Dead Trash: A Zombie Exploitation Quadruple Feature by Ed Kurtz

Author:Ed Kurtz [Ed Kurtz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Extreme Horror, Dark Fiction, Zombies, Bizarro Fiction
ISBN: 9780615903286
Google: 62RGngEACAAJ
Goodreads: 18683620
Publisher: Evil Jester Press
Published: 2013-10-09T23:00:00+00:00

—Two—

Bucktown

“Ho-lee shit, is that Ethel Jones?”

“In the flesh, baby.”

Irma walked a foot behind Arkansas on their way from the cruiser to the impressive bare-chested man in front of the entrance to Bucktown. Under her breath, she whispered, “Ethel?”

“Shut up,” Arkansas hissed back.

“Mama, you look too fine for the end of the world,” Mean Jim Turner said, getting an eyeful of her long, brown legs.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Jim.”

Jim and Arkansas fell into a tight embrace and, to Irma’s surprise, a deep kiss. Not wanting to stare, Irma turned away and her eyes fell upon a heap of twitching bodies, blackened with soot and groaning softly. She had never seen anything like it—this dude Jim was like a one-man army. She couldn’t help but wonder how Bigfoot Dan would have fared under the circumstances.

“Come on, Ethel, let’s get inside before these turkeys regroup.”

Turner led the way, holding the door open for the women and taking a moment to weave a heavy chain back through the handles, which he fixed in place with a large padlock. A yellow shirt was draped over the battered row of mailboxes; he whipped it down and shrugged his massive shoulders into it without bothering to button it up. Neither Arkansas nor Irma minded.

“Ladies,” he said, his voice deep and loud. “Welcome to Bucktown.”

“Jim,” Arkansas said, gesturing to Irma. “This is Irma. I couldn’t have ever made it here without her.”

“Thanks for keeping an eye on this pretty lady, Irma,” Jim said. “I guess it wasn’t easy to get here.”

“It’s been an interesting few days, to say the least,” Irma agreed.

“Well, the elevator don’t work and the super just doesn’t seem to be around lately,” Jim announced, a sly grin on his face. “So, we gotta take the stairs. I’m only on the fourth floor, though. I ‘spect we got plenty to talk about—like why I haven’t heard a peep out of you for the last couple of years, girl.”

“I was inside and you was out,” Arkansas said plainly as they climbed the steps in the dark, musty stairwell. “It gets hard hearing from folks, like you can smell the freedom you ain’t got no more.”

“Don’t got to tell me, woman,” Jim said with a bitter laugh. “Don’t forget I was a POW back in ’68.”

A one-man army and a ‘Nam vet who was a prisoner of war—Irma raised her eyebrows, wondering what she might learn next about this mysterious man’s never-ending well of toughness.

They reached the landing of the fourth floor with both women huffing, though Jim was none the worse for wear. He paused at the steel door there and knocked three times. A voice from the other side hollered, “Who is it?”

“It’s Jim, man—let me in.”

A scraping rattle shook the door, which opened to reveal a thin black man holding the chain he’d just unlocked in one hand. His face was sunken and grim, his eyes worked the women over with detached interest.

“Shit, brother,” he said, “I thought you said it was cops down there.

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