Zombie Dust: An Extreme Horror Novel Read online

  Zombie Dust:

  An Extreme Horror Novel

  Title Page

  Zombie Dust:

  An Extreme Horror Novel

  Jubilee Savage

  Boston, Massachusetts

  2017

  Copyright Page

  Copyright 2017 Jubilee Savage

  First Edition

  Epigraph

  I squeeze the deceased

  The cranium, like a fruit

  I drink it with ice

  ~J.S.

  Dedication

  Zombie Dust: An Extreme Horror Novel

  is dedicated to J.S.

  Thank you for supporting me through the writing process.

  Thank you for bringing me joy.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  ***

  Chapter One

  Dripping sweat, Audrey McDonald made her way to the front of the church. Her skin was crawling as if there were ants traveling her veins like cars on highways, and she was simultaneously shivering and experiencing flashes of heat at once.

  One thought repeated itself over and over in Audrey's fever-addled brain. Only God can save me now.

  As the priest droned from behind the altar, Audrey slipped into the first pew and sat down hard on the wooden bench.

  She pulled her short skirt down to her knees and pressed her inner thighs together before hunching her upper body forward and placing her elbow strategically on the fabric to conceal the bloodstain.

  Audrey surreptitiously looked around her. From what she could see, Mass wasn’t particularly well attended. It didn’t matter to her either way. She didn’t come here for company or for the lack thereof; she came here to pray.

  Satisfied that none of the other parishioners could see her from their own pews, particularly while engaged in a series of sitting, standing and kneeling, Audrey lifted the hem of her skirt high enough to survey the damage. If God couldn't help her, then no one could.

  There, on her otherwise creamy thigh, was a somewhat circular wound that had been made by a man whom she didn’t know. That wasn’t exactly true; she did know him in the biblical sense, but that was all. As it turned out, that was more than enough.

  Tears welled up in Audrey’s eyes, blurring the sight of the bite wound that marred her skin. Hookers didn’t have health insurance.

  Although she was reasonably sure that she needed a doctor’s expertise, Audrey thought she might try prayer instead. It was cheaper, and she didn't know how she would explain her predicament to a doctor.

  God outranked even the best medical professionals anyhow. That was what her mother had taught her.

  At least the bleeding had stopped, but the edges of the wound were turning black. The center of the lesion was still wet and sticky. However, its perimeter was dry and beginning to flake like ashes or dandruff.

  Beads of sweat welled up on her forehead before rolling down her tear-streaked face. Pressing her skirt back into place over the spot where the man had bitten her, Audrey clasped her hands together and commenced praying the only way that she knew how.

  She recalled the words that she had learned in Sunday school when she was a little girl. Just like back then, they held no comfort for her. If there was a time to believe in God with absolute faith, then this was it.

  However, Audrey couldn't help but worry that God was just a myth created to keep the people mollified and sheep-like. Either way, prayer was her only option. So she prayed.

  Audrey didn’t bother to pretend to engage in the slow, hymn-accompanied gymnastics of sit-stand-kneel-and-repeat with her fellow parishioners. There were weightier things on her mind, and her leg felt like it was on fire.

  Dizzy and scared, Audrey closed her eyes, gripped the fabric of her skirt, clenched her teeth against the throbbing pain in her upper thigh and begged God for forgiveness for her sins. She thought that was as good a place as any to start.

  Born and raised Catholic, a prostitute was the last thing that she’d imagined she would be when she grew up. She wasn’t even good at it. Like a lovable character she’d seen in a decades-old movie, Audrey was just trying to pay the rent.

  The scent of incense filled her nostrils, and the organ music swelled, surrounding her with a sound vaguely reminiscent of a carnival. She continued to pray.

  When she collected the nerve to check her thigh for miraculous improvement, she was sorely disappointed. The circle of teeth marks was black and sooty; the red, raw ruins within were covered in a gray dust that seemed to be sprouting from her flesh like mold.

  Audrey used the back of one hand to wipe the sweat away from her forehead. The neckline of her summer blouse was drenched with perspiration. Her armpits, beneath her breasts and the place at the apex of her thighs were like swampland or rainforests.

  It was summer, and it was hot, but Audrey knew that it wasn’t this hot. She could feel a fever swelling within her, and a burning pain spread like wildfire from the site of the infection in her leg throughout her entire body.

  "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Audrey whispered. She knew there was more to the prayer, but she couldn't remember what it was.

  Sobbing, she crumpled into a ball on the hard wooden pew without caring who saw or heard her. She didn't notice when Mass ended and she was alone.

  A gentle hand on her shoulder made her look up from her bloodstained skirt. "Do you need help?" a voice asked.

  Audrey raised her eyes and saw the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes upon, and he was wearing a priest's collar. "Wh- what?" she asked.

  He didn't remove his hand from her shoulder. "Do you mind if I sit down?" the priest asked.

  Audrey shrugged, which he must have taken as an invitation because he sat down beside her in a graceful movement that hinted at the toned muscles hidden beneath the priestly garments.

  "I'm Father Matthew," he said. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

  "No," Audrey said. "I've never been here before." Despite her pain, the fever, and the almost certain knowledge that she was going to burn in Hell for selling her body to pay the rent, she couldn't take her eyes off Father Matthew's cornflower blue eyes.

  Those blue eyes found their way to Audrey's lap. "Is that blood? Are you hurt?" His hand moved from her shoulder to her knee.

  "Don't." Audrey pushed Father Matthew's hand away, and her movement made her skirt ride high on her thighs, exposing her source of shame.

  Father Matthew's blue eyes opened wide in surprise. "We have to get you to a hospital," he said. "That looks infected." It was the understatement of the year, but he was trained to remain calm in the face of - whatever that was.

  "No," Audrey said. She didn't bother to straighten her skirt. Her skin itched. Her bones ached. Her vision was spotted black and red around the edges, mimicking the colors surrounding and filling the ring of teeth marks on her leg.

  "I don't have health insurance, and I don't have any money." Audrey wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Father Matthew got to his feet. "That doesn't matter. They can't deny you treatment. It's the law." He took her hand in his. "Can you walk?"

  Audrey shook her head. "I'm not going to the hospital," she said. "You can't make me." She pouted like a child, which wasn't far from the truth; she was barely an adult.

  Father Matthew sat back down. "I have a first aid kit downstairs in my office. Wait here. I'll go get it, and we'll get you patched up as best as we can. Then we'll figure out what our next step should be."

  "Don't leave me." Panic crept into Audrey's voice. "I don't want to be alone."

  "You won't be alone." Father Matthew stood again. "Can you walk, or do you want me to carry y
ou?" His eyes showed concern. "I can carry you."

  "I'll walk." Audrey got to her feet and winced. The pain was still there, spreading and needle sharp. Sweat trickled down the insides of her thighs. She gasped. "I'm okay. It's not as bad as it looks."

  In the back of her mind, she chastised herself for lying to a man of the cloth.

  Father Matthew led Audrey to a door set in the wall to the far right of the altar. They passed through the doorway and down a narrow set of warped steps that led to the basement.

  Sunlight streamed into the stairwell from a window set high into the wall, illuminating and heating the enclosed area. Audrey could feel fresh rivulets of sweat form on her skin and stream downward until puddles of moisture pooled inside her shoes.

  By the time they reached Father Matthew's downstairs office, Audrey was close to losing consciousness. She allowed herself to be arranged in a comfortable armchair as her eyes fluttered, and everything took on shades of gray.

  She was barely aware of Father Matthew's hands on her thighs, his fingers deftly lifting her skirt to access the festering abscess, the smell of disinfectant in the air and the sound of the priest's low voice offering comfort, forgiveness, both or neither.

  When she opened her eyes, her leg was bandaged. Her feet were resting on an ottoman, and her shoes were on the floor.

  If it weren't for the continual drain of sweat from her pores and the sharper-than-a-serpent's-tooth sting in her injured leg, she could almost have convinced herself that everything was going to be fine.

  "Would you like a glass of wine?" Father Matthew held out a glass of red liquid, and Audrey took it from his hand.

  "Is this communion wine?" Audrey asked. She took a sip.

  Father Matthew winked. "I won't tell if you won't," he said. "That reminds me. What happened to your leg?"

  Audrey took another sip of the wine. It helped numb the pain but did nothing for the overwhelming heat raging within her body. "I don't want to talk about it," she said.

  Her next drink of wine was more of a gulp than a sip. "A man bit me in the leg after we had sex," she blurted out. "Then he didn't even pay me."

  "I see." The priest nodded his head. He'd heard worse.

  The wine loosened Audrey's tongue. Her panic subsided, not altogether but enough that she almost forgot to worry about the ashy black lines spreading outward from beneath the bandage on her leg.

  "I lost my job," Audrey said. "My boyfriend left me. The rent is overdue." She sandwiched a deep breath between two gulps of wine. "A friend of mine convinced me to have sex for money, just a couple of times. I just wanted to make enough money to pay the rent."

  Father Matthew silently refilled her glass.

  "I only did it twice. The first time was disgusting, but it was quick." She stared into the depths of her wine glass. "The second time was last night. He was a soldier. Said he just got back from deployment overseas." She shivered despite the heat.

  "He's the one who hurt you," Father Matthew said. It wasn't a question.

  Audrey nodded. "He was hot. Sweating. We were in a hotel room with the air conditioner on full blast, but he was still on fire. When he took off his clothes, he had this rash on his skin. It was gross."

  "What did it look like?"

  Audrey closed her eyes against the memory.

  "His skin had scaly patches all over it. It was like rosacea or eczema, except his skin was black in spots. Those black spots were flaking and dry, like dust. It was on his clothes. It was on the sheets." She shuddered. "It even got on my skin."

  Father Matthew refilled his own cup of wine. "Continue," he said.

  "There isn't much to say. Oh, you mean about this." Audrey gestured in the direction of her injured leg. "Well, after we had, um, relations, he sort of crawled between my legs, and I thought that he was going to put his mouth on me down there. Do you know what I mean?"

  Father Matthew tried to suppress a chuckle but failed. "I know exactly what you mean. This might surprise you, but I was a man before I was a priest." He pointed to the collar around his neck. "I wasn't born this way."

  "Right," Audrey said. "So, I was lying there, waiting for him to do whatever he was going to do because I didn't want to be rude, and I needed the money. Then he goes and bites my leg, tears out a bloody chunk of flesh and swallows it."

  She absentmindedly scratched her arm; the itching was everywhere.

  "What happened next?" Father Matthew asked.

  "I don't know. All I remember was the pain and the panic, and then I fainted. When I regained consciousness, he was gone. There wasn't much blood, just this gross black stuff like gunpowder caked all over the wound. I wanted to go to the hospital, but I couldn't; I just couldn't."

  Father Matthew unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and pulled off his collar.

  "God helps those who help themselves," he said. "It's important to pray, and I'm happy that you thought to come here to talk to God, but it's also important for us to seek medical attention when it's warranted. I'd like you to reconsider going to the hospital. We can take my car."

  "No," Audrey said. "I just need to get some sleep. Do you think you could give me a ride to my apartment?"

  "You shouldn't be alone." Father Matthew stopped to think. "I live next door in the rectory. You could spend the night with me there, and I could keep an eye on you to make sure you're okay." He winked. "I've got air conditioning and aspirin. If we're lucky, we might be able to get your fever under control."

  "How do you know I have a fever?" Audrey asked.

  "Just call it a hunch." He scratched his arm.

  "Did you wear gloves when you cleaned and bandaged my leg?" Audrey asked.

  "No. I used hand sanitizer, but I didn't have any gloves. Don't worry. I was careful not to touch the open skin, and I used disinfectant and antibiotic ointment before I put on the bandage."

  "Did you wash your hands afterward?"

  Father Matthew shook his head. "No," he said. He scratched his arm again. "There's an underground tunnel that leads right into the basement of the rectory. Let's get you into some dry clothes and get you a good night's sleep. I'll take a shower after you're settled."

  "Okay." Audrey didn't think she'd ever be settled again. She could see a powdery black substance on Father Matthew's hands, and she thought it looked like the dry patches surrounding the open lesion on her leg. "You should probably go wash your hands first."

  Chapter Two

  Cursing silently to himself, Dr. Noble Kent grabbed the chart for the next emergency room patient on the list. Weekends tended to be busy, but tonight was a horror show.

  In addition to the usual car crash victims, drug overdoses and alcohol poisonings, there were several crazed patients babbling about being attacked by the living dead.

  It was the last thing he needed. After eight years working the emergency room nights, weekends and full moons aplenty, he'd had all the excitement he could stand.

  At this point in his life, all he wanted was a little bit of peace and quiet. Dr. Kent could never understand people who loved a challenge. All he really loved was his paycheck.

  There were mortgages and car payments to make, two of each now that his divorce was final and the judge had awarded his ex-wife everything she wanted plus the kitchen sink and a big, fat monthly alimony payment to match her big, fat ass.

  He sighed and shook his head. What could be the reason for tonight's increase in delusional patients? The moon wasn't even full.

  Perhaps there was some new synthetic drug going around and making people think they were seeing ghouls. Or maybe it was mass hysteria.

  Either way, Dr. Kent wasn't looking forward to spending the next twelve hours babysitting lunatics, calling for psych evaluations and prescribing tranquilizers.

  Gritting his teeth, Dr. Kent pushed the curtain aside in examining area two. In addition to the malodorous, disheveled and sweating man strapped to the gurney, there were two armed and uniformed police officers standing guard and a solit
ary nervous nurse trying to fasten a blood pressure cuff to the patient.

  "Please hold still," the nurse said. "This will be over so much quicker if you just cooperate. We need to check your blood pressure. It won't hurt. I promise."

  The patient gnashed his teeth and drooled. His eyes were wild.

  Grimacing, the nurse tried again, but the man managed to jerk his arm to the side as far as the nylon straps would allow. It was enough to prevent the woman from wrapping the cuff around his bicep.

  "Please calm down," she said through clenched teeth. "You're just making things harder for everyone."

  "I don't think he understands what you're saying," one of the officers said. "He's been like this since we picked him up. Crazy as a loon. You'd get better results talking to a bed pan." He laughed at his own joke.

  The doctor glanced down at the chart before speaking. "What brings you here tonight, Mr. Doe?" he asked, immediately realizing his mistake. The patient was a John Doe, not Mr. John Doe. Dr. Kent turned to one of the police officers. "He doesn't have any identification?"

  "No," the officer said. The name Fitzpatrick was embossed on his badge. "Afraid not. We picked him up downtown after we got a call of a disturbance at a strip club."

  "Drunk and disorderly?"

  "He was trying to bite the strippers. A couple of regulars said he's a homeless guy who usually panhandles in front of the club and sleeps behind the dumpster in the parking lot after the place closes. Harmless guy until tonight. We don't know what made him decide to enter the club and try to make a couple of dancers into a snack."

  Dr. Kent made no attempt to draw closer to the patient. "Give him two milligrams of Ativan," he told the nurse. "That should make him a little more cooperative."

  "I haven't been able to insert an I.V.," the nurse replied. "I can't even check his blood pressure." She sighed.

  "Inject it intramuscularly. Forget about the blood pressure reading for now. You can try again after the Ativan." The doctor spoke with authority. The last thing he needed was a frazzled nurse added to the mix. "Go now."