Best New Zombie Tales (Vol. 1) by Strand Jeff & Knight Brian & Rollo Gord & Paffenroth Kim & Vincent Bev & Garton Ray & James Roy Daley & Kealan Patrick Burke & Mayberry Jonathan

Author:Strand, Jeff & Knight, Brian & Rollo, Gord & Paffenroth, Kim & Vincent, Bev & Garton, Ray & James Roy Daley & Kealan Patrick Burke & Mayberry, Jonathan [Mayberry, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Books of the Dead Press
Published: 2010-04-22T04:00:00+00:00

I pad up to the door and peer through the tiny lens. Al Sprouse’s face glares back, eyes gleaming with hatred and fear, lips pulled back in a feral grimace. The lawn is filled with men carrying high-powered flashlights and weapons.

“We know what you’re feeding in the basement,” Al bellows, only inches away. “That thing isn’t your kid. Not anymore. You know the law, Frank.”

I back up, trembling uncontrollably.

“It’s not natural,” Richie chimes in. “And by harboring it you’re endangering all of us. We all signed the agreement.”

So sue me, you chicken-shit asshole. My son’s not dead.

I blink, realizing I’ve spoken the words aloud, angrily. “If I could just show you,” I add, ashamed of the waver in my voice, “you’d understand. He’s not like the others.”

“Okay, okay,” Al’s voice drops to a soothing, diplomatic tone. “Unlock the door and we’ll take a look at your boy. If what you say is true, he needs to be checked out by doctors. You have my word on that, Frank.”

Shaking now from anguish and rage instead of fear, I step back toward the door. Al and his mob believe my son is a mindless monster deserving of nothing more than a bullet through the brain. And like all the so-called specialists and CDC witch doctors, he doesn’t even have the guts to come out and say it.

I remove the handgun from my robe pocket and cock it. On the other side of the door, I hear Al grab the doorknob eagerly, thinking the click is the door’s deadbolt being retracted.

I fire once, point-blank. Al screams and I hear a body fall. Shouts follow. A shadow crosses the picture window and I fire twice, shattering glass. Richie screams and falls.

Someone opens fire on the house. Splinters of wood explode from the door. A bullet drones past my right ear and an invisible hand tugs at the hem of my bathrobe. A flaming bottle pinwheels through the gaping hole in the window. It smashes against the coffee table and sprays liquid fire across the sofa and carpet. From beyond the kitchen, a hollow booming and metal screech as the garage door is breached with ball-peen hammers and axes.

I turn and flee up the stairs, hearing more shouts and gunfire. At least they’ve stopped beating against the door.

Upstairs I burst into Andrew’s room and bolt the door shut, breathing in great huffs of air like an asthma victim having an attack. Andrew is struggling to sit up, his eyes wide and alarmed. I can’t begin to imagine what my face looks like. I unstrap him and set him on the floor behind me.

Grunting with the effort, I pry loose the plywood panel covering his window and peer out. The lawn below is a sea of bobbing lights. A shout goes up and pale faces stare up at me. I duck, but no one fires. After a minute I peer down again.

Several men are lighting crude torches and tossing them through the shattered living room window. They’re not going to drag us from the house and chance eating a bullet.