DOMINIO DELLA MORTE
"19 dark tales to ruin your sleep and mess with your mind."
~~ Amazon reviewer.
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Curled against the side of the train, the young girl looked at him with eyes sunken by death. - The Passenger She reached out to me with a decayed hand, its moldy flesh broken by protruding bone - Melissa He cracked the skull open on a nearby trunk, splitting bark with bone. - Mind Creatures |
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ONE BULLET
Free Fiction
Traffic was backed up on Broadway but this time for good reason. Half the occupants of the vehicles in this jam were already dead. The other half stumbled through the streets of Manhattan with their flesh decomposing and hunger in their eyes.
The zombie apocalypse . . . David Jackson didn’t even believe in such a thing.
They hadn’t taken much with them: a few cans of food, some clothes, and his Glock 42. David had discharged the handgun inside the car; stupid in itself, but panic had dictated his actions. The windshield hadn’t shattered, but the passenger window had. He’d managed to headshot three zombies before they’d grabbed his wife. He could just imagine her final thought being I bet he did that on purpose.
They’d dragged her through the shattered glass to feast on her flesh, but now her wide hips were wedged into the opening. Ironic, really, as he’d spent most of their marriage bitching to Julie about how she should diet, and yet it was her fat ass that provided the barrier between him and those zombies.
In the back seat, Carl struggled against the seatbelt. Seven years old, he could easily unclip the belt, but his zombified brain didn’t contain the know-how. Thankfully. He leaned forward in his seat, secured in place, hands reaching and trying to grab a piece of his father to feed on. Carl’s window was lowered a few inches—unfortunately just enough for him to get bit.
Glancing once more at the handgun, David sighed. One bullet left in the chamber, the weapon loaded and ready to fire. His son groaned, and David looked at him with an anguished smile. He didn’t think he could kill his boy. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he could kill himself, either.
Julie’s large rump shifted in the window and time was running out.
He had a choice to make, but David had never been good at making the right one.
“Goodbye son,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.
The zombie apocalypse . . . David Jackson didn’t even believe in such a thing.
They hadn’t taken much with them: a few cans of food, some clothes, and his Glock 42. David had discharged the handgun inside the car; stupid in itself, but panic had dictated his actions. The windshield hadn’t shattered, but the passenger window had. He’d managed to headshot three zombies before they’d grabbed his wife. He could just imagine her final thought being I bet he did that on purpose.
They’d dragged her through the shattered glass to feast on her flesh, but now her wide hips were wedged into the opening. Ironic, really, as he’d spent most of their marriage bitching to Julie about how she should diet, and yet it was her fat ass that provided the barrier between him and those zombies.
In the back seat, Carl struggled against the seatbelt. Seven years old, he could easily unclip the belt, but his zombified brain didn’t contain the know-how. Thankfully. He leaned forward in his seat, secured in place, hands reaching and trying to grab a piece of his father to feed on. Carl’s window was lowered a few inches—unfortunately just enough for him to get bit.
Glancing once more at the handgun, David sighed. One bullet left in the chamber, the weapon loaded and ready to fire. His son groaned, and David looked at him with an anguished smile. He didn’t think he could kill his boy. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he could kill himself, either.
Julie’s large rump shifted in the window and time was running out.
He had a choice to make, but David had never been good at making the right one.
“Goodbye son,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.
