Stung (Zombie Gentlemen) by K.A. Merikan Page B

people believed looking them in the eye was a sign of arrogance and right
now, he felt like the humblest man in Honeyhill.
    “Yes, mister.”
    “Come with me. I know you’re new here, so I
thought we needed to have a chat. You wouldn’t want to associate yarself with
the wrong people.” Sharpe made a small gesture with his hand, urging Victor to
walk with him.
    Victor looked back, but there was no one to stop
him and with his heart hammering somewhere beneath his larynx, he followed
Sharpe. He had no clue what to expect, especially after Crunch specifically
told him to avoid Iron Teeth. Twice.
    “I saw ya mingling with Crunch today. What did you
talk about?” came the unwanted question.
    “Oh... he, ah...” Victor stuttered, but he willed
himself to get a grip. “He wanted me to teach him some music. I am-- was a
singer.”
    Sharpe looked back at him with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, that’s interesting. Crunch wants to learn how to sing, eh?” It was obvious
he didn’t believe a word Victor said.
    “Well, he said he wants to impress some lady
friend.” He cleared his throat, wary of his expression, though the tension of
his muscles was almost painful. With Crunch so far away and unaware of what was
happening, a man like Sharpe could do anything to Victor.
    “Is that so? By singing? Very interesting.” They
were walking roughly towards the hill, and Victor felt like a piglet being
taken to the slaughter house. With everyone gathered on the other side of the
camp, it was quiet and dark as they walked between empty barracks.
    “Most ladies find it romantic when a man sings for
them,” he tried.
    “You can stop this rubbish now. What did he really
want from you?” Sharpe's voice got a sharper edge. “We can do this normally:
with you telling me everything or the hard way: with me squeezing it out. Which
one will it be, Victor?” he sighed. Every hair on Victors body rose when he
realized they were in fact going uphill, to the buzzing domes. Victor trembled
and his legs became wobbly, but he assumed sticking to the story was his only
option. He couldn’t bring Crunch in danger and he was pretty sure Iron Teeth
wouldn’t spare him anyway. His legs became heavy, stiff, but he knew there was
no way out of this, so he went on, with Sharpe just a step behind him now.
    “I... am sorry, sir... this is the truth.” He fell
silent when Iron Teeth waved his hand dismissively, but didn’t dare talk back.
    “That’s good to know. I thought we could be
sincere with each other. That’s why I decided to show you our Hives. Not
everyone gets to see them, you know.”
    A deep shiver went down to Victor’s insides and
clenched around his gut when he looked at the dark skeleton frame of the dome
ahead, menacing like a huge oriental spider. “I... was working here earlier
today, Mr. Sharpe.”
    “Oh, you haven’t seen it though.” Iron
Teeth raised his eyebrows, urging Victor on to the double-doored entrance to
the dome. Victor slouched, watching him pull out a big bundle of keys and use one
to open the entrance. The harsh buzz channelled by the tube of the walkway send
a shiver down Victor's spine
    “I... don’t know. Maybe we could talk somewhere
else?” he asked, his teeth already clattering. He was getting nauseous.
    “Don’t you want to see how the glorious Dal Honey
is made? With you being so sincere with me, I can imagine you’d want to see the
truth behind it, right?” Sharpe bared his hideous teeth and pushed Victor
forward. A glint of the red, fading sun bounced off the glass, blinding him for
a moment.
    “They say people enjoy some things better without
knowing where they come from,” rasped Victor, following Sharpe to a simple room
with low benches by the walls and the same black costumes he’d seen today
hanging on numerous hooks. “Like... bread.”
    “Or pork?” Sharpe laughed, clearly mocking
Victor’s work in the pigsty. He left his prisoner waiting, as he proficiently
donned all the parts