Flashes of Death

Flashes of Death

4.0 1
by Eric S. Brown
     
 

Zombies, things of nightmares in dumpsters, thrill rides into rural landscapes. This is Eric S. Brown's first short story collection from Naked Snake Press. See more details below

Overview

Zombies, things of nightmares in dumpsters, thrill rides into rural landscapes. This is Eric S. Brown's first short story collection from Naked Snake Press.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
2940000096659
Publisher:
Naked Snake Press
Publication date:
12/01/2003
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
Sales rank:
997,446
File size:
0 MB

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Read an Excerpt

The bodies of Tara's parents lay on the floor in front of him. Long gashes stretched across their throats and other parts of their flesh. The room was covered in red stickiness and looking around now, Mark had to admit he'd gone a bit wild. It was so rare that he got to indulge himself, maybe two or three times a year at best. He was always on the move and oh, so careful never to be caught. He got up from the couch, stepping over the bodies and ejected "Zombie Holocaust" from the VCR and popped in a copy of "Hell of the Living Dead". As its opening credits started up, he slumped back on the couch beside Tara pressing his blood smeared lips against her cold skin. He pulled out his razor and carefully slid it into her left eye, slicing the soft tissue surrounding the orb until he could ease it out into his waiting palm. He rolled it around in his hand then wrapped it gently in a napkin and stuffed it into his backpack. He tried to always keep a tad of something to have at home on the morning after.

Doing so made him glance at the clock which sat on the fireplace nearby. It was going on two o'clock now and the time to leave was drawing near. His heart nearly leapt from his chest as the doorbell rang. He jumped up from his seat ready to run trying to grab his video tapes and backpack only to spill them onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"Open up! Police!" A deep voice shouted from outside. Mark stood frozen with shock as the door flew inward. A tall officer who looked to be complete muscle from head to toe forced his way inside, a standard issue .38 held ready in his hand. Mark broke out of his stupor, leaping at the man. He swung his blade wildly but somehow still managed tohit his target. Hot red liquid sprayed from the officer's throat as he gurgled trying to shout against the pressure of his own blood filling his windpipe. Mark knocked the gun from the man's hand and shoved him to the floor, falling to his own knees to lap at the warm fluids as the man spasmed in death.

A second officer rushed in behind him. Mark turned to see the man raising his gun and the flash as the first shot left the barrel. The thunder of the shot echoed in Mark's ears as he felt the round tear into his shoulder. His razor left his hand, flying across the slick floor to vanish in the darkness of the adjacent kitchen. Mark's eyes burned with tears as he leapt up howling. The officer recoiled in horror from him as Mark's teeth snapped on empty on air. Mark whirled running for the living room window. It was past time to go. He never felt the bullet which entered the back of his skull and stained the white curtains with his brain matter as his body toppled to the carpet of the living room floor. The thing he saw in this life was the image of a tiny rat gnawing its way out of an elderly grandmother's stomach on the TV screen as Hell of the Living Dead continued to play.

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