Take Away the Saints

Clean Break : Part 3 || Nate D. Burleigh

I search the room. The rest of them aren't moving. When I turn to leave, something heavy hits me in the face. Blood gushes from my nose as I stumble back, slamming my back against the table full of minced Brelan eye. I'm dazed and on my ass again. A vague picture materializes in front of me. Eden's body sways forward and back. A terrible ripping sound sends shivers up my spine. Eden lands on her feet in front of me like a gymnast's dismount from the high bar. What's left of her breasts dangle from the hooks above.

Hunched over, head dangling, she whips back. Maggots pour from her empty eye sockets. Her head tilts as if she's sizing up the competition. Chunks of rotten flesh hang from her ribs. Crinkled black hair falls over her shoulders. I'm startled by a loud snap when she breaks free of the rope around her wrists. She lunges for me. I slide under the table before she can grab me. Instead, she picks the table up and heaves it across the room. It shatters against the brick fireplace.

A quick horrific realization seizes me.

Where's my goddam ...

Excalibur's on my tool table six rows away. Each table I scurry under she tosses across the room. I hear them crash into walls. I'm almost there and ready to properly defend myself when a hand grabs my ankle.

It's not Eden.

Chelsea's left hand crawls up the back of my leg. Decayed skin peels as I try to re-move it. Beatles dive in and out of the dead flesh on the stump of her wrist. An intense sharp pain races up my leg. My ankle snaps under the pressure. Eden lifts the table we're under. I scramble closer to my weapons. The hand scampers up my back, grips my shirt collar, and bears down. Oxygen disrupted, I gag and grip the hand with both of mine. I'm strong but this inanimate thing is fierce.

The handle of my knife against my palm gives me new courage though I still can't reach my gun. I whip around. Eden is standing in front of me. Chelsea's hand tightens but her small fingers can't reach around far enough to stop the flow of blood to my brain. I catch hold of the index and middle fingers and fling the appendage across the room.

Eden launches at me. Both arms are wide as if she wants a hug. I lunge forward. The knife catches her under the jaw and easily slides through the dead flesh. There isn't much blood and the dead skin gives way. Near decapitation, she stops for a moment and grabs my arm. Her grip is too strong and my arms seethe. They're burnt from my crawl. The hilt of my knife clinks against the floor as her sharp nails penetrate my wrist. With the other hand, I strain to pry her wretched digits from my arm and kick her square in the chest. She stumbles back. Blood soaked flesh and muscle hang from my left forearm. It's not arterial and it's not my shooting hand. I can survive this.

There's a moment of freedom as she stumbles back. Excalibur feels like heaven in my hand. Pain shoots up my left leg. Chelsea's biting my calf, gnawing and chewing through the skin. Her body wriggles as she tries to tear muscle from bone. Skin breaks and blood flows down my ankle, pooling on the floor. The instant I pull the trigger, her head and body explode.

"Fuck yeah. Stay dead this time." I love my gun.

As I scrape the remnants of Chelsea off my pants, a pressure shoots through my shoulder. At a glance, I see my knife is buried to the hilt. There's no pain but my left arm and hand go numb and flop against my body. Against medical advice of any kind, I pull the knife out and toss it across the room.

Eden seizes me around the throat and squeezes. She lifts me off the ground and walks toward the table where Evelyn lies nearly split in half. My peripheral vision darkens. I've lost too much blood and can't hold onto my weapon any longer.

The whine and grind of the jigsaw wakes me. My right hand is on fire, can't feel the other. Both are nailed to the table. Eden's holding Chelsea's hand which has hold of my saw. Cries of frustration and pain in mind are lost behind the rancid rubber ball stuffed in my mouth. The dull blade rips through the flesh on my left ankle. I'm barely able to keep from passing out again. Blood-tinged mucus shoots out of my nose and coats the part of the ball that's showing. It runs down my chin onto my bare chest.