nevillethurmond
11-Dec-2006, 04:51 PM
Keeping the momentum going - here's part 2 - feedback welcome por favor!
PS: Anyone know about a new Brian Keene book called Ghoul?
Storm of the Dead #2 (copyright me!)
The living room window burst from its frame. Splinters of glass brushed my flesh as I turned and fled. Whiskey barked but made no other attempt to ward off the intruder. I'd grabbed his lead. That meant he was going for a walk and that's all that mattered to him.
I tore open the back door and limped outside. Bare foot, wearing only jogging pants and a short-sleeved t-shirt, I hurried into the back lane as fast as I could.
Move Neville, move!
In no time I was soaked, the hard rain stinging my body. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. I could hear screams, howls, glass smashing, cars screeching, and crashing.
All hell was breaking loose and I'd read about it - that damned book was coming to life.
I needed to escape. I needed to find refuge. I needed sanctuary.
But where?
I wish I'd read more. I wish I'd grabbed the book when I'd fled.
Think Neville, think!
The dog jumped up at the lead I was holding, eager for his walk.
And then a hand, cold and decayed hit my shoulder.
Dumb mutt, you're supposed to sense danger!
Rotten nails tore into my skin. The pain was sudden and intense. I spun. The hand on my shoulder was still there, torn from the intruder's body. Brushing dead fingernails away in disgust, I lashed out with Whiskey's lead. I missed. The intruder, this decomposing corpse standing before me, a hand now missing, lunged. I reeled. The thing stumbled. Whiskey leapt on me as though I was playing. This was no game.
Get off me you stupid spaniel!
I shoved him off, punished by the pain in my ankle. Gnarled fingers groped for me, trying to hook my flesh. The stench was nauseating. In desperation I found my knees and scrambled for safety, daring not to look back. My mobility, though severely dented, was still quicker than the creature struggling to gain balance.
I turned onto the main street.
Carnage.
The living dead roamed everywhere. Fires raged unaffected by the rain. Neighbours screamed for help. But no help came, especially from me. For all I knew they were half eaten. Besides I'd been spotted. From different angles a number of undead beings, arms raised drew persistently closer. I turned and headed out of the street, my only clear path of escape – the cemetery.
#
A dark and foreboding place at the best of times, I could not believe I was seeking refuge from the living dead in a graveyard. Thankfully, my pace was much quicker than those things chasing me. I just hoped they gave up and turned back leaving me free to find refuge.
Eat the neighbours so I can live damn it!
I stumbled on, unable to believe any of this. I mean the dead walking around attacking the living.
Hoping I'd shaken off my pursuers, I paused. Wiping my face I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. Whiskey sat by my side, oblivious to everything yet proudly holding a dead hand in his mouth.
What the…
I yanked it from him before tossing it away in disgust (again), holding him by the scruff of his neck as he pulled thinking I was playing fetch. I needed to get out of the rain, try and get dry, rest my ankle and my sore, cold feet.
I moved on, determined to seek shelter, finding it in the form of a derelict church located in the middle of this vast and, hopefully empty graveyard. It looked menacing in the dark and yet I felt somewhat drawn to it. A six foot metal fence encircled it. "Keep Out" signs swung back and forth in the storm.
This'll do!
The entrance doors to this decrepit building were padlocked, most of the windows boarded. I squeezed through a small opening in the fence.
Rubble and garbage lay in high piles, in one place high enough to scramble up and into a small gap in a window whose coverings had come loose.
I forced Whiskey through first before easing myself in. The drop on the other side wasn't too high. If it had he would've yelped.
My ankle throbbed as I collapsed wet, cold, cut, and bruised. Isolated and exhausted, I struggled to see in the dark. For now though this temporary residence, was the best I could achieve.
And then I heard movement, the shuffling of feet.
Please!
The nightmare was far from over.
Outside the world slowly died.
Inside I prayed.
PS: Anyone know about a new Brian Keene book called Ghoul?
Storm of the Dead #2 (copyright me!)
The living room window burst from its frame. Splinters of glass brushed my flesh as I turned and fled. Whiskey barked but made no other attempt to ward off the intruder. I'd grabbed his lead. That meant he was going for a walk and that's all that mattered to him.
I tore open the back door and limped outside. Bare foot, wearing only jogging pants and a short-sleeved t-shirt, I hurried into the back lane as fast as I could.
Move Neville, move!
In no time I was soaked, the hard rain stinging my body. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. I could hear screams, howls, glass smashing, cars screeching, and crashing.
All hell was breaking loose and I'd read about it - that damned book was coming to life.
I needed to escape. I needed to find refuge. I needed sanctuary.
But where?
I wish I'd read more. I wish I'd grabbed the book when I'd fled.
Think Neville, think!
The dog jumped up at the lead I was holding, eager for his walk.
And then a hand, cold and decayed hit my shoulder.
Dumb mutt, you're supposed to sense danger!
Rotten nails tore into my skin. The pain was sudden and intense. I spun. The hand on my shoulder was still there, torn from the intruder's body. Brushing dead fingernails away in disgust, I lashed out with Whiskey's lead. I missed. The intruder, this decomposing corpse standing before me, a hand now missing, lunged. I reeled. The thing stumbled. Whiskey leapt on me as though I was playing. This was no game.
Get off me you stupid spaniel!
I shoved him off, punished by the pain in my ankle. Gnarled fingers groped for me, trying to hook my flesh. The stench was nauseating. In desperation I found my knees and scrambled for safety, daring not to look back. My mobility, though severely dented, was still quicker than the creature struggling to gain balance.
I turned onto the main street.
Carnage.
The living dead roamed everywhere. Fires raged unaffected by the rain. Neighbours screamed for help. But no help came, especially from me. For all I knew they were half eaten. Besides I'd been spotted. From different angles a number of undead beings, arms raised drew persistently closer. I turned and headed out of the street, my only clear path of escape – the cemetery.
#
A dark and foreboding place at the best of times, I could not believe I was seeking refuge from the living dead in a graveyard. Thankfully, my pace was much quicker than those things chasing me. I just hoped they gave up and turned back leaving me free to find refuge.
Eat the neighbours so I can live damn it!
I stumbled on, unable to believe any of this. I mean the dead walking around attacking the living.
Hoping I'd shaken off my pursuers, I paused. Wiping my face I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. Whiskey sat by my side, oblivious to everything yet proudly holding a dead hand in his mouth.
What the…
I yanked it from him before tossing it away in disgust (again), holding him by the scruff of his neck as he pulled thinking I was playing fetch. I needed to get out of the rain, try and get dry, rest my ankle and my sore, cold feet.
I moved on, determined to seek shelter, finding it in the form of a derelict church located in the middle of this vast and, hopefully empty graveyard. It looked menacing in the dark and yet I felt somewhat drawn to it. A six foot metal fence encircled it. "Keep Out" signs swung back and forth in the storm.
This'll do!
The entrance doors to this decrepit building were padlocked, most of the windows boarded. I squeezed through a small opening in the fence.
Rubble and garbage lay in high piles, in one place high enough to scramble up and into a small gap in a window whose coverings had come loose.
I forced Whiskey through first before easing myself in. The drop on the other side wasn't too high. If it had he would've yelped.
My ankle throbbed as I collapsed wet, cold, cut, and bruised. Isolated and exhausted, I struggled to see in the dark. For now though this temporary residence, was the best I could achieve.
And then I heard movement, the shuffling of feet.
Please!
The nightmare was far from over.
Outside the world slowly died.
Inside I prayed.