K. T. Swartz Read Online Free PDF Page A

these old vehicles still had gasoline in them – well, not anymore. One vehicle at a time, she’d transferred what remained to several small gas tanks, before moving them to her temporary camp. This was the last one.
    She stood, stuck the hose in her pack, and walked to the towering metal and plastic sign still proudly announcing ‘Made in the USA’. No foreign vehicles in this lot. But car shopping was the least of her concerns. She uncurled a long coil of rope, took out a third of the blood packets. One by one, she cut open the tops and drained the blood into a plastic bag. With it half full, she stuck it into a leather bag and finished emptying the blood into it. The ends she tied into a slip knot, slid the rope through it. And tossed the other end over the sign.
    She cut a tiny slit through both bags. Hand over hand she hauled the blood bag high off the ground and tied the rope high around a telephone pole. For a moment, she stood and watched the blood drip like tears. Plop… plop… plop… until a small puddle spread across the concrete, dull red against grey. The puddle grew and slid down a slight incline in the concrete. She knelt, dug her knife and matches out of her pack. Shuffling feet had her frozen in place. A low guttural moan vibrated the air. She didn’t move, didn’t look behind her. In the reflection off the car’s body, a bloated zombie held up his hands. He stepped into view, still wearing his mechanics uniform. ‘Dave’ was his name, and Dave followed the only thing that called him from his stupor.
    He clawed at the metal pillars suspending the blood bag high over his head. Tiny droplets of blood splattered his face. His moans became insistent. She set the knife down, lightly squeezed the matches to keep them from rattling. Another moan came from the other side of the car. Only her eyes moved, locked on the name tag: ‘José’. José’s footsteps dragged across the concrete, leaving behind a smear of black fluid. His right shoe was gone; so was most of his foot. Just a naked stump that shifted awkwardly when he put weight on it. But he didn’t seem to mind.
    A slight breeze kicked up small, curling puffs of dust and dirt that blew across the concrete. Dry leaves rustled, but neither José nor Dave tore their eyes from the blood bag. José smeared the puddle at his feet and coated his rotting fingers in it, until the blood and his blackened skin resembled cooked hamburger meat. He crunched down on his fingers. Skin tore; bone snapped. José bit off his hand, devoured the blood before smearing the puddle too thin. Dave grabbed him; the scent of gore mingled with blood.
    She looked away, but held herself still, although her toes began tingling from a loss of blood. She was going to have to move soon or risk her foot going numb. Matches still in her hand, she touched her fingers to warm concrete. Shifted her weight forward just a bit. Behind the car, cloth snagged, with a wet slap of something striking the ground. A single hand dropped down in front of the car’s bumper. Bony fingers skipped across concrete, to flop down beside the other hand. Prostrate on the ground, the zombie dug in fingers worn down to the bone as it pulled itself forward. Thinning hair framed a face pockmarked with holes. Half the jaw and teeth were exposed as the female’s eyes swung toward her.
    The foulest stench of rot and decay filled the air. No legs followed the zombie’s torso. A fresh tear had her intestines trailing behind like a jellyfish’s tentacles. The female stared at her; her irises were white, cloudy. Blind pupils swam in eyes so fetid all she had to do was poke them and they’d burst. No sound rumbled from the undead’s throat.
    José stumbled over his stump of a foot; toppled into the metal pole. His skull bounced off it with a sickening crunch. The female’s head swiveled his way. She pulled herself toward them, but the trail of festering gore she left behind robbed her body of movement. Her