B-Movie Attack Read Online Free PDF

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    Billy was stopped on the final turn back to headquarters. He waited for the light, clenching the steering wheel with white knuckles and drumming his free foot on the floor. He eyed the traffic with consternation. He had to see his father, and these assholes were in his way.
    Three seconds were burned observing the strange man in the crosswalk while Billy waited for the light to change. The man stuck out in Corporate Square. The population mostly consisted of joggers in shorts or workers in suits. But this person wore a ragged pair of torn jeans and boots without a shirt. His body wasn’t pale, but instead whitish purple, his lips black as turpentine. The man’s knotted black hair hung in twisted strands down his face.  
    The light had changed to green.  
    Billy didn’t notice.
    The strange man's face tightened as if someone pulled back the skin from behind his head. Every crevice and bend and feature was exaggerated. Inhuman. A giddy skeletal phantom. The most troubling part was, Billy recognized him, but he couldn’t remember from where.  
    The man exploded.  
     
    Barbara Meason had jogged three laps around Lakeshore Park. She was headed to Club La Femme for the morning step aerobics class. She ran in place waiting for the light to change and to cross the street. The cold breeze sank into her skin, but soon, it elevated into a jet of ice-cold air. Freezing cold. She shivered. Her lips trembled. The source was the abominable man standing three yards to her left. He was a mangy transient with the look of a corpse. White wormy veins snaked up and down what she could see of his skin. The flesh itself was purple-white, like the underside of a dead toad.  
    She had no chance to run or react. The danger didn’t present itself until the harm was already done.  
    THOOOM!
    The walking corpse exploded. The debris was high-pressured spray. Frigid blood, flesh and gore struck her body with force. The bottom side of a mandible cut into her neck with a thack , slicing open her trachea and snuffing her ability to breathe.  
    Ernie Sommers pedaled his bicycle on his way to purchasing a morning paper when a rib bone punctured through his forehead and spat out the other end. Nellie Engels was tying her shoe on the sidewalk when a spine speared her chest. Ten metatarsals shot through Beverly Harper’s chest and diced up her lungs. A wall of skin wrapped around Frank Bullard’s face, restricting his airways; the more he dug his nails into the fabric, the tighter the sheath became until the bones of his face snapped and the contents of his head were forced up through his skull cap. Traffic officer Doug Young ducked behind his rolled-up window before the tide of blood and innards could touch him.  
    Five seconds afterward, the anatomical shrapnel pieces returned to their owner, his body, flesh and blood reconstructed in a blink. The man crossed the street whistling and thinking about the next round of chaos he could serve up.  
     
    Billy panicked, then phoned the police. Sirens wailed from each end of the four-way intersection. Three ambulances arrived. Three squad cars and counting. Random civilians were strewn on the sidewalks, bleeding from bizarre wounds. Medics were on the scene, stretchers and EMTs scrambling to make sense of the victims. He attempted to flag one of the police. “I saw the whole thing. There was a man with a bomb strapped to him.”
    Nobody replied.
    Citizens crowded the area, and the police batted them away. “Stand back. Let the victims through!”
    There was no smoke or sulfur or gunpowder smell lingering in the vicinity. Splotches of blood covered the walkways—spattered like paint balls. Pieces of bone and flesh were embedded on the street light, the local newsstand and the Bird’s Nest Café window. Billy searched for traces of an explosive device.  
    One of the officers finally listened to him. They accepted his name and phone number and told him they’d be in contact with him very