Blood on the Floor: An Undead Adventure Read Online Free PDF Page B

loss. Lungs start working again. Breathing in and out. Limbs go into spasm with pulses of electricity sent into them as the infection gains the brain and starts working to take over the basic motor function. The bodies lock out, writhe then go still. Legs kick, arms lift quickly then drop.
    In order of dying they open their eyes. Father, mother and two formerly beloved children. Four pairs of red bloodshot eyes. Four hosts that are no longer hungry or scared. A family that no longer hold allegiance to anything other than the urge building inside. They are hosts now and part of this horde. They sit up and rise to stand in the room as the horde starts to move back down the stairs.
    The man was trapped in the bathroom. Too many other attackers prevented him from getting to the feast but the chemical dump was the same for all of them with the urge to bite driven by releases of testosterone and adrenalin. The second the objective was achieved so those hormones were ceased and a dump of calming chemicals was produced by glands. Instantly easing the demented thirst for flesh.
    He felt it. Every host in the horde felt it. It was not to be denied or refused such is the purpose of a hive mind collective but something else happened too. As the action ramped so the flashes of memory came back faster. They were suppressed just as quickly but more of them came. Images that mean nothing swept through his mind. Feelings that died the instant they were formed. A minivan running over bodies and that sense of Déjà vu coming back only to be deadened and pushed away.
    He files down with the others. His strong legs carrying him with ease down and out into the hot air of the street. His broad shoulders rubbing those around him and behind him traipse four fresh hosts that now look ahead and walk on without recognition of each other or knowledge of the emotions they had but seconds ago.

Six
     
    Walking is therapy. Walking down a country lane on a gorgeously hot summer day is therapeutic. The placing of the feet, left, right, left and right. The steady tread that sways the body ever so slightly side to side. Looking left and right then ahead. Doing it again and again. Stepping, swaying slightly, looking left and right. It’s soothing in a rhythmic action that should settle the turmoil and inner angst from seeing the body of the old lady in the threshold of the door.
    It doesn’t do any of those things. She gets irritated instead. More irritated by the second. She’s too hot. It must be over thirty degrees. Her top is soaked through and clinging to her body. Her jeans are too thick, too tight, too irritating. Her boots are heavy. Her feet are melting. Sweat runs down her face and her jaw feels as irritated as she does at constantly being wiped by the back of her arm.
    Her lower back started hurting a little while ago and soon radiated out to a dull persistent nag. A headache is coming too. Her boobs feel swollen and tender. Just wearing a bra is bloody annoying. Her stomach, despite the lack of food, feels bloated and hard to the touch. She could cry and shout and scream and rage all at the same time. She wants chocolate and a duvet but they can both piss off and leave her alone. She wants nothing and everything without knowing what she wants. A black mood that settles and twists her emotions. She’s hungry too. Very hungry. Really very hungry. Pissed off, in pain, sweaty with sore boobs, bloated, cramping and hungry.
    Every step brings the mood lower. Every step makes her seethe with the injustice of everything that has ever been done wrong. She wants to find whoever made this happen and snap their bloody necks for causing her this discomfort. Coming on and being forced to walk on a scorching hot day is just shit. Completely shit. It’s not on. Just really not on. She’ll find them and punch them in the nose then in the bollocks. She’ll stab them with forks. In the eyes. Yeah, stabbed in the eyes by sharp forks then she’ll pop those eyes