Reformed

Suspense Stories | Oct 19, 2012 | 4 min read
72 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
"Shut the door and bar it," shouted Ezekiel.
Despite his biblical name Zeke was anything but godly, Brennan mused. He would often use his size to cast imposing shadows over those he deemed to be ‘less' than himself, which was most everyone in the prison.
Brennan calmly arranged himself on a chair underneath a flickering light. Wetting his thumb he serenely flipped another page in his pocket bible. The book never left his side in the years he had been in the prison. He had already been in the room when the group of survivors had burst through. He could hear the others approaching. The dull scrape of their feet along the cement floors, the low hum of mindless agony, sickening smell of the death they brought.
"Alright everybody, gather something to kill them with--quickly." demanded Zeke as he gazed over his mismatched troops. "Ah shit. How the hell did the preacher make it this far?"
Zeke locked eyes directly with Brennan. The slim middle aged man was calmly sitting in a darkened corner of the cafeteria. Zeke's disgust was palpable.
"We don't have time for any of your non-violence bull-shit right now Preacher… You got it?"
Brennan didn't give Zeke the satisfaction of even a raised eyebrow. He quietly licked his thumb and flipped another page in in his bible; Paul was writing to the Corinthians, "So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
The dead drew closer, their smell was washing over the room, and the taste of imminent gore lingered in the stale cafeteria air.
Despite, his general dislike for Zeke, Brennan knew that he spoke the truth. It did not sit well with the condemned murderer. He hadn't raised his hands in anger towards another person in the eight years he had been here. He had sworn to never commit a violent act again, not after the night he had involuntarily given up his freedom, and more importantly his daughter for petty revenge.
Eight other survivors milled about the room mostly ignoring Brennan's strange reading habits. One had procured a couple of butcher knives from the kitchen. Another had a large skillet ready to wield as a cudgel. Zeke had the lone pistol. A standard issue 9 mm no doubt taken from one of the guards. Two more inmates had chiseled down toothbrushes. The others were guards looking just as terrified of their now comrades as they were of the fast approaching infected. They wore the tattered remnants of their uniforms and held their blood soaked night sticks.
The inmate with the butcher knife nudged the Brennan's arm. Calmly he creased the corner of the page, and shut the book giving his full attention.
"Here you'll need one of these," he said.
An inner monster longed for Brennan to take the blade; it hungered to be let out. A deeper survivalist instinct was desperately trying to rationalize that it wouldn't be violence against men; only against the dead. The dead didn't hesitate as Brennan did; they continued to shuffle towards the inevitable.
Zeke jerked the knife away.
"The preacher don't need that," he snapped with cold fury. "He gonna sit and be zombie meat anyway. Gimme that."
The makeshift barricade suddenly lurched forward and the groans from the other side burst into the room. The swarming infected could sense warm flesh was just a door frame away. The mass of dead pushed into the swing doors and pawed through the cracks.
One of the guards ran towards the door. A grotesque head pushed its way through the gap. The guard heaved his night stick back. Brennan vividly remembered his own hand gripping the metal bat. As the guard surged forward toward the infected's skull; Brennan was recalled the look of terror cross his own long dead victim's face, he saw the business man exiting the strip club. Brennan had followed his girlfriend to work. This--creature had taken the mother of Brennan's child to the VIP room. His smile as he exited and high fives from his buddies told Brennan everything he needed to know.
The guard crushed the infected man's skull. A sickening squelch of blood and gore spattered. Brennan twitched with memory of the business man's blood. It seemed to have made the bat heavy in his hands. He had swung until his arms burned from the effort.
The sunken skull of the infected slowly dropped, but was quickly replaced with another. The guard continued to destroy the vulgar faces as they appeared. The barricaded door slowly gave way to the pressing flesh and hunger from the other side. Brennan flipped to the to the last page of his bible. A picture of a small girl with blonde pigtails smiled sweetly at him. She had her mother's green innocent eyes.
Brennan rose; the others could feel a change. He approached the door intently. He pulled free a fire extinguisher from the wall, just as the weakened barricade finally gave way. The hungry dead burst through.
Brennan locked eyes with the first infected to burst through; he raised the extinguisher over his head. Its inhuman eyes burned with a primal need to extinguish life. As the reformed murderer brought the extinguisher down on the infected man's head --- he smiled.

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Reviews

Velma golden Oct 21, 2012

very well done,good for you

Fed up with low quality writers Oct 21, 2012

Thank you both!

Meenu Oct 19, 2012

i think its wonderful

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