The Walker Family Vacation (Episode 3) by McRory Shane

Author:McRory, Shane [McRory, Shane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
Published: 2020-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

7

Christian

Further horror faced him when he rose.

At his feet, the man who had yesterday been Steve the masseuse—who probably had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, plans for the fall, shows on his Netflix watch list he couldn’t wait to get to, bills and books, emails from his mother—was officially and totally dead. Motionless, soundless; still as a dead man should be, a crooked jag of glass inserted into his head through his eye socket winking off sunlight that streamed from the lounge window.

But behind Christian, feasted yet not sated, the elderly woman from the storage room parted the curtain, leaving a bloody handprint on its white fabric. Milky eyes instantly on Christian, she growled and stepped toward him, curtain clinging to a shoulder then dragging off to flutter behind her as she made her way toward him.

The struggle with the masseuse had exhausted him, but he wasn’t drained. Not yet. The masseuse, only recently deceased, still retained some of the vigor of the young fit man he once was, but were the old woman as healthy and able as she had been last week before she died, Christian would still have nothing to fear—and he was pumped now, riled and angry.

She stumbled past the counter, bumbling toward him, the curtain tenting out behind her now as her former husband’s hands reached out. She was an old woman in her late seventies who frankly when she was alive looked like she might be a bit sour, and she was no match for him, and he scowled, focused on her bloody face, picturing her as he’d seen her last when she and her hubby had mauled that pretty young girl, took her life and ate her insides … then he was shuffling toward her, cocking his hand back, forming it into a ball so iron he heard his own knuckles crack.

No hands up to protect herself, she walked right into it. His fist slammed the corner of her mouth and the soft flesh of her face flapped with the impact. Her head snapped back and she stumbled on her heels, arms flying up, the blood from her meal splashing into the air and over Christian’s hand. She collapsed into her husband, and together they twisted in the curtain, falling together, the spring-loaded bar that held it up jumping out of the archway and whomping onto their heads as they toppled to the floor in a tangle of arms and blood-stained fabric.

An inexplicable sob wracked from him, thinking of the innocent girl they’d murdered, thinking of his own young daughters somewhere on this island alone and scared and vulnerable, the likelihood of more creatures like these an almost certainty.

He turned, sprinted, heading for the exit—at the last moment instead darting to the right and running down the hall and into the room where he’d waited for his massage. He clambered over the upended massage table pushed away by the masseuse who he’d left pinned underneath it. Door closed behind him, massage table shoved

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