STILL DYING 2: Zombie Anthology
Are you looking for the latest from Patrick C Greene?
Here it is! Read an excerpt below…
STILL DYING 2
Nine authors… Ten stories… nothing but zombie horror!
An excerpt from
STILL DYING 2
HOW ME AND BOZY BECAME DADS
By Patrick C Greene
They just popped up one day, the creeps, when we was out doing some community service, clearing the highway.
Some guy was stumbling around off down the interstate a good piece, and I said “Someday, that’s prolly gonna be me.”
“Stop jabbering to yo’ sef,” Bozy muttered, “They gonna send you off somewheres.”
“I don’t know man,” I answered, “This is prolly the end of the line for me.”
“Don’t be all down. Be glad you’re outside today.”
Funny. Bozy had sort of turned into my bodyguard and big brother since I got transferred to medium security back in February. What was funny about it, Bozy was about five-six, maybe one-forty after chow. He was locked up for stealing checks; he had used ‘em to buy his girlfriend some clothes for her new job, so they could get ahead.
And here I was, six-two and finishing a stretch for armed robbery. Bozy took up for me on day one. Turned out he was just a really good guy deep down. Being kinda small, he had to kick the shit out of three other inmates on his first day—and they tell me he did it easy.
I had managed to maintain good behavior while I was in max. So when I showed up at County to do my last year, I was nervous, coming off like a bitch waiting to be broken. He told everybody right away to lay off. And they did.
I found myself turning around, realizing I got antsy anytime his black ass got too far away, and made my way toward him. Further down the stretch was Tollison, Jefferies and Pokey, so-named not because he was slow, but because he had poked out the eye of one of his mugging victims. They were all caught up in filling their trash bags, thinking about what it would be like to be back out here everyday, I guess.
Puttering around the side of the road, I found a half-empty, fairly fresh bag of Funyons, and thought about holding onto it, passing it off to the hobo when he made his way past us. I didn’t expect he’d get hit by a car.
Right as I picked up the bag and rolled it up, Officer Schlotsky started toward me, bowing up his arms and shoulders, bringing his shotgun around in front of him like he was ready to bring it up and butt me with it. “Whatchoo got there, Randall? Lemme see it.”
“It’s just a snack. For that man.” I pointed off toward that weird guy still stumbling our way, sure Schlotsky would take one look and wave it off. Instead, he had to be an asshole about it.
He slapped the bag out of my hands, spilling Funyons all over the dewy grass. “Fuck that. If you was a good Samaritan, you wouldn’t be here.” Then Schlotsky stepped on those Funyons, crushing them into the ground, staring me down all squinty-eyed like the pig he was; tough with his shotgun. Just like I had been with mine.
This entry was posted on January 8, 2014 by Patrick Greene. It was filed under Excerpts, Horror, Zombies and was tagged with anthology, Armand Rosamilia, Dying Days, excerpt, Horror, Patrick C. Greene, still dying, Zombie, zombies.