, either his grandparents or his mother and father, who both looked well in their sixties. They were at an amusement park. Anderson looked a few years younger, in his mid-teens. He had a bowl haircut and was dressed in, what appeared to be, Transformers pajamas a size too small for him. The woman in the picture had her arm around Anderson’s back, a big smile on her face, with eyes warm and gleeful. The man on the other hand, also had a smile, one that appeared forced, with eyes that hinted coldness, as though he wasn’t having the time of his life amidst rollercoasters and kiddie rides. Clearly Andy was having a good time there. A smile so wide it made his cheeks puff out absurdly. Sonya stared at the photo. Seeing Andy and his mother in happier times, seeing love that was apparent in their physical closeness. Now Andy was a helpless body upstairs, stuffing his face with corned beef. His mother was…God knows where—could be one of those things now, or could be sprawled out on the street half-eaten. Sonya was grateful for the sudden melancholy that struck her. With the pity she now felt for Andy and his misfortunes, she felt humanity within herself still.

  “Oh my God,” Lawrence growled with excitement. He held up a full roll of duct tape in his hand. “Look what I found…look…duct tape!”

  “So what?” Sonya hissed, as she was startled out
of her pensive state. Seeing the look on his face…Lawrence possibly ejaculated at the sight and feel of duct tape.

  “What’s your problem?” Lawrence had a wide—a grand smile that rivaled Anderson’s immense beam in the amusement park photo. “…duct tape. I found it in the damn cookie jar.”

  “Sorry, Lawrence, not all of us just blast one out at the sight of duct tape. Jesus Christ, dude.”

  “I didn’t blast one out. Stop picturing me blasting one out, Sonya. Nasty.”

  “I made a helmet out of a pot,” said Tristan. He stood with a cocky grin, looking at everyone as if awaiting praise.

  “That’s nice,” Sonya said blandly. Good luck ever getting laid, Tristan.

  Lawrence nodded his head in approval. “You’re awesome, Tristan. That pot helmet is fucking awesome.”

  “I don’t feel right about this,” said Ally. “We’re taking all these things. Technically we’re stealing from someone.”

  “Ha,” Lawrence tucked the duct tape roll into his bag. “I don’t give a shit. We should search the bathrooms for medicine, toothpaste, tampons, or whatever. Let’s steal some more things.”

  They headed out the kitchen and into the family room, and went for the first door visible. It might’ve been a bedroom, but many houses in the area had a bathroom attached to the bottom level room.

  Lawrence took hold of his flashlight and switched it on. The bedroom would likely be dim due to the boarded windows. He opened the door. He gasped and jolted—a surprising reaction from someone so desensitized. His face, horrified at what he saw.

  10

  Juicy Humongous

  Ally

  That thing on the bed roared and grunted when it caught sight of the four. It squirmed on its back. Lawrence shined the flashlight on its face. Its head darted forth and whipped back, darted forth again with teeth snapping in Lawrence’s direction. It looked to be a teenaged girl, large bodied and naked. Skin was a bluish gray, with scratch marks on her large breasts and hefty gut. Her wrists and ankles roped in several knots to each of the four bedposts. She thrashed in her binds, causing the bed to squeak and the headboard and footboard to wobble.