one of the boogeymen to jump out at him. Nothing did, and the stable was empty save for the dead creature and poor old Gracey.
He went back outside, put an arm on Trudy's shoulder. “She's in a bad way. Just wanted to prepare you.”
The old horse had been Trudy's. His wife had slept in the stable when Gracey had been sick on numerous occasions. Sam used to joke that his wife secretly loved the horse more than her husband. He'd only been half kidding.
Tears formed in Trudy's eyes and she bit her lower lip. “Let's see her.”
They went in the stable and Trudy gasped at the sight of the dead thing with the pitchfork in its head, blood leaking from its eyes where the tines had penetrated.
“Dear God what is it?”
“I don't know, but I think we should call the Sheriff,” Sam said.
Trudy knelt by the dead thing, looking like she wasn't convinced it wouldn't spring to life. She had a look of utter revulsion on her face.
“It was eating Gracey?”
“Took chunks out of the poor girl,” Sam said.
Trudy stood up and went to Gracey, her muck boots smooching on the concrete. She knelt by the dead horse and stroked her mane, the animal's eye locked in a permanent stare. Sam shined the flashlight on the horse's wound, the muscle and bone layed open in the neck. Trudy began to cry and Sam knelt next to her, putting his arm around his wife.
“I'm sorry.”
“She was a good girl. She didn't deserve this,” Trudy said.
“We should get back inside, call the Sheriff,” Sam said.
“I want to stay with her a bit,” Trudy said.
“We should head in.”
“When I'm ready. Not before,” Trudy said.
Sam knew when his wife dug his heels in like this there'd be no moving her. “Take the time you need. I'm going to keep watch, make sure our visitor here didn't bring any friends.”
He stood up and left the stable to the sound of his wife's sobs. If he found another one of those sonsabitches, he'd gut shoot them for making his wife suffer.
Emma backpedaled, emptying the Glock into the charging zombies. They continued to come at her and she retreated back down the hallway, jamming in a new clip as she went. When she reached the junction near the elevator, she steadied herself and took aim. She fired, taking down two more of them.
She turned the corner and headed back towards the stairwell. One zombie remained, and it slowed as it followed her. It trudged forward, making itself an easy target. She prepared to blast it when she was grabbed from behind and lifted of her feet.
She kicked and flailed, her attacker crushing Emma in a bear hung. She kept her hold on the Glock, which was pointed at the ground. Looking down, she saw the black, standard-issue cop shoes and knew it was George that had grabbed her. The grip tightened, and she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.
The gun's pointed at his foot, she thought. The other zombie was closing in and she had a horrible vision of them gnawing on her lifeless body. Dinner for two. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet tore into George's foot. It was enough to loosen his grip and she wiggled loose and landed on her feet.
Spinning, she looked George in the face. His skin had turned a pale yellow and dark purple bags had formed under his eyes. The skin seemed to hang on his cheekbones. Anything that had been George was gone. George, whose egg salad sandwiches would stink up the whole station. George, who would come to the house for dinner and play endless games of Candyland with Kayla. The George that crawled into a drain culvert to rescue the Morris' German Shepherd puppy. That was gone.
“I'm sorry. Wherever you are. I'm sorry,” she said, tears stinging her eyes.
She leveled the Glock and his head and fired. His head jerked back and he stumbled into the wall. Emma thought she might puke, but she still had the other zombie to deal with. It was
He went back outside, put an arm on Trudy's shoulder. “She's in a bad way. Just wanted to prepare you.”
The old horse had been Trudy's. His wife had slept in the stable when Gracey had been sick on numerous occasions. Sam used to joke that his wife secretly loved the horse more than her husband. He'd only been half kidding.
Tears formed in Trudy's eyes and she bit her lower lip. “Let's see her.”
They went in the stable and Trudy gasped at the sight of the dead thing with the pitchfork in its head, blood leaking from its eyes where the tines had penetrated.
“Dear God what is it?”
“I don't know, but I think we should call the Sheriff,” Sam said.
Trudy knelt by the dead thing, looking like she wasn't convinced it wouldn't spring to life. She had a look of utter revulsion on her face.
“It was eating Gracey?”
“Took chunks out of the poor girl,” Sam said.
Trudy stood up and went to Gracey, her muck boots smooching on the concrete. She knelt by the dead horse and stroked her mane, the animal's eye locked in a permanent stare. Sam shined the flashlight on the horse's wound, the muscle and bone layed open in the neck. Trudy began to cry and Sam knelt next to her, putting his arm around his wife.
“I'm sorry.”
“She was a good girl. She didn't deserve this,” Trudy said.
“We should get back inside, call the Sheriff,” Sam said.
“I want to stay with her a bit,” Trudy said.
“We should head in.”
“When I'm ready. Not before,” Trudy said.
Sam knew when his wife dug his heels in like this there'd be no moving her. “Take the time you need. I'm going to keep watch, make sure our visitor here didn't bring any friends.”
He stood up and left the stable to the sound of his wife's sobs. If he found another one of those sonsabitches, he'd gut shoot them for making his wife suffer.
Emma backpedaled, emptying the Glock into the charging zombies. They continued to come at her and she retreated back down the hallway, jamming in a new clip as she went. When she reached the junction near the elevator, she steadied herself and took aim. She fired, taking down two more of them.
She turned the corner and headed back towards the stairwell. One zombie remained, and it slowed as it followed her. It trudged forward, making itself an easy target. She prepared to blast it when she was grabbed from behind and lifted of her feet.
She kicked and flailed, her attacker crushing Emma in a bear hung. She kept her hold on the Glock, which was pointed at the ground. Looking down, she saw the black, standard-issue cop shoes and knew it was George that had grabbed her. The grip tightened, and she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.
The gun's pointed at his foot, she thought. The other zombie was closing in and she had a horrible vision of them gnawing on her lifeless body. Dinner for two. She squeezed the trigger and the bullet tore into George's foot. It was enough to loosen his grip and she wiggled loose and landed on her feet.
Spinning, she looked George in the face. His skin had turned a pale yellow and dark purple bags had formed under his eyes. The skin seemed to hang on his cheekbones. Anything that had been George was gone. George, whose egg salad sandwiches would stink up the whole station. George, who would come to the house for dinner and play endless games of Candyland with Kayla. The George that crawled into a drain culvert to rescue the Morris' German Shepherd puppy. That was gone.
“I'm sorry. Wherever you are. I'm sorry,” she said, tears stinging her eyes.
She leveled the Glock and his head and fired. His head jerked back and he stumbled into the wall. Emma thought she might puke, but she still had the other zombie to deal with. It was
Similar Books
