Zombies & Cupcakes, Sia V [great novels to read TXT] 📗

Authors' Note.

WARNING:

Contents of this narrative are shaky at best. Shake well before opening. Batteries not included, but this story will keep you going and going and going...

 

Avoid prolonged exposure to this story, as hair tearing, hiding under ones' bed and wetting one's self, are imminent - not necessarily in that order. The bottom of this page directs you to the Index. Use only as directed.

This narrative may not be suitable for young children, or older children with the frame of minds of 2-year olds.

 

SIDE-EFFECTS OF READING THIS STORY MAY INCLUDE:

- Complete and utter confusion.

- Outrage at the lack of censorship.

- Spontaneous bursts of laughter (also giggling fits).

- More confusion.

- Impatience.

- Bed-wetting.

If symptoms persist consult your Physician. And your Doctor. And your Psychiatrist. And your mommy.

Do not read this narrative while under the influence of any liquid substance or vapor. Do not operate heavy machinery or vehicles for at least 6 hours after you have finished. No animals - alive or dead were harmed in the making of this narrative (plush toys excluded).

 

This story may contain traces of peanuts, corn, and soy. If you persist, you cannot sue as we have warned you.

 

Any resemblance this story and/or disclaimer may have with any other is purely coincidental. We assure you. This narrative is meant for entertainment purposes only.

All decisions and attitudes displayed in the narrative do not represent any part of the authors' frame of mind, and as such should not be taken to offense. I should know. I am part of it.

Should you need and legal consultation post-reading of this material, it is recommended that you consult your Psychiatrist (again) as I do not represent any legal advisory agent and therefore do not have any jurisdiction on that matter.

 

USE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Prologue Entree'.

I knew she was a zombie the second I saw her.

 

A baby.

 

A zombie.

 

A zombie baby.

 

It looked as though it wasn't even old enough to walk when it died. Yet there it was, baby-stepping its way towards me.

 

It was old enough, I noticed, to already have teeth. 

 

Dressed in a light pink tank top and tutu looking skirt, that someone of the famous or privileged background might normally reserve for their pet chihuahuas, one would almost believe it wasn't actually dead. It's once baby soft peach pink skin now looked as rough as sandpaper and a blueish tinge. Her large round eyes shone a liquid silver, sporting two small thin, black irises in each eye. A large chunk of flesh had been torn, presumably bitten, from her lower abdomen and upper left leg. What remained trailed along behind it in a lumpy red mush. My stomach lurched again; I had to make it through this.

 

Now there's nothing more heart-wrenching than seeing a zombified barely infantile child, I assure you. But one can be sure that where there is a fairly recent zombified child, mumma zombie was close behind.

 

And surely enough, a loud crash later and in popped mommy. Her broken leg caught on a rack of sunglasses and toppled over in front of her. Onto which, she then fell with a gut-churning squelch.

 

With her grand entrance out of the way, and baby zombies hastening approach it was enough to send any normal person into a fit of hysterical screams - contemplating whether to jump out of the corner they were now trapped in and jump over the zombie baby risking nibbles on one's ankles, or find a weapon, get over one's moral judgement, smack the bubba zombie into next year and make a mad break for it.

 

But I didn't have time for this. There were more important things to worry about.

 

'The hell am I doing, waiting for the rest of the Brady brunch to come jumping out of nowhere?! I need to find some damn pants!' I hissed at myself.

 

But if there's one thing I knew about my life; it's that there was no luck in it.

 

Seeing the loud crash as a sign of prey, more zombies were closing in fast. I couldn't see them yet, but their moans and shuffles were clear sign enough.

 

I knew this was a bad idea. But I was more prepared to be mauled to death wearing pants than I was to die without them. I'm sorry, but if my fate is to become an animated flesh-eating corpse, there was no way I was going to be one of those half naked, just-let-it-all-hang-out kinda zombies. No thank you.

 

And if, instead, I'm to be mauled to the point of complete unanimated death then there was no way I was going to let the SWAT recon team, or next group of survivors or whatever, stumble across my corpse and instantly know that in death I'd 'let everything go,' if you know what I'm saying. If this is an isolated incident, I dont want my funeral to have to be closed casket.

 

I stepped out of the freezer fridge I'd quickly taken refuge in, and over the body of the of the zombie that had made me resort to go in there in the first place. I made sure to be wary of the broken glass  still hanging in the door frame and scattered all over the body in front of it. This balding monstrosity of a zombie had decided to pound on the glass door, with his fists and his face, until either his head or the door broke. Incidentally it was both, he'd  eventually smashed the glass and a thick shard of glass lodged itself in his temporal lobe effectively killing him. Again.

 

"Alee-oop!"

 

I hoped over the decaying corpse and tip-toed my way towards the counter. Of course, it wasn't only selfish reasons that I'd chosen this store to infiltrate in lue of trousers. Meaghan and Brita needed medical supplies and I, being the valiant soul I am, decided to get it on my own. I knew this store had had a secret stash here for years. Younger employees would always stumble across it and take half of it, mixing it together forming lethal combos.

 

Kids and bloody drugs.

 

I could still hear the moaning from, well, somewhere, and realized I ought not waste any more time. Like the proverbial speeding bullet I dashed, hunched, over fallen magazine racks, and clothing racks, making sure to carefully step over and food that had tumbled off the shelves. I really had no intention of ending up in one of those cliche 'step-on-a-twig' (or in this case a chip) 'make-a-loud-noise-and-have-a-whole-horde-of-undead-bearing-down-on-you-in-an-instant' moments.

 

I reached the counter and slid down it, listening carefully for any signs of movement.

 

"and a-one, and a-two and a..."

 

In a flash I stood up just enough to see over the counter, trying to identify and fresh lovelies for me. Nada. Without wasting any time I swung myself over the counter in the middle of the store and bunkered down the second my feet touched the floor again. 

 

I listened again, and I listened hard.

 

If I'd been spotted, they hadn't made a commotion about it yet, it was still in the clear. The counter was more like a circular cubicle with a large centerpiece about 3x higher than the counters themselves. At the bottom of the centerpiece, however, cheaply disguised as a lighting control panel was a safe, of which, I knew the combination.

 

What? I used to work here.

 

For the money. Not the drugs.

 

Still crouching, I carefully lifted the panel from the centerpiece. As expected the safe hadn't gotten up and ran away along with the rest of the shopping center. But it was already open. The dial was smashed and screws jumped like survivors of a plane crash into a rescue boat, onto the floor. I thanked my lucky stars that the old owner had the floors switched from tile to linoleum.

 

I swung the safe open, and the first thing I noticed was the complete emptiness. It was hard to miss really. But that wasn't too concerning. It was only a decoy anyway; the medical supplies and 9/10ths of all the earnings was placed in a secret gap underneath the safe floor. I reached both my hands in ad eased up the safe floor panel.

 

Someone had been here too.

 

No money what-so-ever and barely enough antibiotics to last a month. Figures. The first thing everyone does when the world goes to shit is loot.

 

At the last second, I noticed the blood splatter on the side of the centerpiece, directed away from me, then rather all too suddenly it appeared.

 

Now over the last few hours I'd seen all kinds of corpses. Burnt, amputated, in multiple pieces, mush (from being pushed over the railing on the third floor, landing on the first), old and saggy, young and bloody. But this was just it - my final straw.

 

The entire left side of his face was indented in, as if it had been slapped upside the head with a friendly sledgehammer, which in all honesty wouldn't have been so bad, had not the inside of his head been dangling out his eye sockets and nostrils. His eye and large gushes of gray matter oozed across is facial features with every slither he made. Both his legs were gone, his femur still visible in one. His other eye, still inside his head, had clouded over with a sickly yellow pusstuos liquid and dripped down his decaying cheek in thin goopy strands.

 

The man reached a clawed hand in my direction, a desperate flail for meat, and in doing so knocked his jaw, which only a few seconds ago had been inset in his own face, which then dropped to the ground with a crack.

 

"Well shit. There goes my lunch." Then with the final grumble from my insides, I vomited, rather loud and violently on the unfortunate zombies' face.

Course 1: Secret Recipe with Secret Sauce.

In order to explain how my unfortunate self came to be in a situation such as this, I'll need to go back. Not too far, because to be honest, I know about as much as you do.

Now, I don't know about you, but I personally have never woken up in a public toilet stall with my pants missing.
In fact, I can honestly say I've never been in a situation like this before.

Well until now that is.

The long thin bulb on the ceiling flickered as if to greet me from my slumber. I rolled my stiff shoulders back and sat up. I was sitting on the toilet. The red and white