That Risen Snow: A Scary Tale of Snow White and Zombies (Wattys 2014 Award Winner)

Chapter Thirty-One

Grouchy

GROUCHY AND BATTSON RUN toward the staging chamber, and their swaying lanterns cast bizarre, lilting silhouettes. Grouchy almost slams into Battson when they reach the chamber. Ahead, four undead soldiers stand inside the chamber. A fifth clambers through a tunnel in the rubble, its edges splattered with blood and bone fragments.

Thick blood covers the soldiers’ bodies, glistening black in the lantern light. One is missing half its face, revealing an eye socket and the skull beneath. Another has a broken jaw tilted horribly to the right. The third has no visible wounds, but a line of bloody drool hangs from its lower lip. The fourth’s nose is broken. Blood drips like fudge from a tattered hole in its neck. The Horrors shamble as quiet as shadows towards them.

“Damn it,” Battson says.

“Yeah.”

Battson swings his sword at the nearest ghoul, Half-Face, separating head from body. It falls to its knees and tips forward toward Battson, its arms flailing blindly. Battson tries to sidestep but stumbles over a gem sack. The Horror’s body lands on top of him.

The other three ghouls advance. Grouchy unsheathes Honey-Stick and stabs it through Fudge-Hole’s mouth. The Horror lurches backward and collapses, yanking the sword right out of his hands.

Drooler and Broke-Jaw stagger toward Battson, who’s now pinned under Half-Face’s headless body. Both terrors fall to their knees to feast on Battson.

“Balls,” Grouchy says, snatching Honey-Stick from Fudge-Hole’s mouth.

With a slightly squeaky roar, he swings his blade through Drooler and Broke-Jaw’s necks. It occurs to him then that killing Horrors is a lot like mining. You just swing and swing until you get your reward. Only in this case, the reward is life. Or, at least, a few more breaths.

KUHH-KLLLANGGG.

The noise echoes from the northwest passage. At the sound of the meal bell, Grouchy’s belly growls. He almost punches his own stomach. What a time to think of food.

Around him, the three headless humans writhe and grasp on the floor. Battson scampers away from them, his mouth twisted in disgust. Across the room, rubble trickles down as the fifth Horror emerges from the blood-soaked tunnel. As the undead thing lurches to its feet, Grouchy’s stomach twists.

It’s the Prince.