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Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

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Doomsday Preppers

Green Sunday Chapter 13 ‘Sunday Mourning’ (Raw)

Latest chapter of Green Sunday go figure. I’ve been all over the place recently got back on facebook and I’m just enjoying rustling as many jimmies as I can, trying to get back into a rhythm with my blogging and writing so I can get this done before nanowrimo.

As usual you can find the full chapter following this inkitt link.

http://www.inkitt.com/stories/25507/chapters/13

~
A drone camera buzzes over the scene behind TJ’s house, out of sight, too high up to be heard. It’s ambivalent gaze documenting everything. It’s lens flitting about like that of an insects eye. The monitor feed from Evergreen’s deployment truck glared as he grinned back. The feed reflected in his goggles.

“She got too close to the perimeter of the game zone. Looks like she was taken out by beta team” The nerd at the console said as he looked over the footage again. “Very clean, she won’t have felt a thing.” Murray straightened his glasses on his face with a morbid sense of appreciation. “They really are the best sir”.

“Uh huh” Evergreen’s grin shrunk a few sizes listening to the tech gush “It’s time”.

“Yes sir, beginning stage three” The tech said as he turned back to his console.

~

Helicopter blades cutting through a virulent wind. Casting rain in wide dispersal patterns as the heavy behemoths rocked back and forth.

Military transport helicopters for carrying battlements or vehicles to the field. Four in all, carrying heavy metal containers. They looked like smooth industrial shipping containers. But both the containers and the choppers were completely unmarked.

“Roger that, we’re estimated four hours out of the drop zone. Good morning, if this rain lets up, it’s gonna be a beautiful day” The chopper pilot in front said over his radio.

~

“You kept me waiting.” Carpenter whispered as he twisted barbed point of the arrow under Dave’s chin. Dave grimaced dropping his torch and Kukri.

“Killing me will do you no good, I’m not a part of the game, I’m just his assistant!”

Carpenter took Dave by his shoulders and threw him down on the dirty linoleum floor. He offered little resistance and fell at the side of the dead woman drinking the milkshake. His fall caused her to shift in her seat. Sliding down the bench to rest her face right next to Dave as he attempted to dust himself off. He turned his head in the dark. Just with the dim light of his torch on the floor he could see he was in kissing range of the gaping exit wound in her face. Her hair brushed aside by her sliding down the bench.

“Oh shit!”

“‘Oh shit’ indeed” Carpenter chuckled as he picked up both Dave’s torch and his Kukri knife.

“What do you want?”

Carpenter put the torch under his chin and smiled like a ghoul in an old monster movie “A way out”.

“Why would I know the way?”

“Do you like scary movies?” Carpenter said smiling the torch still under his chin. He poked each yellow tooth with his tongue in turn. “You don’t think there was someone like you and your butt buddy up there the last time?” Carpenter let out a bitter little breathy laugh. He shook the beam of the torch around feigning hysterics. “It’s a sick world we live”.

He marched up on Dave and stomped on the leg closest to him, Dave let out an anguished cry like an injured animal.

Carpenter crouched down next to Dave shining the torch in his face. Dave cowered under the beam guarding his eyes with his hand. Carpenter saw it immediately and snickered to himself. Thinking of something poetic to say at this karmic justice he’d send on its way. “Feeling all right? Fever? Dry mouth? Itching under the skin? E-rectile dysfunction?”.

Dave looked up at him and swallowed a dry gob of spit “There’s a helicopter. North side of town, by the abandoned railyard, but it’s guarded, you’ll never make it alone”.

Carpenter gave him that wide devil grin and stood up turning around to walk away. Tossing the torch and the kukri carelessly on the ground as he left Dave scrabbling in the dark.

“I’m not alone, not anymore.”

~

TJ couldn’t move, his body rooted to the ground by chains of empty regret. His limbs all feeling hollow and heavy at the same time.

“TJ, it’s Sunday, I know we just met, but you have to trust me. I used you, I’m not a good person. But I can make it up to you, if you live” Sunday whispered in TJ’s ear as lay on the cold damp grass of his backyard. A light drizzle approaching accompanied by muffled threats of dull aching thunder.

TJ remained perfectly still. Sunday swallowed and turning him over with much effort he flopped onto his back. His eyes were open, vacant and grey. His mouth hung open a fraction and fluttered. As if he was trying to say something but didn’t have enough energy to move his whole mouth.

“TJ, can you hear me? We need to move” TJ didn’t react, his eyes fixed open in something similar to a silent scream. “You’re gonna come with me, ok?” She spoke to him crouched over him. Walking around the back of the snorlax-like individual. She hooked her dainty little hands under his sweaty pits. Lifting him with some noticeable effort. “Urf fuck you’re heavy”

She turned him around and dragged him in the direction of his house “Ergh! This would be a lot easier if you just hrrff hrrff stood up and you know, walked”

She got him back into the kitchen which felt a lot colder now. Closing the door she looked out the window out at the back of his house. Her body lying there looked almost beautiful. She took a moment and breathed in and out feeling her icy breath swirling around in her chest. “It could have been worse” she sighed as the rain rolled in.

First attempt at a pitch synopsis for Green Sunday

TJ is an underachieving tubby neckbeard in his early twenties still living with his mother in their suburban home in a rural Midwestern American mountain town, in which he’s convinced will be infested with zombie soon.

Unfortunately for him, the zombie apocalypse already came and went with more of a hiccup than a big bang. Happening in a small isolated town, it was quickly isolated and contained by the army and a government contractor which referred not to be named. But TJ still holds out hope that the apocalypse will get a sequel in his lifetime collecting various weapons and zombie paraphernalia with his meagre pocket money.

A chance meeting with an obnoxious green haired girl sets his suspicions into high gear as she seems to be the cusp of a series of strange visitors which begin to put the small mountain community on edge. Men in chemical suits block the bridges. Armed mercenaries line the woods making escape impossible. All lines of communication are cut off as the town is flooded with the living dead.

TJ unaware of the horror that has gripped his town goes down to the store for a quart of milk only to come face to face with the living dead completely caught off guard he faces his own death but is saved by the same green haired girl who had previously snubbed him. All his planning and fantasising had proved ineffectual coming face to face with the real thing completely out of the blue caused him to rethink his fascination with the living dead.

TJ rushes home to find that the fantasy he’d imagined the zombie apocalypse to be falls completely short and he’s unwittingly stumbled onto a deep web reality tv show where real lives are on the line.

The green haired girl follows TJ, revealing that her name is Sunday, a survivor from the previous town that was, as he now realises intentionally infected for the purposes of this sick game.

The game takes place over three days and is fought for points, each day sectioned off into different rounds. The first day/round covers the initial outbreak, each zombie is designated points for kills, the second round is open season on survivors, combatant human’s become double points, the third round is the endgame, weapons and strange mutants are air dropped to wreak havoc on the remnants of the town. The audience paying to watch and take bets on the outcome, spectating through a series of drone cameras flying above the small town.

The aim of the game is to live, the winner with the most accumulated points wins, winning three consecutive games in a row wins the survivors freedom.

Sunday decides to take TJ under her wing and teach him what real apocalypse survival is about and actually help him to kill his first zombie, something he didn’t consider would be so hard after watching all those zombie movies where people decapitate them as easy as breathing.

Together they take on cheese grater wielding zombies, an insane biker gang and monsters right out of greek mythology to fulfil their modest goal of staying alive nothing more.

TJ learns that the way he saw himself up to this point was a lie and he stands on a precipice of whether to shatter that lie or embrace it and become it, take the girl and say to hell with reality.

He’s taken through the ringer as his life as he knew it is completely eviscerated and everyone he knew and loved is killed, his childhood home decimated, all bringing him closer to this strange girl and learning her boundless secrets and the mystery behind the sick game they find themselves trapped.

He has no choice but to fight and entertain the audience to secure his position as a returning character on the show. Using his hours of imaginary training in his back garden with his cheap novelty swords, he squares off against the living dead in a vain attempt at uncovering the mysterious group behind the annihilation of his once peaceful town.

Having survived the three days thanks to Sunday, TJ and Sunday seeing an opportunity to escape in the chaos of the endgame, seek out a series of tunnels in a missile silo some conspiracy nut turned into a survalist bunker. Coming face to face with the man that brought them here Mr. Evergreen.

Green Sunday Chapter 12 ‘Live through death’ (Raw)

Been critically retarded in the classical french usage of the word ‘to be held back’ by intense insanity workouts. I’m not in pain, I just feel like I’m dying, like I slipped into a coma and I’m trapped in a nightmare world of tiredness coffee cannot cure. Into the second month and my pudge be quelled, those lovehandles taking a pounding like an inflatable in Michael Barrymore’s pool.
 Been banned from facebook for excercising my freedom of speech a little too much so my social media presence is that of a nat at this moment but I dunno, fuck facebook, if only twitter didn’t look like the fast scrawling matrix code I’d make a full transition. But with their new speech codes I really don’t know where freedom of speech can hide on the internet anymore, soon we’ll have to go underground to be total assholes without repentance haha.
Anyway, still I find the strength the write and somehow to edit and proofread. So here is the first proofread of chapter 12, this is where the feels start people haha. Some action, some laughing some crying, some awkward boners, all that good stuff.
Actually working towards the end now, getting to the real shit soon, should be all done and ready for proofreading by the end of next month, maybe later. So it’s all speed ahead to nanowrimo and maybe a novela in between now and november.

As always this is just an excerpt, I put the whole thing up on inkitt so you can read all the chapters in order from start to finish without having to trawl through this inane collection of ramblings and brainfarts I call a blog.

Read it here for free, all of it, no catches, no scams or add revenue, I don’t think, well be happy in the knowledge if there is, the money isn’t going to me, so add block that shit hard haha.

Chapter 12 Live through death

~

Candle light flickered on the counter top in TJ’s kitchen. A weary flame tossed back and forth by a careless breath or a sigh. TJ, his mother and Sunday huddled around the small kitchen table and ate in silence.  A restrained rattling of cutlery hid polite coughs and awkward glances across the table. No one dared utter a word.

TJ’s mom just smiled at whomever would cast an eye her way, but it was a little cracked on one side.

They finished a humble meal of just some frozen pork chops and a garden salad from a re-sealable pack. Which his mother put back in the crisper at the bottom of the fridge. She cleared their plates “Mom let me help you”.

“It’s fine, you two wash up and get to bed. I set you two up on the couch until we can get your room tidied up” She sighed “It’s such a mess, you said an animal got in?”

“Yeah” TJ said as his hands slipped from the plates. he turned his head away and felt a cold steel ringing in the emptiness that was growing inside him.

She smiled as she took the plates to the dishwasher and loaded them in “It’s ok. I didn’t like any of those posters anyway, we can get it cleaned up in no time.” A weak laugh tried to escape her diaphragm but it didn’t quite make it and instead came out like pained hiccup.

TJ sat back down and looked at Sunday anxiously. She sat with her feet up on her seat poking at a very dry piece of lettuce trying not to be noticed. “I’m done.” She said as she pushed the table away and hopped off the seat. She swam through the tension in the little kitchen and escaped to the cosy solitude of the living room.

TJ bit his bottom lip and swallowed a dry lump, his chest feeling tight and hot.

“Goodnight” He said as he got up from the table and walked away. His footsteps light, barely made contact with the floor. The image of his mother at the kitchen sink got smaller and smaller as he left the room. That image of her burning into his memory.

~

“It’s almost time.” Evergreen sighed as he felt a strange elation washing over him. He kept it to himself inside his stoney exterior. “What do we have in stock?” He said through gritted teeth. A closeted eagerness eaked out in his voice as he leant against a high back chair in the operations van.

“Err a couple of chimeras, one of those big bastards and that new one.” The tech said as he handed Evergreen a small tablet computer over his shoulder.

Evergreen took it from the tech. He seemed to be getting a contact high of Evergreen’s steely excitement. He sat in his chair craning his neck to watch. Evergreen smiled flipping through the pictures on the tablet as it lit up his dark sharklike face. The mobile command centre was kept dark. Only lit by a series of monitors monitoring god knows what. Which covered the inside of what looked like a large tanker truck from the outside.

Noticing the attention he was getting from this eager little welp. He cast  disparaging eye towards the tech. He was a younger guy maybe late twenties early thirties with shaggy blonde. A set of boxy glasses perched on a sharp nose. His name tag said his name was ‘Murray’. tossing the tablet in his lap. “Fuck it ‘Murray’, use’em all”.

Murray feeling a little exposed. Tilted his eyes down clearing his throat and adjusted his glasses and got back to work. “Yes sir, t-minus two hours to full release of specimens”.

~

Thanks for reading to check out the rest of this long ass chapter go to;

 

 

Chapter 12 Live through death

Green Sunday review by Knicky Laurel

Got a lovely new review for Green Sunday from someone I’m totally not sleeping with, faerie author of delightfully whimsical fiction, Knicky Laurel. You can check her out at her fancy author page on facebook Knicky Laurel, and you can read Green Sunday for free on inkitt Green Sunday.

 

Something Special
I recently finished reading the first eight chapters of Ryk Brink’s Green Sunday, and one of the first of many things to hook me hard was his writing style. It’s metaphoric and pointed laser focus deeply analyses the story’s subject matter, and its razor-edge imagery is hauntingly precise – in other words, the unique way in which he describes the story as he tells it leaves you unable to unsee it that exact way, and you can’t help but agree with his word choice and direction. And I think that is the impression I came away with the most – Ryk is a director, but of words rather than movies, and while every directorial style isn’t to everyone’s taste, his just happens to be one I favour.

I think this style is deliciously juxtaposed with the irreverent, open wound that is Ryk’s sense of humour and is what gives this particular zom-pocalyse novel such a refreshing feel. From the mean-spirited manner in which it depicts our proxy, TJ Kincaid, to the lovesick relationship it clearly has with nonchalant but gratuitous violence, it is apparent that this work is not for the overly-sensitive reader. That said, if you have the balls to stomach it, it is a story that has many elements anyone with an open mind for a different kind of story can appreciate, including some very real human moments, as dark and serious and quiet as they are by turn light-hearted, playful and a little silly.

My favourite aspect of this novel, and it would seem that I am not alone in this, is the relationship between TJ and Sunday. There is something so appealing about the ebb and flow between her hardness and his innocence, and the nuances of the role reversal featuring her as the protector with him as the virgin sacrifice or the atypical dude-in-distress. The space between them is filled with the overtone of the entire work, the loud cheesy camaraderie with death TJ has in his imagination versus the one that permeates the very bleak, sordid reality that Sunday herself occupies.

All in all, there is so much to enjoy here – the style, the voice, the themes and how they all work to tell a story about characters you can really care about. You know the elements that comprise a work are promising when you find yourself reading ahead simply because you cannot take the tension of what you are presently reading in the moment any longer. I found myself doing this consistently throughout my read, which tells me everything I need to know. That no matter how, gruesome, silly and depraved it may seem on the surface, there is definitely something special about Green Sunday.

Green Sunday Chapter 11 ‘Eggs, Hash and Grits’ (Raw)

Fresh from the first proof read, it’s pretty interesting chapter a lot of stuff is churned up, lots of weird shit happens. Check out the full chapter on my inkitt page for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 11
~

The smell of sweat and blood and tears, the sound bare of feet on a concrete floor. Soft flesh and bone colliding. A loud chorus of people shouting and smoking and drinking. The smell of motor oil and leather hanging in the stale air. A group of people were huddled around two half naked men knocking the shit out of each other.

“Where the fuck is Bernie?” Mojang hissed as he reclined on a large broken office chair with a large back. The wheels and stand of which were broken off and he just sat on it as it sat on the floor like a low throne. A sexy biker chick in her underwear straddled him as he slouched back into the chair.

She leant over him with a needle and a trail of dental floss. She delicately sewed up what was left of his eye “Keep still baby”. She said as she pressed her slinky tattooed flesh against his.

Mojang had set himself up in a garage on the far side of town as his base. The smell of motor oil and the tools and spare parts clanging put his mind at ease.

He’d holed up in the dilapidated office and the rest of his crew were getting lit on the garage floor. They took out a couple of scrappy survivors they picked up on their day raiding and set up a little fight club.

There was a ring of drunken bikers on the concrete floor of the shop. They surrounded a skinny office clerk. As he pounded the cartilage of a fat barista against the concrete floor. Until a satisfying greasy wet snapping sound cut a swathe through the loud drunken crowd. The clerk pounded his sweaty mitts into the stubbly fat face of the barista against the grey concrete. Hot wet slapping sounds of meat and bone colliding on the cold wet floor. Rivulets of muddy crimson blood that would make Jackson Polluck cry manly tears. Until he stopped shaking and a viscous red bile started pouring from his nose and mouth.

“We got a winner!” A hairy biker in a leather waistcoat picked up the dazed skinny office clerk up by his skinny slick wrist. Propping him up with his other hand under his armpit wrapping around his chest. The office clerk; almost conscious, panted out a relieved smile just to be alive and to be called a winner. Feeling like he was on top of an anthill as his eyes rolled back in his skull.

Bernie watched from a darkened corner as they took the ‘winner’. They threw his almost lifeless skinny body in the net of half dead twitching corpses. Laughing as they did it.

Bernie perched in the corner next to an old payphone bolted to the wall. He rested the receiver against his ear speaking soft. “I hear you, tomorrow, can’t wait.” He tried to hold a smile back tightening his face as he looked about the dim garage. Lit only by unwieldy camp fires and generator operated standing lights. Hanging up the phone with a tight satisfying clicking sound.

As the crowd got a little quieter, coming down off that wave of excitement. Bernie could hear his name being hoarsely shouted “Bernie! Get your fat jew ass in here!”

Bernie unfolded his arms and sighed with an icey aggression. His eyes dipping out of frustration peeling himself off the cold concrete wall of the garage.

He popped the door of the office open. It was one of those thin plastic doors you afraid to yank right off. He stuck his head around the door like a temp. “You call me?”

“Take a seat.” Mojang said through the girl still straddling him sewing up his eye. He didn’t move from his seated position.

“There isn’t another chair in here”

“Then stand” Mojang said as he moved the half naked girl of his crotch. “Two minutes”.

The girl trounced out of the small office. She dragged a feminine two day old musk behind her as she shut the door with a definitive bang.

“Was there something?”  Bernie said as he turned around looking at the closed door, his eyes careless.

“How does it look?” Mojang speaking to a bike rear view mirror he held up in front of his face. He tilted it down revealing his sewn up eye. It was swollen and bloody, it looked like there was a red baseball stuck in his skull.

“Like shit”

“You talk to him? The man? He called you?” Mojang reclined in the seat and tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah I talked to him”

“You didn’t call me”

“You were busy”

“Uh huh, well what does he want? Do they have the scores?” Mojang seethed, his eyes scanning every inch of Bernie as he sat in his relaxed position.

“Err, yeah but that’s not why he called. Said there’s gonna be a drop. Not even a block away, good shit” Bernie said grinning and rubbing his stubbly face.

“’Good shit’ huh? Ok. We’ll take it, tomorrow. This whole town is gonna burn. That fatboy and his bitch included”.

“I heard about that, some kid did that to your face”

“You heard about it huh? From who? The man?”

“Around” Bernie snorted as he pulled out a candy bar from his pocket and began noisily opening it. “Some pudgy twelve year old fucks you up, people talk about.” He smiled as he took a bite out of the candy bar. Strings of caramel and nougat dangling on his bottom lip as he chewed and snorted.

“Uh huh, yeah it’s pretty fucking funny.” Mojang hopped out of his seat from his almost comatose angle. He stood a good foot over Bernie as he munched the candy bar obnoxiously.

“You gotta see the funny side, you lose an eye, you still got another one. We’ll get him tomorrow, his bitch too, you’ll see, you want a bite?” Bernie snuffled with the candy bar in his mouth. He smiled breaking off a piece and offered it to Mojang as he closed in on him.

“Yeah we will” Mojang said. A vicious smile stitched on his face as he clutched Bernie by his jaw. Forcing him against the chip board walls of the small office with a dull thud. Snatching the candy bar out of Bernie’s hand he forced it into his gaping face. Wiping it all over with a forceful hand. His neck snapping back painfully spitting out the wrapper. He groaned as Mojang delivered a powerful uppercut under his ribs. He slid down the wall stunned by the sudden controlled burst of aggression. “Now get the fuck out of here”.

~

If you liked the excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest and the preceding chapters in order.

Green Sunday Chapter 11

Green Sunday Chapter 3 Step right up (Edited)

Yo humanoid followers of this blog, been down with work and other various forms of illnesses. But I have the latest fully edited chapter of Green Sunday ready for your viewing pleasure. As opposed to your agonized clawing through my many heresies against grammar and spelling.

As usual this is just an excerpt and I have the full chapter up on inkitt because you can’t copy and paste on that site haha. I know I’m that paranoid. It’s a good site, my girlfriend loathes it for all the nepotism but that’s the name of the game unfortunately, what can you do?

Anyway, here’s the link to the latest chapter all suited and booted; Step Right Up.

~

“I despise your killing, and raping.”

“You’re… despicable.”

“Are you my judge?”

“It’s just… you should be punished.”

“I’m going to chop off your arm, so are you ready?”

TJ sat on his bed, half-watching a kung fu movie, trying to learn kung fu from osmosis. He polished his sword, checking for minor imperfections left by the douche in the knife shop, before wiping it off. He lovingly slid it back into the sheath and placed it in a red trunk at the bottom of his bed.

TJ’s bedroom was the standard, unashamed man-child room every man secretly desired, but had had taken away from them at some point by age or shame or usually a woman. TJ seemed immune to all. He was happy to like the things he’d loved all his life, with only a slight sour tinge of regret rolling around on his tongue before he swallowed it down with some mountain dew.

His room was a boxy affair in a reasonably-sized two storey house. He had chosen the room when he was a kid because it had one of those cool sloping roofs. It had a little skylight window that let in all the moonlight. And he could put posters on it too.

Movie and anime posters adorned the walls in no particular order from Dragonball Z, in pride of place above his TV and PS4, to Cowboy Bebop, over his bed, the one where Faye Valentine had her ass facing out in those little yellow hot pants. Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood, Samurai Champloo and Attack on Titan and Berserk. His door hid a cute, pink Elfen Lied calendar that was way out of date. He had a  Gantz wall hanging on the wall behind his desktop monitor that his mother sneered at. The tight black uniforms looked sort of ‘bondagey,’ she commented once, to which TJ, red of cheek, informed her that this wasn’t the case and it was his room and she should always knock before entering.

Then you had the zombie-related paraphernalia. You had your Walking Dead shirts and cap; Evil Dead bobble heads, which made various chainsaw noises and spouted the relevant catchphrases when tapped; original Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead posters, both signed by the Tom Savini; a Return of the Living Dead tarman ‘action figure’; Return of the Living Dead 3 playing cards; Shaun of the Dead air freshener; Zombies on a Plane travel sweets. You get the picture; ‘nerd likes zombies trope’.

His real pride and joy lay dormant in the red trunk: an assorted collection of crappy fantasy knives and cheap knock off kung fu weapons that he had picked up at various flea markets and gun shows that rolled through town. He didn’t get much of an allowance to splash out on any one piece, or even a reasonably priced but painfully drab, cold, steel machete. And the thought of working some nine to five job just to buy something better seemed antithetical in a world that he believed would be all teeth and rotten flesh by the end of the year.

So he just picked up what he liked the look of, not really knowing what he wanted or what he wanted them for. They were all tacky wall hangers. His mother wouldn’t let him hang them on his wall though because they made him look like a ‘weirdo’. There they remained in that box under his bed, ready to be viewed with a satisfied smile as soon as he looked inside his little man-crate full of toys. When he closed it, he felt a hollow, little thud inside and felt maudlin. He stared at the bluing sky as night crawled out of the caves and crags to blanket the horizon.

TJ’s house was in a secluded part of town. The town itself was rural and mountainous, a small town lined by high trees and cliffs with a whole lot of nothing in between. Think Twin Peaks meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nightmarish small town America in all its horrible banality and tremulous quiet beauty. Only ruined by its noisy stereotypical inhabitants.

He took to staring off into the trees, trying to imagine hordes of his dead Facebook friends tearing through the undergrowth, and himself savagely cutting after them, sword flashing above his head like a Hun on heat. Then he started to think about them, their frozen stock photo faces, twisted and rotten, coming at him through the trees. And it was real for a second and he wanted nothing more than to buy a big gun and hide under his window, drinking and peeing in the same bottle, Waterworld-style, for fear of moving. It came in waves and he settled back into his fantasy, comfortable at the thought that it was an unlikely occurrence. But he also wanted nothing more than to have his mundane existence upended by throngs of the flesh-nibblingly inclined.

Well what little existence there was he thought to himself as he stared off into those dark esoteric woods. If only they’d come then he could be who he wanted to be.

~

I hope you enjoyed it if you read this far, as usual here’s the link again to my inkitt page where you can read this chapter and more completely free.

Step Right Up

 

Green Sunday Chapter 10 ‘Romeo is bleeding’ (Raw)

Latest chapter of GS proofread, as usual rough as shit, still having it edited, I should have chapter 3 back by next week. So hold your breath for that haha.
As usual you can check out the rest of the chapter on inkitt, which I will link to at the top and bottom. I do that because you can’t copy and paste any of that and it’s easier to read on tablets and stuff and you can read it in order.

Green Sunday Chapter 10

~

“There he is!” Dave said as he pointed over his Sikh billionaire boss’s shoulder. Standing erect with a pair of expensive looking binoculars.

“You littal cant!” Pete said as he cranked the pressure gauge in his custom air arrow launcher. He narrowed his eyes to keep track of a wiley moving target.

The scope flitted around trying to keep track of ragged green form as it darted from cover to cover dipping. “Keep still you little barstard!” Pete spat.

“Think you can outrun me you little facka!”

“He’s over there!” Dave screeched as he leaned on the raised lip of the gunstore roof.

Pete tried to steady his breathing as he tunnelled his vision down the scope of the rifle. He tried to hone his concentration on this vagrant target eluding his gaze. A quick flicker of light and a sharp piercing feeling of murderous intent. Pete was sent reeling off his makeshift perch on the roof.

“What was that” Dave said.

Pete looked over himself patting down for injuries “Something came right at me”. Pete readied himself again at his perch. “There!” Dave screamed. A lithe figure slipped through a gap in a wall of milling living corpses. Completely oblivious to this quick witted sewer rat of a man breezing past them.

“You fuckin what!’” Pete said as he gritted his teeth pulling hard on the trigger of the arrow launcher. A quick bolt and satisfying release of pressure. An arrow was thrust into the crowd as the figure disappeared.

“Did you get ‘im?” Dave said.

“I dunno” Pete said as he lifted the rifle up and rested it against the wall.

“Who the fuck was that?” Dave said standing in an awkward pose. Feeling a little buzzed and drained from the excitement. As if for a fleeting moment the shoe was on the other foot. He glanced back over to the spot the cornered animal was last seen with his binoculars. he had to catch his breath despite not having moved an inch. “Hah does that one kinda look like Burt Reynolds to you?” he said as he looked out over the shambling corpses on the other side of the street.

“Another c’ant like us, I reckon. Didn’t get a good look at ‘im.” Pete said as he leant against the lip of the roof. He took out a hunting pipe and filled it with tobacco. He lit it and took some measured pulls on the horn lip piece with a faraway look on his face. Listening to the sound of his own heartbeat. As he put pressure on the wall, the other side cracked a little and little pieces of mortar and brick crumbled. Following the cracks in the what was now seen as a hastily and shoddily built raised wall around the roof. The owner probably used for his own late night target practice. Lodged a good four or five inches into the mortar was a shiney and very sharp looking butterfly knife

~

A sickly light trickled through the gaps in the shutters of an upmarket house on the more affluent side of town. The house was still and looked vacant in the bluing light of the evening. The night on its way bringing a much needed stillness to the ‘busy’ town. The house was old looking, reminiscent of some older new England town houses. A two storey affair made of retouched white wood and roofed with grey tiles. The windows were partitioned with the same white wood. All with drawn curtains and shutters.

Inside the house a deathly cold gripped the anterooms and the hall. A musty smell the owners must have gotten used to living in such an old house permeated the rooms. And the floorboards creaked like an old haunted house.

The stairs were fairly grand, made of an elegant hardwood. Leaving them cold as century old bone to the touch. The faded blue light gave them a dreamlike quality, still as if out of time entirely. Like the whole house were some sort of display or diorama meant for looking but not touching.

Nevertheless something was living there. Something stirred in the dull blue light that probed the dank house. Little feet slapped the icy staircase as they descended the large steps. Creating the slightest creaking noises on the old steps.

A little girl, maybe five or six in a frilly night gown descended the stairs like a ghost. She held a stuffed iguana close to her little chest. She peered into the inky blue stillness of her home and saw a spark of light. There was a warm glow building in the furthest corner of her house. Followed by whispers and hissing sounds through gritted teeth and a strange smell.

She tiptoed down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible. As she got closer the angered hissing noises continued. She could hear a few choice words and laboured breathing as she approached the light source.

The light was coming from her living room. A small fire stoked in the old wood burning fireplace. There was a man sat down in front of the fire talking to himself angrily.

“I’ll get you, you asshole, you just wait, I know where you are! I’ll get you and I’ll-ergh!“ The man muttered to himself as he nursed a wound in his shoulder. A bloody arrow tossed on the hardwood floor by the fireside. He sat on a large green army coat in front of the fire rocking back and forth like caged animal. A blood stained kitchen knife clutched in his hand as he held his arm, pressing it against himself.

“Santa is that you?” The little girl said as she saw his scraggly beard and long hair. “It’s a little early, where are all the presents?”

“Presents?” Carpenter said furrowing his brow in a confused daze. Caught off guard by the little girl in her pyjamas, he gripped the knife tighter. “I don’t have any presents”

“Oh” The girl said, taking it surprisingly well. “Well could you help me?” She said as she tightened her face a little. “My mommy and daddy are sick” Her voice raising slightly at the end catching herself.

“Shhhhh” Carpenter said as he smiled and put his finger up to his mouth. “Take me to them” He smiled broadly exposing his yellowed teeth. “Santa has something for them” He said as he stood up shakily, sliding the knife underneath his belt.

~

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Green Sunday Chapter 10

Cheers.

Green Sunday Chapter 9 Cobra Clutch (Raw)

Ok here’s the latest chapter straight from proofreading, it’s just the first proofread, still rough as shit but it’s a fun chapter, lots of action and fucked up shit.If you wanna read the full chapter and all previous chapters head on over to my inkitt page and read it for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

TJ squirmed on the back of the bike trying to lock his pudgy fingers around Sunday’s lithe frame. Fear overpowering his natural inclinations for tact and subtlety.

The engine of the Harley continental coughed and spluttered. It roared like a rambunctious kitten. It was no huge feat for the bikers to catch up to them after finding their dead friend. Their bikes engine noises rolled over the hills like thunder. It sounded like a storm coming that no one could get out of the way of.

TJ looked back and saw only a cloud of smoke and dust. He half expected a haunted pirate ships to emerge from it with jet black sails. Crewed by stop motion skeletons. But as it cleared, only a parade of shiney chrome and black leather remained. A tide of ill fitting pants and boots with lots of buckles on them moving gradually closer.

“Can we out run them?” TJ yelped.

“No” Sunday said without even looking back.

“Then what are we gonna do?”

“This” Sunday said almost whispering. She stopped the bike with a sudden anguished screeching of the continental’s tires.

“What the fuck are you doing?? They’ll kill us!” TJ squealed.

“They might” Sunday said. She propped the bike up with the kickstand and dismounted with the grace of a duchess.

TJ dismounted almost falling as she dismounted first. This brought back horrible memories of riding in a bike seat with his Mom when he was a kid.

“We’ve gotta hide” TJ said breathelessly clinging to one of his sweaty moobs. His sword in his other hand shaking in its cheap faux lacquer sheathe.

“Where?” Sunday said as she took up a batting stance squeezing the grip of the bat in both hands. She took a few practice swings at that mean old air.

TJ looked around a full three sixty and realised they were on the edge of town. They were on an open street with no cover.

“Looks like we’ll have to reason with them” Sunday said. A wry smirk peeling across her face as she walked past TJ with the bat across her shoulder.

The bikers didn’t speed up or slow down, they kept their solid droning pace. They knew there was nowhere for them to run. And the building sounds of the engines would fill the entire town with a primal dread.

They were on them like vultures, two at first, circling, the rest hung back a little to see what they’d do. The bikers were armed with pipes and chains and anything they could get their hands on. They dragged the chains behind their bikes and the scraped the ground with their pipes. Which in a different situation TJ would find pretty cool. It kind of reminded him of the opening scene of Akira. But that was beside the point because they were probably trying to kill him.

Sunday breathed out slowly, closing her eyes, digging her feet into the cold dry tarmac. She squeezed and released the grip of the bat as they circled, laughing and whooping inaudibly.

One of them tore in front of her as the other watched. His tires screeched in pain as they turned to face her head on but she didn’t move. He charged screaming for her but she remained still. He raised his pipe above his head as he angled his bike to give him a good swing. With an instant ferocious finesse, she stepped forward into the arch of his strike. Sinking her bat straight across his chest he bounced off his bike. The bike came to a stop scraping along the concrete.

Sunday breathed in calmly closing her eyes again. Squeezing and releasing the handle of the bat as it hummed in her hands. Sending shivers of pain all through her arms and down her back.

“You fucking bitch!” The bikers friend screeched pulling down the bandana covering his mouth. “I’m gonna fuck you up!”

Sunday wasn’t paying attention. She picked up the other bikers discarded pipe without looking at him as he circled back to strafe her.

She looked it over, as he closed the distance. Tears and snot streamed from his eyes, rage pounding on the accelerator.

She idly tossed the pipe and the biker was too angry to notice it fall right in his path of destruction. By the time he wiped the snot out of his face it was too late. He ran over the mangled pipe and it got caught up in the front tire. The front wheel twisted bringing the bike veering to one side and down into the concrete. It squealed to a stop and Sunday walked towards the downed biker. The bike stopped a good few feet away from where she was already standing.

He was pinned under the bike. Both of his legs broken for sure, coughing up blood, screaming “You bitch, you fucking bitch!”

She was slower for some reason, she dragged the bat now with one hand squeezed her arm with her other hand. She brought the bat up and split his head effortless. It made a mundane wet imploding noise like a watermelon dropped on concrete. His mouth went slack and his eyes rolled back in his head.  She pulled the spiked monstrosity out of his head with a soggy sucking noise.

Then silence, a slow deafening silence. Then a thunderous clap breaking the silence apart like thor’s hammer on the clouds. A man on an enormous bucket seat Harley sat as if on a throne watching. Surrounded by his cronies, a fine looking biker chick on the back of his bike clinging to him. He slowly clapped with his huge gloved hands.

“That was cute, I really dug that” He said as he leaned forward across his custom handlebars. There was a cobra design on the front of his bike and his breaks and clutch were ornate snake heads with a brass finish. “Oh you’re finished, allow me to introduce myself” the man said as he stroked his fu Manchu moustache. A large latin man with tattoos covering most if not all his arms. He was adorned with mayan tribal art mixed with a tinge of Japanese rip offs. He wore a loosely cut denim waist coat the back of which was emblazoned with their insignia. An angel in a straight jacket with the words ‘los ángeles locos’ written below it. Completed by a pair dark red leather pants and agressive looking combat boots.

“My name is Mojang, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” before he finished talking the bikes fired up again. Before she knew it Sunday was surrounded by ten maybe twelve bikers. Clouds of smoke encircled her, a maelstrom of twisted metal surrounded her. Her hair sweeping across her face. She raised he bat with a bitter defiance ready to swing at the next one that came close. She hoped to take them one at a time like balls in a batting cage.

If you enjoyed this excerpt head on over to my inkitt page to read the rest for free.

Green Sunday Chapter 9

 

 

Green Sunday Chapter 8 Motorpsycho Nitemare (Raw)

Proofread the latest chapter of GS, as usual it’s just an excerpt for copyright reasons so if you want to read the rest of the chapter and previous chapters in a better format head on over to inkitt. 

GS Chapter 8
The stillness of the early morning was deafening. cold and brittle like the morning before, shattered by hurried footsteps and the sound of frantic panting. A red haired man in sweats jogged with a limping gate, taking cold and wet heaves of terrified breathes. He choked as much of the damp morning air down as he could to keep his limbs moving. Lactic acid got into every joint and muscle as he tried frantically to make his body work how it was supposed to.

A bright light pierced the mist of the ambivalent early morning. Accompanied by an obnoxiously loud and slightly tinny harley continental engine tearing into life. a black gloved hand revved it for the pleasure of the vibration in his gut. He grabbed his leather clad crouch with his gloved hand to rearrange the furniture. The sound and smell of creaking leather bringing a smile to his greasy stubbly face.

“Let’s go fuck shit up”

He pulled his denim waistcoat tighter across his skinny frame. The name “Lamchop” embossed above the left breast pocket. The biker dragged a chain across his lap. The end of which had a barbed hook that he hung over the side. He nudged the kickstand with his leather boot and screeched off down the suburban street.

The town was so still, dead and dying. The red headed jogger could’ve heard the engine on the other side of town. but he was sure it was closer, his eyes widened and his pupils shrank as he looed into the mist. He doubled his pace, his muscles crying out with pain with every terrified step.

The biker let out some slack into the chain, one hand on the handles of his bike, he let it swing idly at his side as he drove. Noticing a shape form in the mist he took control of it’s swinging motion. With the strength of his wrist alone he began to spin the chain at his side. Building up speed, keeping full control of the bike as he did so.

Reaching terminal velocity on the chain. The shape was within striking distance. He released it as if launching a dog at an unsuspecting rabbit from the barrel of a gun. All the force from his wrist snapping it at the shape coming at him from the mist.

The chain struck with snake-like snapping precision. It tangled around the feet of it’s victim locking it in place at the ankle. The savage biting barbs rending flesh from the bone and sticking stalwart in the calf of the bait.

No noise was heard over the thunderous engine, no screams, no pleas for help, just cold early morning dimness. The chain stopped for a brief moment slack as it was. Then it took on life once again as the bike pulled away. The chain snaked up with a vicious snapping sound. Yanking it’s victim off it’s feet and dragging them across the the neatly tarmacked suburban roadway.

The meatsack hit the ground with a sad wet trumping sound, bones in a bag of wet flower colliding awkwardly. Wrenched out the mist with a hiss and a slick grinding sound. The biker stopped, clearer as the surroundings were now and lifting his goggles he looked back at the zombie he’d caught on the hook. A proud fisherman, the biker smiled and pulled his goggled back down. The creature writhed with a mouth full of ground down teeth falling from it’s mouth like popcorn. Its face hot and slick from its date with the smooth tarmac, most of it’s features ground down. It reached its arm up and to him seemed reminiscent of the canteen scene from Oliver twist “More? Ok well why didn’t you say?” He laughed to himself and revved his engine once more.

The red haired man in sweats reached his front door. His breath burning his lungs, every recycling of air felt like sandpaper going in and coming out. His sweats drenched and cold tugging at him as he propped himself up against the door. He quietly tapped at the door “Sheila it’s me, let me in, they’re coming, for gods sake lemme’ in”. He whispered in a low raspy voice as he tapped the glass viewing window of the door.

He looked back into the mist as he heard the engines noises carried by the empty streets. “Sheila open the fucking door, or god help me I wil-“ an abrupt unlatching noise cut him off. He shapeshifted through the small crack in the door his wife opened like osmosis.

“Will- are you ok?- Did you find any?” A slight woman with mousey brown hair stood in front of him bunching up a plaid dress in her two skinny fists.

“I couldn’t, they were on me, these guys, they were staking out the pharmacy. They knew people would come for supplies, it was a trap, I barely got away!” His voice was hoarse and he rasped taking in large gulping breaths as he spoke. Feelings of shame and guilt and terror fighting for space in his brain. All thoughts barged out of the way for the singular desire for all the stale oxygen in the landing.

“I can’t last much longer without my insulin” She said almost whispering into her dress. A maudlin expression projecting onto her pale face “if you were a real man you’d get it”.

“Yeah and if you weren’t a total retard you’d have stocked up before the zombie apocalypse. But we can’t all be perfect!”

“It’s not the apocalypse, the army’ll come, they will. We just have to last a little longer, I don’t know how much longer I can-“

“It’ll be ok I promise” He said softly as he collapsed on the stairs “We’ll find a way”.

Just as he got a little comfortable and the air started forming an orderly queue to his lungs, a sharp tapping taxman knock set the couples teeth on edge.

“Who… who is it?” Sheila said.

If you want to read the rest of the chapter check it out on inkitt.
GS Chapter 8

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