Books of the Dead (Book 2): Lord of the Dead by Spears R.J

Author:Spears, R.J. [Spears, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: J. Ellington Ashton Press
Published: 2014-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The Fall

They were on the move by 4:00 AM. The air was crisp and moist. It reminded Anthony of the mornings when he would get up with his family to get a jumpstart on a vacation. His father, Troy, would get him and his brother up, rousting them still in their pajamas into the back of the station wagon. They would then head to the mountains for a week of roughing it. Roughing it meant that they would hunt in the early morning, and his dad would be drunk by nightfall. If his dad took down a deer, things were right with the world. If dad didn’t, there was a distinct possibility that he would knock Mom around, and if she put up too much of a fight, he’d decide one of the boys would be his target.

Because Anthony was smart, his dad would start with him. Troy wasn’t much of a thinking man and never cared for all that fancy book learning. In fact, he had nothing but contempt for the men who went on to college. They were nothing but weak, soft-handed eggheads who didn’t know shit about an honest day’s work.

Anthony had always been bookish. It was something his mother had cultivated in him but always behind the back of his old man. If the old man caught him with his nose in a book, more than often than not, that meant a smack in the back of the head or a swift kick in the ass. It was no light smack or kick, either. The old man meant business. Most times, Anthony ended up on the floor, crying. The old man hated crying more than anything. He always called Anthony his little princess whenever he started crying.

If the physical abuse wasn’t enough, his father was equally skilled in verbal combat. Besides the crying, his dad knew where to drive the knife home. Anthony had been born an albino. The old man nearly crapped his pants, and for some time, he claimed his wife must have stepped out on him because no son of his would turn out to be a freak like an albino. Over time, his father accepted that this wasn’t the case. Still, he was none too happy about having a genetic freak for a son and used it against Anthony any chance he could get. There were no clever puns or witty words, though. Pussy, little faggot, or his white little princess was as clever as Troy ever got. For a precocious little boy, it was hurtful enough.

Fancy book learning was bad enough, but crying sent the old man into a real shit fit. That’s what the old man called them. His eyes would narrow, and his fists would clinch. The only thing that saved little Tony from an old fashioned ass whipping was his mother who usually ended up taking the beating instead.

God, how Anthony missed that woman. She had been the one bright spot in a torturous childhood. She was the one that nurtured him while his father did everything he could to tear him down.

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