Hell's Son

Chapter 3

Chris couldn't help but stare at the hot chick because he really wanted to know where the f**k she'd pulled a thin rapier from. Her ass? Like, seriously, how did a girl in slim-fitting slacks, a blouse, and a sweater manage to hide four feet of gleaming steel?

And where the hell did she learn to slay zombies with it?

Because, yes, the day he'd predicted had arrived. The dead were f*****g rising.

Holy s**t!

What the f**k?

Where is my shovel?

He couldn't let the girl fight them alone. This was the moment he'd waited for.

Chris didn't have far to go before he was able to wrap his hand around the solid wooden stave of his weapon of choice. Though he did have to dodge the hands thrusting from the dirt on his way. Pulling the shovel free from the soft ground, he hefted it in two hands and looked for an undead target to hit. There, rising from the earth, a man still wearing his suit, his eye sockets gaping empty, the maggots pouring from his mouth. So gross.

Thunk. The momentum of the shovel laid him out flat on the ground, and Chris did a little victory dance. "Smote your ass, you dead fucker!" As he did his little jig, something grabbed him by the ankles and yanked.

The faceful of dirt tasted, not surprisingly, like dirt.

Ugh. Chris spat it out as he rolled away from the grasping hands. He still held on to his weapon of digging destruction and swung it. Given he lay on the ground, he swung low, which meant he hit some knees. Crack. He sent a woman in heels and torn nylons down to the ground almost face-to-face with him. Her gaping sockets and clacking teeth were utterly gross. The fact that he'd laid her flat didn't deter the corpse. It pulled itself, fingers digging into the ground, toward the girl with the sword.

As he rose once again to his feet, he couldn't help but stare at his graveyard visitor - the living one with the hot bod and perfect lips. He found himself somewhat awestruck by the skill with which she wielded her blade. Each movement a graceful ballet with deadly effect. He became so entranced by her fluid motions that a shambling critter managed to plow into him from behind, hard, without lube or a shower first, which totally wasn't his idea of a hot date night.

Hitting the ground - again - he dropped the shovel and managed to get his hands out to take the brunt of the impact. The body fell on top of him. Chris immediately rolled with the zombie clinging to his back. An elbow to some squishy innards and a backwards thrust of his head caused a rather audible crunch, and he managed to evade the undead bastard looking to ruin his perfectly shaped head with a bite. As it was, the reanimated corpse left a slimy trail of gore on his favorite coat and in his hair. To those wondering, Chris would later discover zombie drool was a b***h to wash out.

Springing to his feet, Chris noticed the girl slashing with grace and Matrix-like elegance at the bodies shuffling toward her.

Her.

Not me.

What the f**k? Chris had waited years for this to happen. Chris was the one with a destiny. With a mandate to rule the world.

Shouldn't they be coming after me?

He reached down and hefted his shovel. Not that he needed it. No one bothered to attack him. That kind of pissed him off.

A man with more pride than common sense, he yelled, "Hey, maggot brains, I'm over here."

Not one of the zombies tilted his way. Even the one on the ground that he'd just f****d with rolled over and began to crawl toward the woman. It became apparent it had only bumped into him because he blocked its path.

It was more than his immense ego could handle.

Dropping the shovel, Chris dove into the fray, fists flying, which sounded really brave until you considered the gross factor. Pounding decaying flesh proved to be nothing like hitting human flesh. It squished. It spurted. It slid off the bone.

It also stank.

But Chris didn't care. Screw being impressed by the fact that the entire cemetery rose to ruin his attempts to get into the girl's pants. f*****g undead c**k blockers. He found himself even less impressed by the fact that they were more interested in her brain than his.

This should have been his day of glory. Did he mention the fact that he didn't share well? He never really learned how, given, as a child, his mother always gave him what he wanted. She ripped treats and toys from other children without hesitation if he showed an interest. Halloween easily became his favorite time of year since he was the kid stealing from others.

Ah, the good ol' days.

But Mommy sat behind bars, and thus couldn't steal for him the glory of the win. A petty man might have stood aside and let the girl deal with the problem, however, Chris still had some hope of getting lucky, so he swallowed his pride - in the hopes she'd swallow later - and helped her smite the many undead.

Lucky for them, the cemetery didn't have too many bodies to fight, mostly because many chose cremation - and even some who didn't, got burned to a crisp by management. There was only so much room to bury folks, and in the case of those who died without heirs and family, sometimes those graves got reassigned. Hence, more than a few headstones marked empty spots. It meant they had a reasonable amount of the undead to fight instead of a true cemetery full.

Not to say there wasn't a fair number. There was - including Marty the cop.

"Told you so, Marty," Chris shouted gleefully before he whacked the cop in the face with a shovel.

But between the woman and him, they dispatched the zombies until only twitching limbs littered the ground, and a single eyeball blinked at Chris.

Squish.

The lady, whose name he had yet to discover - although he was perfectly fine calling her hottie when she got to her knees - whirled, her eyes alight with adrenaline. It didn't take a genius to recognize that she enjoyed the rush.

So did I.

It made him horny. So, being a man, he smiled at her, slicked back his gory hair, and said, "My shower is big enough for two."

Her nose wrinkled. "We fight the undead, and you're trying to get me naked?"

"Actually, if you'll recall, I was trying to get you naked before they arrived."

She wiped her blade on a section of untouched grass. "Do you always pick up women who visit the cemetery?"

"Yes." It was that or go to a bar where they expected a guy to spend his hard-earned dollars to buy them a drink.

"That's disgusting." She fixed him with eyes that were a strange mix of brown yet hinting at blue.

"Would it help if I said I only go after the pretty ones?" He also avoided those that were crying. He had a thing about snot. Couldn't stand a woman with a runny nose. All drippy and gooey and slimy. Talk about an immediate turn-off.

"You're a jerk."

"Actually, I'm - "

"Not interested." She turned away from him and began to walk away. It was then that he noticed her sword was gone again. Gone where? Where the f**k did she hide it? He'd taken her ass off the list since she walked perfectly straight. Hollow leg, perhaps?

Despite the indignity of it, he followed her. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Home."

"Don't you think we should talk first?"

She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Do you actually plan to talk about the zombies and how strange it is that they decided to not only rise but attack en masse?"

Not so strange given he'd predicted it. "Actually, I was thinking we should talk about the fact that I'm here, and you're here, both alive despite the forces of the undead trying to kill us."

"So we survived. What of it?"

"Don't you feel a need to celebrate? Naked." He didn't mention his bed because, hey, nothing wrong with using a soft patch of grass.

Once again, she managed to rebuff his charm.

Me, striking out. Totally unheard of.

She turned around and began to walk again.

"Hey, wait a second. Aren't you going to help me clean up?" The scattered body parts and gore covered a wide swath. No way would management or the cops not notice. Especially if mourners showed up and complained.

"Clean? Nope." She shook her head. "You're the graveyard keeper. Earn your salary."

She expected him to work.

For free.

Gasp. How rude, especially since he wouldn't get overtime for this.

"You helped make this mess," he shouted.

"Deal with it," she said, and kept walking. Walked right out of the cemetery and got into the car parked by the entrance. A little two-door car with an electric engine.

At that, he stopped chasing and finally began to count his blessings she'd rejected him. Anyone who actually drove one of those little death traps for the good of the planet wasn't someone he should associate with.

Ever.

I wouldn't want her do-good nature to rub off on me. He had to remain completely evil if he planned to conquer the world.

Still, though, as her little car put-putted out of sight, he couldn't help a pang of regret that he didn't have her suck him off first.

A solo hand job in the shower with soap just didn't have the same appeal.