Now, back to The Gruesome Tale of Garrett and Kirsten (part 3)
Garrett leaned against the wall, picking up the half-eaten bag of barbecue chips, and settled down to snack and finish going through the bulging backpack of food. Across the room, the girl continued to sob. It was raw and raspy sounding. Mostly due to all the screaming she’d done earlier.
Glancing down, he felt that familiar delight in seeing the bright red smears of blood surrounding his crotch. He’d already taken her twice. He’d never considered the possibility of virginity. Garrett knew from his momma that all girls were whores.
This one had begged for him to stop like all the others. For just a moment, his mind tried to wonder if Ennis—the son of her mom’s boyfriend when Garrett was just ten years old—had gotten so much excitement from his cries all those years ago in that abandoned house they’d been exploring. He fixed his eyes on the curled up girl and let her crying cleanse his mind of such things.
It’d been a few weeks since Garrett left his last “Toy” back at the baseball stadium. So he’d been ready to go again in moments. His decision to have normal sex had been based solely on things he’d learned from past experiences. For example, until he’d properly molded their absolute submission of spirit, the mouth was off limits.
Garrett was used to a certain amount of physical resistance in the initial moments. But this was something different that no amount of spit or blood could lessen. For just a moment he felt sadness. He’d never be able to re-create that instance. His mind replayed that moment when his little Toy had screamed that certain way as he broke though, finalizing his violation.
The freshness of the memory added to its vividness. The sobs were beginning to subside to a quiet whimper. Garrett smiled at the stirring between his legs. He knew from past experiences that this hunger would take considerably longer to satiate. At last, he could truly enjoy the event. He clenched both huge fists. It was time to begin the process of teaching this whore her place in his new world. A world where nobody could call the police just because they didn’t like him. Like when Kimmy Vanderwall said he’d been peeking in her window. The same Kimmy Vanderwall who let Jim Edder put his hand down her pants in the movie theater. The same Kimmy Vanderwall who left her curtains wide open when she changed clothes.
Now Garrett was really angry. Well, the little whore could blame Kimmy Vanderwall for what was about to happen. He stood, dropping the bag of chips, letting them spill on the floor. The whimpering ceased with a gasp as the whore looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. She tried to move and winced. Garrett was across the room in three long strides.
“Please,” the little whore whined. “No.”
Garrett grabbed a handful of hair and dragged her back across the room. He yanked her to her feet and forced her over the foot of the pink-canopied bed.
A scream of pain carried on the early afternoon air.
Garrett yawned, stood, and stretched. He glanced at the figure curled up in a tight ball on the floor in the corner. His glance turned into a stare. There it was! The slight rise and fall that indicated breathing.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if that had ended up not being the case. The last few days had been the most excitement he’d encountered in quite some time. That something so small could fight so viciously had been a surprise.
Yes, this one was a real fighter.
Just remembering the most recent activities of last night had something stirring in the pit of his stomach. He absentmindedly stuffed one hand down his pants, withdrew it, and breathed in that smell. Her smell.
Something as close to sadness as he was capable of feeling swept in suddenly. When he broke this one’s spirit…he would be…what?
Garrett dug through the dwindling food supply. He would need more. Soon. Water was a different story. There was an abundance. During his second day in his new home, he had made his new Toy walk him around the huge grounds. It was during this outing that he noticed a large truck up on the curb of one of the bordering streets. The logo on its side read “Glacier”. There were dozens—if not over a hundred—giant, five-gallon plastic jugs of water.
There were very few zombies nearby, so he’d quickly secured the shivering creature to a tree and retrieved three of the heavy containers before finally attracting enough attention to have to call it quits. Then, he’d taken pleasure in making his Toy carry them back to the house.
That had been quite an event. It had refused, so he dealt a series of backhands that drew blood. The sight of blood streaming bright red from both nostrils had sparked a flare of excitement. He’d simply shoved his pants down to his knees and satisfied his desire.
Garrett crossed the room, thoughts of eating gone. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked the curled up body from where it lay.
Kirsten still felt a burning on one cheek where the carpet had worn it raw. She could still hear his heavy breathing. The attack had ended a few minutes ago and he was still panting like a dog.
The piece of clothesline that bound her wrists had cut into the flesh a little during this most recent attack. It was starting to sting. Then there was the pain down there. He seemed not to care which place he shoved himself in, and both were raw and excruciatingly sore. Tears filled her eyes at the realization that she had to pee. It would feel like fire, and Kirsten could try her best not to, but she would probably cry.
Kirsten hated crying. Especially since that terrible man seemed to enjoy it so much. But, she was learning. If she asked for food or water, he would hit her and then usually eat or drink right in front of her. If she kept her mouth shut, eventually he would toss something her way. As for the attacks…she had no idea.
He just came at her whenever. And the things he did—she suppressed a shiver—there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of seeing just how repulsed she was.
In the few days…had it only been a few?...it seemed like forever…the worst was what he wanted her to do with her mouth. She’d wanted to bite, but he’d held that huge knife against her throat. As it was, he’d cut her right at the end anyway. If she could be sure that she would hurt him bad enough so that he died too…
Then there was his drinking. She knew that his regular consumption of alcohol might lead him to making a mistake, like perhaps not tying her up as well some night. If she got free, she would run. It didn’t matter where to, just so long as it was away from this terrible, mean, smelly man.
She couldn’t hold it anymore. The momentary feeling of relief was quickly replaced by a terrible burning as urine rushed from her bladder and washed down her thighs. Tears filled her eyes, but Kirsten bit down on the inside of her mouth and refused to cry. Mercifully, it finally ended, leaving a steady stinging, but the worst of the burning subsided.
Her breathing slowly began to return to normal, the need to hold it in order to suppress crying lessening. Then she heard him. He was coming back. She steeled herself for whatever was coming this time. Then she felt the stream of warm fluid begin streaming across her back.
Kirsten kept her eyes closed and refused to cry.
Garrett stood at the heavy, wrought iron gate, staring at the growing crowd gathered on the other side. Perhaps he should do something about thinning out their numbers. Not that those things could break down the security gate. It was more about the fact that The Toy seemed to know a lot of them by name. Something about that annoyed him.
Crouching down, he looked into the hideous eyes of a girl about the same age as his plaything. It was pressed up against the bars by the crush of bodies gathered behind, all straining to come forward and try in vain to reach the living person they craved to sink their rotten teeth into. In all the pushing, pulling, and jockeying for position, the girl had lost most of her clothing with the exception of a ragged black bra and some disgustingly stained panties that seemed to be welded to the skin. He reached out, swatting aside one cold, dead arm and poked the small, budding breast. The indent of his finger stayed after he pulled away, avoiding the thing’s attempt to grasp at him. It feels like thick mud, he thought.
Picking the fireplace poker up from where he’d set it against one of the brick columns that marked either side of the gated entrance, he jammed it through the right eye of the pitiful thing. The body slid to the ground and another stepped into its place.
Standing, Garrett looked over the agitated mob. Several sets of arms—many missing one of their matching number— thrust towards him like a wall of uncoordinated snakes. Faces smashed against the iron gates heedless of shattered cheeks, busted teeth, or bent noses. He saw what might’ve once been a young Latino man and drove the poker into its face.
Again and again he tried to select ones that sounded like people The Toy had mentioned, or that he knew in his heart she paused to look at whenever they were outside. The bodies began to pile up, but the ones still mobile weren’t smart enough to move them out of the way. Garrett stopped when he noticed that two bodies were now stacked one atop another and a trio of those things were now standing a full head and shoulders above the others.
He’d have to solve this problem. He was in no hurry to leave this comfortable little haven. Here, behind these walls, he, Garrett James McCormick, was king. He was the master of an island of his creation, separated from the ocean of terrible monsters by a fence that would deny them until the flesh finished rotting off their bodies. From here, he could launch his raiding missions and retrieve all he would require. Here, he would break the will of The Toy. And perhaps, over time, she might even be able to be molded to serve him properly. Perhaps, over time, she would want to serve him properly.
Turning his back on the wall of arms, Garrett walked back to the house. He still marveled at its size. It was bigger than the entire apartment building he and his mother had lived in…before the terrible parade of boyfriends began.
Garrett stopped, tilting his head to one side. He had a vision that made him pause. The Toy was standing in the open main entry door. She was wearing a pink dress and white apron. Under one arm was a large mixing bowl which she was stirring slowly. She saw him and smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you, honey,” she said, stepping forward. Garrett leaned forward to kiss her and stumbled in empty air. The vision was gone.
He spun, looking everywhere, but he was alone. The only “people” in sight were the horrible creatures down at the entry gate. Well, he thought as his face slipped into that harsh scowl he wore more and more often as his inexplicable anger seemed to grow every day and consume him further, he knew where the real flesh-and-blood version of his vision was at this very moment.
“Time for another lesson, bitch,” Garrett snarled as he stomped up the stairs.
Kirsten leaned against the wall. Its coolness soothed her raw, burning cheek. Of all the abuse The Big Man inflicted, it was the regular slapping of the face that angered her. Sure, there were vile and degrading things, too, but those fostered feelings of shame and violation. The face slapping flat-out pissed her off.
Kirsten wasn’t stupid. She’d known about sex. Even some of the weird stuff. She hadn’t been brave enough to let any of the boys do much more than a little rubbing and squeezing, and she’d absolutely chickened out when it came to touching their—
The Big Man had told her last night that she would be putting that disgusting thing in her mouth again. He would be holding his knife against her temple, and if she tried to do anything like bite him, well, then he’d be sticking that knife into her head. She’d given it serious thought all day. Would dying be so bad?
No, Kirsten scolded herself, you can’t think that way. The Big Man would probably survive. And then he would find somebody else to hurt. She’d already been hurt in about every way possible. She wouldn’t let this happen to somebody else.
Shifting her weight a little, Kirsten tested the rough twine that bound her hand and foot for probably the hundredth time. It tightened and bit into the already raw flesh of her wrists and ankles. She winced but didn’t cry. It had been days since she’d actually cried. It was like her body had gotten used to the pain…pain from abuse…pain from violation…pain from hunger and thirst. Besides, she’d quickly learned that, when she cried, it made him want to do more things to her.
Lately, The Big Man had seemed to change just a bit. He still never used her name, still called her “Toy.” Only, now when he said it, it was almost like he was talking to a pet dog or cat, not a piece of poop he wanted scraped from the sole of his boot. He’d even taken her outside for walks in the sun. And while she still wasn’t allowed to wear clothes, he had given her a clean blanket at night. Even more noticeable, he’d only been hitting her during sex. The random, out-of-nowhere attacks had basically stopped.
She heard the large entry doors slam. It made her jump, which caused the bindings to bite into her flesh again. Taking a few breaths, she tried to calm down. She had to be able to empty her mind for what was surely coming. The heavy stomping sounds of the approach of The Big Man squeezed her bladder tight. Kirsten bit her lip and focused. It would be bad. It would be terrible, but eventually, The Big Man would make a mistake.
Then, she would kill him.
Garrett walked out onto the porch. The sun was just rising. There was enough light now. He tugged at the clothesline he had wrapped around one hand. A pained whimper sounded as his Toy limped forward. He glanced at it briefly to ensure it was following. It limped from the shadows shielding its eyes from the sunlight.
“Come, Toy,” Garrett ordered and started down the stairs. There was only the briefest tension from the line, but it did as it was told.
He heard the winces and sharp inhaling of breath as he led it across the gravel and to the long driveway. As they neared the end, it was obvious that The Toy had an idea what was about to happen. The whimpers and pleading began, and the tension on the line increased, but the choking sounds were quickly followed by the line going slack again. The Hangman’s Noose-style knot around its neck really limited the amount of resistance that the pitiful thing could put up.
Garrett stopped at the four-by-four wooden post that he had planted in the ground to the left of the entry gate just barely an arm’s length from the horde of terrible creatures that strained to reach through every available inch of space that the twisting iron bars allowed. He grabbed his tiny Toy by the hair and slammed it against the wood. That earned him a yelp of pain.
Good, Garrett thought, it is breaking to my will. As he began wrapping the twenty-five feet of clothesline around and around to secure The Toy to the post, he couldn’t help but admire the bright blooms of purple that colored the pale, nude body of his Toy. One eye was swollen shut, and flakes of dried blood still clung to the corners of its mouth.
It had dared to bite him! The long slash of his knife across one small breast had forced the scream that had allowed him to pull himself free from its mouth. He’d considered killing it right then and there, but when Garrett looked into those defiant eyes, he’d known: it must be broken. He’d wanted to turn it onto its stomach and take it as violently as possible, but his thing hurt. Garrett knew what his thing was called, but he couldn’t even think the word. Mom had called it filthy, vile, and dirty.
He’d first heard the word penis in school. When he got home that day, six-year-old Garrett McCormick asked his mother what a penis was. She’d broken three wooden spoons on his bare behind that day. Later, he’d heard other names for it. Many of them from Ennis while he was telling young Garrett what to do with his. He couldn’t think of that, especially when he wanted to do things with his Toy. If he did, his thing would not work.
Right now, while he healed from the wicked bite of The Toy, those memories actually served him well when he felt a stirring down there. It made the feelings stop. Times like right now when he was on his knees, tying The Toy to the post, his face right in front of that soft, dark triangle between The Toy’s legs. When he could smell her.
Standing, Garrett backed away and looked at his handiwork. He pulled another piece of cord from one pocket and forced it in the mouth, then tied it securely to the post. This would keep its mouth open part way the whole time he was gone. Yes, Garrett smiled, it would learn to keep its mouth open.
He stood behind it for a moment. He watched the writhing wall of pale, dead arms strain to reach the squirming figure fastened to the splintery post. It learned quickly that moving caused two very unpleasant results: the noose would tighten and sharp slivers of the dry wood from the post would sink into its tender flesh.
Satisfied that it learned enough to be still, he loosened the noose just enough so it could once again breathe freely. Now, if it did anything to tighten the cord, it would die. He sensed that The Toy did not yet want to die. Not yet.
He grabbed his two tote bags and walked away. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. He’d made certain that none of those arms could actually reach. They would come close, but that was all. Perhaps when he came back, it would be happy to see him. It would be thankful that he would take it away from the dead faces it had known in life.
Reaching a tree, Garrett climbed and looked. It was clear. Those stupid things were all headed to the gate where they would not even get close enough to see inside because of the size of the crowd already gathered. With a quiet chuckle, he secured the knotted rope, dropped it over the wall and climbed.
It was time to go shopping!
Kirsten stared in horror at all of the familiar faces that pressed against the sturdy gate. So many mouths opening to reveal broken teeth, black tongues, and ropy strands of goo slobbering forth. So many sets of white filmed eyes shot full of squiggly black lines. Then there were the injuries, the open, gaping rips and tears in flesh. Mouth-sized chunks missing from arms and legs. Strands of guts hanging limply like the sausages she’d seen at her dad’s favorite deli. And other things, terrible, terrible things.
She could feel the vile breeze of the hands that swiped at her over and over with no concept of the definition of futility. All they were managing to do was to force a continuous wave of stench to wash over her.
She had to force herself to focus on the monsters to avoid thinking of other things. She did not want to allow in the pain of the clothesline biting into her flesh. How it seemed as if tiny lines of fire were burning every inch of her body. And then there was the scratchy, uncomfortable sensation of the wooden post at her back. Her mouth was a little more difficult to ignore. The Big Man had made a couple of wraps with the clothesline to tie her head to the pole. The line cut into the corners of her mouth, but it also made it impossible to really close it. Plus, she was drooling like those terrible things on the other side of the gate.
There was more than her current discomfort to try and block out of her mind. There were the events of yesterday and last night. The Big Man had returned…angry. She had no idea about what, there didn’t seem to ever be an identifiable reason to explain his rages and outbursts. If anything, he mostly reminded her of a spoiled-rotten child—like her cousin Rikki.
He’d stomped into the room with the look. It was the look he always got when he was about to…rape her. That was the word she’d tried to avoid but couldn’t. Kirsten was no dummy. She certainly knew the difference between rape and sex. The Big Man had walked up to her and pulled the wicked blade he kept on his hip. Then, he’d unzipped his pants.
Kirsten shuddered, and then forced herself to be still when the cord around her neck tightened just a bit. She wanted to spit. The memory of that flavor returning uninvited. The drool trickling from her mouth tainted with the disgusting taste. Kirsten smiled just a bit. She remembered the sound of pain and surprise when she’d bit. Of course there was the sudden flash of pain from the knife slicing her. She’d screamed. And that would not be her last scream of the day or night. He’d whipped her with his calloused hands.
But, and this made her smile even though it hurt as the clothesline cut deeper into the corners of her mouth, he hadn’t been able to rape her again. He’d beaten her into unconsciousness more than once, but he had not been able to satisfy his other needs. If only she’d been able to bite it off. Let him try to rape her without a penis!
She felt sweat trickling down her body, wincing as the salty fluid found every cut, tear, and abrasion. The day was going to be hot. All of the pain was merging; making it seem like her entire body was dipped in flame, what was a little more pain? She tried to let her mind go to that place it went when The Big Man was doing horrible things to her. It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny relief from all the pain and misery.
A few times, she considered going limp. The noose would constrict and it would be over. But she just couldn’t. Something deep down told her to fight. The Big Man was not too terribly smart. Eventually, he would make a mistake, and when he did, she would get away. Or, if she was lucky, kill him. Kill The Big Man. She’d given it thought, honestly asked herself if she could kill a living person. The Big Man wasn’t a person. He was an animal. Worse than the dead people who wanted to eat her. Worse than the dead person who’d bitten her dad.
Yes, Kirsten thought, The Big Man had to die. And she would do it. The time would come, of that she was certain. He would die, and she, Kirsten Malloy, would do it.
Garrett slipped over the waist-high wooden fence and into the yard of the large house. He’d had no luck finding anything of value in the first half-dozen houses. Perhaps it would’ve been wise to bring his Toy. He knew that it was too late for that now, and it would just be a waste of time since he’d already gone this far.
He did have to grudgingly admit that that tiny creature had shown some ingenuity. On two occasions he’d gone into houses to discover the undead occupants locked inside rooms. And in a few cases, they’d been taken down and killed. He wasn’t sure if it was at the hands of his little Toy, or at the hands of the man she’d been living with prior to him. The one who’d supposedly taught her how to get the monsters’ attention at the front gate before slipping over the wall for supplies. And it didn’t actually matter. What mattered this very moment was that he find food. And when he got back, he’d make The Toy earn every bite of every meal.
Trotting along the side of the big, expensive looking house, Garrett noticed it was all closed up. Glancing at some of the windows, he realized that they were boarded from the inside. Perhaps there were others inside. Could he find something even better than food? The possibility made his pulse quicken and certain parts of him stir.
Rounding the corner, he climbed a small set of stairs that led to a covered back porch. There was a black square of plastic at the bottom of the door, a pet entrance. Garrett pushed it with his big toe, but something solid was blocking it from the other side. He tried the door, not surprised to discover it locked.
Bracing his shoulder against the door, Garrett pushed, testing the sturdiness of the frame. It was strong, but not impossible. The only problem was that, by breaking it in, he would lose any chance of surprise. He’d have to be ready to kill immediately. Having recently found a sturdy-bladed machete in one of the groundkeepers’ sheds, he was actually anxious to use it.
One good thrust with his shoulder opened the door. Garrett laughed just a little at the illusion of security these rich people had lived behind. He peeked inside and discovered a kitchen. It was pristinely clean. Not simply tidy, no, this kitchen had been scrubbed and polished. Even with a light coating of dust, there remained a chemical smell, like bleach and something else.
Stepping in, Garrett pulled the kitchen door closed behind himself. There were three closed doors and an open archway. It was gloomy and dark because of all the windows having been boarded up. Garrett listened carefully for sounds of any movement.
He walked through the arch into an enormous dining room. A long table with high-backed chairs was adorned with immaculately placed settings and a long-dead floral centerpiece that had blackened flowers of all sorts sprawled around the dry, muck-coated crystal vase. Garrett could barely see into the next room due to the imposed darkness. He walked over to the hastily nailed up sheet of plywood and tugged. It took a couple of pulls, but eventually he tore one free with only a modest amount of screeching as the nails ripped from where they’d been pounded into the wall and sill.
Sunlight poured in, chasing darkness away, or at least into small shadowy pools in the corners. Garrett walked back into the expansive kitchen and began opening cupboards and drawers. All he found were useless china settings and indescribable utensils. He considered the three closed doors and decided on the one beside the largest refrigerator he’d ever seen in his life.
The doorknob turned and revealed a walk-in pantry. It was a jackpot on his first try! He scanned the shelves, mouth already watering at some of the possibilities. His eyes stopped on a can of pears. What would his Toy do for such a luxury? He moved to the second door and opened it. Nothing but cleaning supplies. Garrett approached the third door and noticed the hint of the sickly sweet smell of death mixed with the sharp stench of shit. Cocking back his weapon, Garrett yanked open the door and leaped back in anticipation of the monster that would come stumbling back. Instead, in the inky darkness of what had been a giant linen closet, a boy hung from the sturdy piping that ran in a neat, parallel manner across the ceiling. Garrett scowled and shut the door.
He decided to give the house a walkthrough to see if there might be anything else worth taking. He was already certain that he would need to make a couple of trips just to empty out the pantry. He crept deeper into the interior, noticing once again that smell of death drifting down a large staircase that led to the well-lit-by-the-sun upper level.
Halfway up, Garrett paused. There it was again, a squeak of a loose floorboard. Something upstairs was moving. It had to be one of them. Well, now he’d get to use his newly acquired weapon.
Heedless of the noise he made, Garrett hurried up the rest of the stairs. There was a large, open room with long couches arranged facing in to a wall-mounted flat-screen television that was the size of the living room window of his mom’s house. There were two hallways leading off from this room. There were several windows up here, most with the curtains open wide to allow in torrents of sunlight.
Garrett walked to one that looked out front. He was less than pleased to notice that a few of those filthy creatures had followed him and were staggering up the long driveway or simply standing at the fence, apparently too stupid to walk along it to the open driveway entrance.
Garrett spun, the silence making it difficult to tell just how far away he was from the source of the sound. However, he only had to stand there for a moment before it came again. It was behind a door along the wall to his left. Creeping slowly, Garrett approached the door. The smell grew stronger, quickly confirming that there was indeed death on the other side of that door.
Breathing through his mouth, Garrett took in one more deep inhale. He closed his hand on the knob, turning it as slowly as possible to minimize his noise. Carefully and slowly he opened the door. The wave of stench rolled out in an almost tangible, physical sheet that coated him with its vile nastiness. For the first time in a while, Garrett gagged.
His eyes blinked at the slight stinging sensation. He wanted to pretend what he was seeing didn’t bother him, but the still human part of him cringed nonetheless. The squeak sounded again. It hadn’t been a loose floor board after all.
Kirsten winced for probably the hundredth time. The blue-grey hand swiped at her, missing by a handful of inches, but it seemed in her eyes to only be a fraction of a millimeter. She tried to be careful, but a few times she’d jerked enough to cause the line around her throat to tighten.
Glancing up, she noticed that the sun was clearing the houses and trees now, bringing its full power to bear on her skin. Well, she thought, at least it will dry the rivulets of slobber running down my front.
Her eyes scanned the growing crowd on the other side of the gated entrance. It had at least doubled in size since she’d been tied to the wooden post. There’d been some concern on her part that so many of those things pressing towards her would somehow enable them to reach her. That fear had subsided eventually, but she still couldn’t help the wincing when one of those thing’s hands would swing through the air wildly, fingers extended fully instead of clawed or curled like they were already grasping her. That’s when the hands seemed so close that she could not will herself to keep from reacting.
She tried closing her eyes a few times. That had only made it more frightening. The sudden breeze from one of those swiping hands was made far worse by not being able to see. So, she was, in a matter of speaking, stuck.
Her eyes drifted down towards the ground, drawn by a sudden movement and that horrid sound that was almost like a hungry baby crying for its mommy. A face pressed against the bars, its eyes milky and shot with the tell-tale black of death, its mouth open wide showing grey gums and stain-flecked broken teeth. He couldn’t have been any older than ten. Kirsten did her best not to feel sad, but this was becoming more and more impossible. She thought that by now she would’ve become immune to the visual tragedy of violent death. Certainly she’d seen enough of it. Well, then why wasn’t she…what was the word?
You poor thing, she thought. She’d actually started to voice that sentiment, forgetting, albeit only momentarily, about the clothesline cutting into the corners of her mouth and keeping her tongue forced into the back of it.
Kirsten studied the wretched thing. All of the lower lip was gone, allowing for her to get an even better look at its putrid, dead mouth. There were bites taken out of both arms, which she could see clearly as the thing clawed at the cement ground in an attempt to reach her. She realized what it was that was so beyond the norm and had her upset. It wasn’t the child-zombie, she’d seen plenty of those. It was the fact that it had squirmed its way to the front, and now lay sprawled underfoot of the gathered mob. Her eyes had been staring at it, but her mind was just now allowing Kirsten to process that. She could see the small body bending and bucking under boots as well as bare feet. She could hear ribs snapping and popping over those moans, groans, and cries. There were sharp pieces jutting out from the creature’s skin.
Kirsten could no longer help it. This one pitiful thing had managed to do something with no real effort that The Big Man had to work hard to accomplish.
Return this afternoon at 3PM PST/6PM EST for part 4...