Dreaming about zombies part 3
A dream from the sick, twisted and fucked up mind of Arnie Zompocs. Enjoy.
I step out of a British Army Land Rover. An old farm house in front of me. I’m carrying a British army issue SA80 assault rifle. But I’m not a soldier. I’m just my normal self. Boots. Jeans. And sweatshirt which are covered in blood. I hear a womans scream coming from the farm house. Part of me wants to run away, but the rest of me wants to know whats going on. I carefully head over to the farm house. The woman screams again and I hear the sound of muffled laughter. I look through a window to see an empty living room. Cautiously I enter the house through the front door, my rifle raised. The laughter continues from behind one of the doors leading off to the living room. I’m filled with adrenaline. Fear. I’m paralyzed to the spot and not sure what to do. I hear the woman scream again and more laughter, louder this time. I have to do something I think…
Heading over to where the noise is coming from I raise my rifle and kick the door in hoping to catch them off guard. I find I’m in the kitchen. The sight that greets me is both bizarre and awful. A woman with long blonde hair lies tied to a kitchen table. Beaten. Raped. Her throat slit. A man also beaten. Cut to pieces. Is nailed to a kitchen cupboard door with crossbow bolts. And three teenage boys, one of whom is doing up his trousers another wiping blood from a knife. On seeing me they all jump and go for their guns. I shoot the one doing up his trousers through the head then take aim at “Knife boy”. The third one throws a saucepan at me, it catches my arm and screws up my aim so I end up shooting “Knife boy” in the leg instead of the head. As I look around, the third boy is gone. I see someone outside running past the kitchen window. “Shit!” I head out the back door after him, but get there just in time to see him ride off on a motorbike. I take a couple of potshots that miss.
“Knife boy” by now has managed to crawl his way out the back door after me. “You fucking cunt! You shot me you bastard!” He says as if I’m the one who’d done wrong… his whining is pissing me off. “Yeah. Ain’t karma a bitch.” I say as I raise the rifle to finish the job. Then I see a much better tool to finish this piece of shit off with, an axe/pick axe handle. I put down the rifle and grab the axe/pickaxe handle. As I head over to him I can see the fear in his eyes. Good I think. I grab him by the hair and whisper in his ear “now lets see if I can make you scream as loud as you made that woman scream” I start on his legs thud! Thud! Crack! Crack! Ahhh the sound of breaking bones, and he sure does scream. Now to the ribs. More bones crack and break. A quick detour to the bollocks gets the loudest scream yet. Then a quick shatter of the collarbone. By now “Knife boy”Â is a broken quivering wreck on the floor. Blood pouring from his mouth. “Now lets finish this ” I say and set about his head. Smack! Smack! Thud! Thud! Now I’m the one screaming, like a demented maniac. I don’t stop till “Knife boy’s” head is nothing but a collection of bones. Brains. Blood. And gore. I drop the axe/pick axe handle. Shaking and short of breath I look back at the house still not finished yet I think.
Grabbed my rifle I head back inside, by now the woman has reanimated. She trashes against her restraints snarling. Mouth snapping. Drool and blood running down her chin desperately trying to get to me. ” I’m sorry I couldn’t have got here sooner” I say before putting a bullet in her head. Now to the guy pinned to the kitchen cabinet. He begins to come round, but he doesn’t growl or snarl. He coughs and says “please don’t! Fucking hell! I’ve got a live one I think.”
Hang on mate let me help you I say to the man but he says it’s too late for him but there is something I can do. I ask him what that is. He shouts spraying more blood “JESSICA” . I turn around and see a girl about 16/17 coming out of a large cupboard, her face covered with her long dark blonde hair, tears streaming from her face. She runs out of the kitchen. Into the living room and up stairs.
“Please take care of my daughter. And make sure you take care of me too.” Reluctantly I agree. After I finished the man in the kitchen, I stand at the bottom of the stairs thinking…
“Fucking hell. It looks like the apocalypse just got even more complicated…”