Keep Busy

21.

Ash floated down through the boughs of scorched trees surrounding the Fill and Feed. No one had survived. That is to say, no one was left living. Some had come back.

Roy had come back.

And Roy was mad.

There were six reanimated zombies tooling around what was left of their commune, feeding on the still warm flesh of the recently deceased.

No one spoke.

There was just the slimy, smacking sounds of ravenous mastication, skin torn from muscle, torn from bone and chewed to a gummy pulp. It sounded like porn without the Ohhs and Ahhs.

Roy swallowed what was left of his wife's face and sat back against a tree. The morning sun shone through the dense foliage, creating hazy, diagonal shafts of soft light. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and thought about that demon bitch, Jane.

The way she'd gotten to him with her blasphemy—how he stupidly played right into her trap. His numb fingers lightly grazed the open gash on his throat. That's where she'd sunk her teeth in, snagged the jugular and pulled.

Seeing your life jettison away from you in a fountain of red, like an unmanned fire hose, was a sobering experience.

He'd fallen to his knees, felt her take the gun from his shoulder.

At the time he hadn't even considered trying to stop her, all he could focus on was trying to scoop the tepid red puddles forming in the loose earth back into his gaping wound.

In his terrified panic, he'd grabbed handfuls of blood and dirt and shoved them deep into the laceration, tearing it open further. Maybe the mud would stop the bleeding, he'd hoped, as hot tears streamed his cheeks.

There wasn't time for hope after that. Black spots were popping up in his vision, his extremities felt icy and unworkable, he gurgled and sputtered, feeling everything slow to a crawl.

He'd heard some gun shots before falling into the void and then woken up to the sound of the propane tanks exploding out front.

The demon bitch and her dog—that guy he'd bashed with his gun—had escaped. Gotten away and taken Jed's daughter, presumably as a snack.

The open hole at his neck had finally stopped gushing blood. It was still damp and occasionally leaked but there was no pain. Maybe the mud had helped. Apart from being dead, he felt relatively energized.

It could have something to do with eating his wife, filling his belly with fresh meat or maybe it was fueled by his maddening need for revenge.

I'll catch her, if it's the last thing I ever... no wait.

He was going to find her. That was all.

He was going to find her and tear her to pieces.