Proper by R. K. Gleason

Author:R. K. Gleason [Gleason, R. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
ISBN: 9781093973617
Published: 2019-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

“The door’s open, sweetie, but watch your step!” Lynn shouts before Ben has a chance to knock.

Leaning close to the door to avoid having to shout, he replies, “Can you open the door?”

Zack turns the handle and pulls the door open, taking a step to the side. Ben exhales a sigh of relief and starts inside. He’s carrying a duffle bag in each hand, the one in his right is stuffed so full it looks like a couch pillow. The one in his left appears much heavier than its twin, and not nearly as full. Based on the edges pushing from the inside of the thick fabric, the contents appear to be boxes of something. They’re collected at both ends of the large bag and hang unevenly from the handle at the middle. Making the drab green bag look like a large, canvas scrotum with two dozen pointy testicles inside. There’s a third bag he’s slung over his head and shoulder like an overprotective golfer with his clubs. Three barrels, in varying diameters and lengths, poke out of the top.

Mid-step, Ben sees the carnage spread across the entryway and nearly stumbles in an attempt to pull his foot back before he can dip it into the goo covering the floor. His eyes immediately flash from Pam’s to Zack’s and finally land on Dave, still covered in a whole lot of Betty. Drying blood covers most of Dave’s upper half, causing his torn shirt to stick to his skin. Gore is smeared down his neck with accentuating flecks of bone fragment, brain bits, and pulverized cartilage. Shock flashes across Ben’s expression as he drops the cushion from his right hand and swiftly reaches for the small of his back.

“Want some help with your stuff? All you had to do was ask,” Zack says sarcastically, leaning over to pick up his youngest brother’s bag from the cement.

There’s a gasp from behind him as Zack’s fingers wrap around the handles. He feels a wave of embarrassed panic wash through him as he tries to remember if he’d pulled on the old jeans he owned with the hole torn in the ass and if so, did he happen to go commando today. He stands, fighting the urge to reach back with the fingers of his free hand to check his denim-integrity, and sees Ben pointing a black, semi-automatic pistol at him.

“Shit. Do you want me to carry the other one too?” Zack asks without moving.

“Get out of the way, Zack,” Ben rasps, carefully setting the heavier bag down before lifting his left hand under his right in the standard, cup-and-saucer shooting stance and curling his finger over the trigger.

“Dude. What’s wrong?” Zack asks with genuine concern, albeit suddenly and for his own wellbeing.

“Dave. He’s… He’s…” Ben replies, jerking his chin toward his stepfather and shifting his feet a little.

“Oh shit,” Zack says in relief as he turns to look at his dad. “I know. Totally gross, right?”

“Get the fuck inside,” Dave tells his sons.

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