All or Nothing: A Zombicide: Novel by Josh Reynolds

Author:Josh Reynolds [Reynolds, Josh]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Horror, Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, advance reading copy, Fiction, Science Fiction, Media Tie-In
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2022-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Interruption

“Yes, there’s a good boy,” Brewer said, holding up the scrap of meat. Pierogi danced on his hind legs, ragged jaws open and gave a thin, wet whine. Brewer tossed the meat into the animal’s waiting mouth. “Nummy-num. Eat it up, there’s my cheerful boy.” He still wasn’t sure how the dead animal’s digestion processes worked, but Pierogi never seemed to suffer unduly from a belly full of food.

The little dog had been his constant companion since Myrtle Beach. He’d been living in a retirement community there, before the world had come to an end. Playing golf every other day. Rotting his mind with all the delights on offer from modern television. Heaven, for a certain simple sort of soul. Pierogi had been a gift from his daughter for Father’s Day or his birthday, he forgot which. It didn’t matter.

When his neighbors had smashed through his door, looking to feast on his insides, he’d dispatched them, packed up Pierogi, and taken to the road. His first thought, of course, had been for his daughter and her family: his son-in-law, his granddaughters. He’d gone to them, but he’d arrived too late.

Brewer swallowed and took a steadying breath. As always, that served well enough to banish the memories before they overwhelmed him entirely. He’d always been good at compartmentalizing his emotions. Pierogi was all he had left now.

He scratched the dog behind the ears and then absently wiped his hands on his trousers. Pierogi, like all zombies, was subject to consistent, if somewhat slowed, rates of decay. Eventually, his beloved Pekingese would be nothing more than a sack of wet carrion. He’d considered numerous possible solutions, including a course of formaldehyde or other preservatives. But he intended to test his theories on more disposable subjects before subjecting poor Pierogi to any further experimentation.

He tossed Pierogi another scrap of meat and spun his office chair back to face the whiteboard that occupied the far wall. A list of needed supplies to make the receivers was taking shape there, but some items on the list would be for his own use. St Cloud’s people couldn’t tell the difference, and he saw no reason to make it obvious.

He leaned forward and added formaldehyde to the list, as well as methanol and glutaraldehyde. With those, he could mix up an embalming fluid that might serve to preserve Pierogi as well as his other test subjects. Not that he didn’t have other uses for it as well.

A large part of his time was spent preserving zombies for use in the arena. No one wanted to see a common rotter bashed to pieces. They wanted a challenge, such as walkers in good condition, ready to put up a bit of a fight. He did what he could to set broken bones, stiffen collapsed torsos and otherwise put some pep in their shuffling steps.

Sometimes he even outfitted them with weapons to spice things up a bit. Claws, fangs – a tail, once. All easily assembled from scrap metal and plastic.

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