Razors and Zombies
Chapter One:
Imagine that you're in a little place far away. Far away from all civilization. No more traffic. No more
people. No more bothersome noises. You're just by yourself, enjoying the freedom you now possess.
All around you are trees, meadows, and scenery so beautiful that you're in awe. You can hear the rapids
of a nearby river. You listen to the birds chirping, the horses and cattle grazing, and that little white dog
of yours frolicking through the trees.
It's your dream come true: living such a peaceful life so far from civilization. You have your animals and
prized possessions. You're the happiest girl alive.
But you're also lonely. Depressed. Ready to give up. Missing everything you had left behind. Nothing
would prepare you for the loneliness that you'd succumb to. Not even those How to guides would help
you succeed in living the life of utter loneliness and despair.
Truth was, the only reason you were out here was because of the whole disease outbreak that occurred
within that large city you were living in. It spread like a wildfire, infecting young and old alike. Unlike
your average disease, it was the kind of disease you'd only witness in horror movies. You know, the
disease that causes the dead to return to life: as Zombies, that is. You had no idea about its origins or
the nature of it; all you knew was that people were dying left and right from it, and you had to get out of
the city ASAP.
You had no family left: your parents, two brothers and one sister fell victim to its effects and kicked the
bucket months ago.
You did have someone, though. You met him at a gas station on your way here. You were hesitant to
make conversation with him, but he was the only living person you had seen while on your way to the
country. He had your typical emo boy hairstyle: all black hair that’s straight and layered with the longest
part going around an inch or so past the ears; and a fringe in the front, almost covering up his left eye. A
multitude of piercings were pierced into his left ear. His right brow and the left side of his upper lip were
also pierced. A full sleeve of tattoos took over the skin of his right arm, while his left arm remained pale
white and tat-free.
Ten minutes of conversation revealed to you a bit about him: twenty five years old. Diagnosed with
Antisocial Personality disorder; previously locked up in an institution for life due to his mental illness and
the nature of the crimes he committed. He had a real good lawyer who convinced the Judge to give him
life in an institution instead of life in a prison cell. His crimes? 1st degree murder times fifteen. He was a
serial killer who had an obsession and love for zombies and all things horror. You were totally freaked
out about the fact he was a serial killer, but you came to realize that his love and knowledge of zombies
and anything horror was helpful and would lead to a better survival.
He told you his name was Razor. Yeah, Razor. It was actually a nickname. The reason he was nicknamed
that was because he used a razor to slice off the skin of his victims so that he could cook it up and eat it.
Gross, right? Yeah, well, this is the guy you’ll be traveling and living with.
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Do you like the sounds of your life so far? I sure hope so, because it's real. It's true. It's the life one of
you suckers will be living.
You wanna know who that sucker is?
*Raises a hand* That would be me.
Welcome to my new life. Instead of wishing for all those luxuries I once obsessed over and dreamt about
having, the only thing I’m now wishing for is living another day in this fucked up place that once crawled
with humans. Now, it's infested with the dead.
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Chapter Two:
Kissing. Skin to skin. Sweat seeping from pores. Thrusting. Slapping of skin. Eyes staring into one
another’s. Moans of pleasure. Grasping of sides and backs. Deep, heavy breathing. Thrusting faster and
faster. More moaning. Cumming. Moaning so loud and intense. One last kiss, and then it was up.
It started with a kiss, and it ended with one, too. I lost it to a twenty-five-year-old serial killer who only
identified himself as Razor.
I didn’t want to die a virgin, that’s the only reason why I did it with him. Had this whole disease outbreak
not have happened, I would have been horribly ashamed and disgusted with myself for doing something
like that. But I wasn’t ashamed; I sort of –no, I really –liked it. It felt nice being so intimate with a guy. I
felt so safe under his slender white body. I loved the way he held me in his arms afterward, stroking at
my hair and giving me kisses on my cheek and neck. I never thought a serial killer could be so warm and
kind to anyone. It was nice, and a memory I’d never forget.
The next morning, I remember waking up to eyes staring into mine. Deep blue Siamese cat colored eyes
staring into murky green ones. His were thickly lined with black eyeliner; mine were free of any makeup.
The black eyeshadow on his lids was smudged, as was the eyeliner. “You’re now a woman,” Razor said,
grinning at me.
I didn’t feel like one. I was just sixteen years old. I wasn’t even old enough to consent to sex. I just
looked at him, smiling and grasping a hold of the sheets that covered our naked bodies. “I am?” I asked.
“Just don’t let your folks find out about it,” he joked. “My ass would get it, wouldn’t it?”
I sighed. “They’re dead,” I whispered. “The disease got to them – all of them.”
“I killed mine,” responded Razor, a prideful grin now worn on his face.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Did they catch the disease?”
“No.” He slid his arms under the covers, his fingers working their way to my thighs. “They pissed me off.”
That worried me. “Would you kill me if I pissed you off?”
His fingers caressed up and down the skin of my inner thighs. “Maybe,” he replied, laughing so hard that
I could of sworn I heard the devil in him.
“You’re sick, Razor.” I slid a hand under the cover, grasping his hands and throwing them off my thighs.
“Wow, what a big surprise,” he sarcastically remarked. “A sick serial killer. Man, I never would have seen
that one coming!”
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Sometimes I wanted to take one of our guns and shoot his brains out. His sick, demented, sarcastic ways
really got on my nerves at times. I mean, my god! Does it really kill you to be respectful for once? To not
be all sarcastic when I say the wrong thing? To not tell me about the ways you killed your victims? Razor,
I don’t want to hear a lot of the things you have to say!
“It’s been four years since I’ve fucked a girl,” Razor told me.
“Four years?”
“Well, four years since I’ve fucked a living one,” he responded.
Ew. As disgusting as that was, it didn’t surprise me. Razor was the most fucked up person I had ever met.
He loved to fuck around with the young and old, and living and dead. And anything in between. His
youngest rape victim was a baby; his oldest was a freshly turned one-hundred-and-two-year-old.
“Do you like living or dead better?” I teased him.
He thought for a moment. “That’s a hard question,” was his response. “Each has its good and bad
points.”
“Well, did you at least have fun with me?”
His eyes chillingly gazed into mine. “You were a cute piece of fresh meat,” he replied with a smile.
“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But did you have fun?”
“It was a new experience for me,” was all he responded back to me.
“A new experience?”
“Being gentle. I’ve never been gentle,” he said, shifting his eyes away from mine. “It was all an act.”
The passion and warmth he treated me with last night? Yeah, well, it was all an act. He didn’t mean any
of it.
“I’m a serial killer, you silly girl,” he continued. “I don’t feel anything toward anyone else. I don’t love
people. I’m incapable of love. All I care about is hurting others.”
“You must be capable of love. I mean, you’ve treated me so lovingly…and you haven’t tried to kill me.”
“Yet!”
“You mean, you’d really try to kill me?”
He bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he said, staring down at the sheets. “When the urges come forth, they’re
impossible to control.”
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“So that means you’d kill me, doesn’t it?”
He continued to stare down at the sheets. “Not exactly,” he tried to assure me. “I have zombies to use
my rage on.”
I laughed. “Good,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that, or else I think I’d be totally
fucked.”
“You already are totally fucked,” he whispered. “Remember? I fucked you last night.”
God have mercy on me! I damn well was desperate to have done it with this Freakshow of a guy! But
first off, why was I so unlucky enough to have been stuck with a serial killer? Why couldn’t he have just
been a normal person, for Christ’s sake? But I digress.
That whole thing happened yesterday and the night before. Today was fresh new day – a very long day
that Razor and I spent plotting out our next getaway. It was now night and all I wanted to do was fall
right to sleep on this comfortable king sized mattress that was in the empty house we found a week ago.
Razor was laying next to me on the bed, a can of Budweiser in his right hand.
He took a sip from his Bud. “Hey,” he said as he turned his body toward mine.
“Yeah?” I looked up from the How To Survive: a Zombie Invasion joke book I was reading.
“I kinda like you,” he told me, taking another sip of Bud.
“Oh yeah?” I looked over at him, a smile starting to form on my face.
He reached his left hand under the covers, searching for something in his pockets. Once done searching,
he pulled out a diamond ring, of which he slid up my left index finger. “You’re mine,” he said, managing
the creepiest grin I had ever seen as he fixed his eyes on mine.
I eyed the ring. It was beautiful: a two carat diamond with a platinum band. “It’s beautiful, Razor,” I
whispered lovingly to him, my right hand reaching out for his left wrist, taking his hand into mine.
“Thank you!”
“I wanna do something normal for once in my life,” he confessed to me. “Like have a family.”
“A family?” This serial killer wanted a family? A family? Okay, this is getting interesting!
“Yeah, a family. Like, kids and shit.”
I sighed. “How many beers did you have?”
“Just this one,” he said, holding up the twelve-ounce can of Budweiser.
I went back to reading my book. “What if I get pregnant?”
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“Then I guess we’re having baby stew in nine months,” he replied, laughing coldly.
I put my book down and gave him the death glare. “Not funny.”
He stopped laughing and grabbed my hand. “I’m kidding,” he whispered. “I think it’d be pretty cool to be
a dad.”
I met Razor four months ago. Through those four months, we’ve been through hell and back. We’ve
seen each other at our worst and our best. I still didn’t even know his real name or what his career was
before he was in the institution. He had a lot of medical knowledge, which was very helpful to us both;
especially when I broke my leg trying to free my little white dog from building rubble. That stupid little
mutt had me cussing like a sailor!
“I never would have thought you liked kids,” I said to Razor. “Didn’t you used to rape them?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his fingers. “But I wouldn’t do it to my own. I wouldn’t fuck around with
my own flesh and blood.”
“But you killed your family,” I said, staring intensely at him.
“They deserved to die,” he said coldly. “And the difference between them and kids of mine is choice. I
never chose my parents, yet I have a choice to have kids.”
“They’d be some fucked up kids,” I replied.
“Good. We need some more serial killers around with this whole zombie invasion going on.”
“You’re weird, Razor,” I whispered as I patted his flat stomach. “But in some sick, odd, fucked up away,
I’m kind of glad we met.”
“Look, Christy, it’s been four months,” he said, twirling a lock of my dark auburn hair with his index
finger. “I think it’s time I confess some things to you.”
Wow, he used my name for once. Yeah, my name was Christy. Usually, he’d just call me girl or hun or
baby or something stupid like that. But he just used my name for the first time ever, and it was kind of
heartwarming in some weird sort of way. “Go ahead,” I told him. “Confess your sins.”
Razor laughed. “They’re not sins,” he told me. “They’re some things…things about my life. Not the sick
things, but the personal things.”
“Like your name?”
“Hey, you silly girl, don’t get ahead of yourself. That’s a real personal detail.”
“I didn’t realize a name was that personal.”
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Yeah, and guess what? He called me that stupid name again: silly girl. I hated when he did that, because
it made me feel like some stupid little girl.
“It isn’t,” he said with a scowl. “It’s only that personal to me.”
I wondered why it was that personal. I mean, it was just his name, for Christ’s sake; it wasn’t like I was
asking for details on how he jerked off or killed or something. I hated calling him Razor. I wanted to call
him by his real name. But I knew better than to keep pushing it. He one time held a gun up to my
temple, threatening me that if I asked him again, he’d blow my brains out and eat them raw.
“Well, tell me the things you were going to confess.”
“No.” He turned his body away from mine. “You fucked up the moment. Now I’ll never tell you, you
stupid little girl.”
“Fine,” I said angrily. “Goodnight.”
“Bitch,” he muttered before throwing his Bud can to the ground and passing out.
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Chapter Three:
“Ooh, god, Christy,” moaned a voice, trying so hard to imitate the voice of a zombie. “I had so much fun
eating you out last night. Your brains tasted soooooo good.”
Wet, cold, stiff fingers were stroking at the skin of my bare stomach. “I fucked your pussy real good,”
continued the voice. “Me and you is gonna have zombie babies.”
I felt two warm hands on the top of my knees, gently parting them. One of the hands slid down my
thighs, going toward my crotch. “Wake up,” Razor whispered in my ear, his hand on my crotch; he began
to finger me with one of his fingers.
I opened up my eyes and looked to my right. On the pillow, eyes wide open and staring at me, was the
head of an old man zombie.
“Razor,” I screamed, trying to squirm off the bed.
Razor had a stereo remote in his left hand. He pressed “play” and on came Without Emotions by
Combichrist. He grinned as the music blasted from the stereo.
“Without emotions. Without feelings. Without love. Without hate,” he began to sing the beginning lyrics
of the song.
“Why the fuck is there a zombie in the bed?” I yelled at him, slapping him across the face.
He grabbed my hand and began to lick it. “It turns me on to see you scared and hear you scream.”
Razor moved his hand toward my wrist and began to bring my hand down to his boxers. Slowly he began
to move my open palm up and down the bulge in his boxers. “You’ve awaken the demon,” he said,
heaving as my fingers touched at his erection. “Now you gotta make him go to sleep.”
He grabbed at both my upper arms and sat me up. “You’ve got two options,” he said, grabbing my hand
again and bringing it over to his erection. “Suck it or fuck it.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” I hissed, pulling my hand away.
“No you aren’t,” he yelled, pulling a pistol from off the bed and aiming it at my temple.
“I know you didn’t load that one,” I said, laughing.
He cocked the pistol. “Suck it or fuck it. Whatcha going to do?”
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I sighed loudly as I spread my thighs, shrugging my shoulders. “Whatever.”
Razor pulled down his boxer, got in between my thighs and…put it in…there. His hands worked their
way toward mine, pushing mine right up against the wall. “Mmm,” he moaned as he began to thrust
slowly. “You’re so tight.”
It was really uncomfortable when he first put it in, but it progressively started to feel better now that he
had me “stretched” down there and was taking things slower. His lips worked their way to my neck,
slowly sucking at the skin. Between the sucking and kissing, he managed to moan this treasure, “I’m
gonna bite you…like a vampire.”
Teeth sank into my skin, puncturing it. Blood seeped from the puncture wound, working its way down
my neck. “Fuck, Razor,” I screamed, bringing my right hand to the wound. “Why would you fucking bite
me?”
He slapped my hand away, bringing his mouth to the wound, and began licking and sucking at it. “You
taste so good,” he moaned, his thrusting becoming faster and faster.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of it going in and out instead of the pain. Making a big
stink about what he did to me would just piss Razor off, and that’s something I didn’t want to do to a
serial killer. The sex didn’t last long, though; four minutes later and he cummed, moaning lowly. Razor
pulled out, yanked up his boxers and laid on my left side, right up against me, almost hanging off the
bed. Limbs and the head of a dead zombie lay on the other side of the bed, hence the reason he didn’t
want to lay back down there.
A couple of minutes passed. Then a half hour. And finally, an hour. We laid in silence, occasionally taking
peeks at one another. I decided to break the silence. “Do you only get pleasure out of hurting others?”
“Yes,” he said as he rose from the bed and walked into the master bath. He came back in with a medical
kit, which he sat next to me and opened up. He pulled out a small bottle of water, a gauze pad, tissues,
surgical tape and a small pair of scissors. After grabbing the water bottle and opening it, he poured
some water over the wound; next, he took a couple of tissues and wiped off the remaining water.
“Wouldn’t it have been better to have used hydrogen peroxide?” I asked as I watched him take the
gauze pad out of its packaging and pick up the scissors and surgical tape.
“No. Hydrogen peroxide does clean the wound, yeah; but it also damages healthy cells, which
consequently slows the healing,” he replied to me as he took the scissors into his left hand and began
cutting strips of surgical tape.
“Oh, I never knew that.”
“Well,” he said with a smile, “I was a paramedic, so I really hope I’d know my stuff!”
“A paramedic?” I asked as I watched him place a strip of surgical tape on each side of the gauze pad.
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“I killed more people than I saved,” he replied, laughing loudly. “But yeah, I was a paramedic.”
“Good thing I never needed an ambulance,” I said as I laughed uneasily.
“Good thing’s right.” He applied the gauze pad to my wound. “But my main career was as a Mortician.”
“That definitely sounds like your field of expertise,” I said as I looked up at him and smiled. “Must have
been the best job in the world for you.”
“Oh, it was,” he said, smiling back at me. “My dad and grandfather and great grandfather were all
Morticians. It was the family business. I was only eight when my dad started teaching me the ropes.”
“Sounds like you come from a lineage of fucked up folks.”
“Morbid? Yeah. Fucked up? Na. I was the only fucked up one of my family.”
A paramedic: saving the lives of people; a Mortician: burying the people whose lives couldn’t be saved.
Razor chose two opposite paths, and meshed them together with the one thing they sometimes had in
common: death.
“I was your age when I had my first fuck,” Razor told me. “Sixteen and so fucking horny.”
“Go on. I wanna hear more.”
“You do?” I guess he was surprised because usually I told him to shut up about the sick shit he would tell
me.
“Yeah. This is getting interesting.”
“She was a day old corpse,” he said with a grin. “Pretty little thing. Red haired, green eyed, skin as cold
as the arctic ice and the color of grey-white. She looked a hell of a lot like you, except her heart beat no
more and her skin was leather hard.”
“Wow, sounds like she had you as stiff as her skin was hard.”
“Oh, god, yes! She always got me stiff in an instance,” Razor said with a snicker.”She was only nine when
she died.”
“What did she die of?”
Razor frowned. “An asthma attack.”
I grabbed his hand. “That’s sad,” I said as I, too, frowned.
“She loved me a lot. Like, to the point of wanting to marry me and have a family and shit like that.”
“Did you have feelings for her?”
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“I don’t know,” he replied. “She was different, though; different from everyone else. She made me
happy.”
“Sounds like you had feelings for her, Razor.”
“We would kiss and makeout and touch…and were just about to fuck. “
“What happened?”
“We were in her bedroom, on her bed, naked; touching, kissing. She wanted to give me head, so I told
her how, and she started to do it.”
“And?”
“Her dad walked in just as I was about to cum.”
“Was he pissed?”
“Oh god, yes,” Razor said with enthusiasm. “He was furious. Raged beyond belief. He wanted to kill me.”
“What did you do?”
“I pushed her away, grabbed my boxers and pulled them on as fast as I possibly could, then I grabbed
my clothes and shoes and jumped out the window.”
“Wow.”
“Her dad called my dad and told him what happened.”
“Did your dad punish you?”
“He yelled at me for a half hour, and then told me that if I got anywhere near her again, he’d embalm
me alive,” Razor said, frowning as he looked at me. “Later that night, he took me down to the basement
and beat me till I was bloody and raw.”
Razor took my hand and ran it down the middle of his body. “Can you feel it?” he asked.
“Feel what?”
“The scar.”
“No.”
“Of course not,” he said angrily. He pointed to the middle of his chest. “But you can see it, can’t you?”
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I looked at where he pointed and saw a very faint scar going from his chest and down to just a little
above his belly button. “It’s faint. Very faint.”
“I was caught hanging out with her by the river a week after the incident. And you know what my dad
did to me?”
“What?”
“He locked me in the embalming room until two in the morning. A total of fourteen fucking hours!”
“Is that all he did?”
“No,” Razor hissed. “He came in at two in the morning and wrestled me onto the table he’d put the stiffs
on. After he yanked off my shirt and strapped me down, he turned on the medical lights, pulled on a pair
of gloves and grabbed a scalpel. ‘Jesse,’ he hissed at me, hitting me across the face with the end of the
scalpel, ‘You’re one fucked up kid. And you know what fucked up kids get? They get cut open and
stripped of all their organs.’ And without any kind of anesthesia, he cut the scalpel deep into my skin. I
was crying and struggling and yelping. ‘How does it feel?’ he asked me as he laughed. ‘How does it feel
to be cut open? To be held down against your will? To be just another stiff on my fucking table?’ All I
could manage was, ‘Dad! Please Dad! Please stop! I promise I’ll never…I’ll never see that girl again!’ He
stopped cutting and said, ‘You better mean it, because if you don’t, next time you won’t be so lucky.’ He
stitched up the wound and kept me tied down to the table till ten in the fucking morning!”
“Damn, your dad sounded so abusive!”
“And only to me,” said Razor. “My brother and three sisters never got punished. Never.”
“You have a brother and three sisters?”
“Yeah, and I’m the oldest.”
“Are they still alive?”
“I don’t know,” he said coldly. “My brother was two years younger than me, and he had down
syndrome. He’d always look up to me, and do whatever shit I wanted him to do. I kind of miss the little
retard.”
I scowled in disgust. “How could you ever call someone a retard?!”
“Cody’s his name. He was a cute little guy: short and fat with black hair and pale blue eyes. Loved flirting
with girls, and they always found it so damn cute.”
“Tell me more about your sisters.”
“Mary’s eleven. Joanne’s thirteen. And Esther’s fifteen.”
“Okay… and?”
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Razor grasped the medical kit container and threw it against the wall. “I fucking killed them all, okay?”
he screamed at me. “One by one I tortured those fucking piece of shit bitches! I dissected them alive
and ate parts of their fucking hearts. Happy now, you stupid fucking bitch? Happy you now know that
shit? Want to know more? Too fucking bad! I fucking hate you! I fucking hate your guts, you fucking
bitch!”
I sighed. It was another one of Razor’s violent outbursts. I watched him as he ran chaotically around the
room, opening up drawers and wildly rooting through them. I got on my knees and pulled something out
from under the bed. “Looking for these?” I asked him as I held up a pack of Marlboro Reds.
He looked over at me and narrowed his brows. “Where the fuck did you find those?”
Razor, Razor, Razor. He’s gone a day without any cigarettes and he’s been acting like a PMSy bitch.
Everything sets him off. Violent outbursts are a dime a dozen when he hasn’t lit one up and smoked it
down to its core within a twenty-four hour period.
I opened up the lid and pulled out a cigarette. “Well, come and get it,” I said playfully to him as I dangled
it around.
He didn’t come for it. Instead, he turned around and rushed out of the bedroom. I rushed out, too, and
we both were headed for the front door.
“Help us! Help us!” a young boy was yelling from outside the door. Razor immediately picked up a semi-
automatic rifle he had placed by the front door, and looked outside the peep hole.
“What the fuck do you want, kid?” he yelled as he continued to peer out.
“Mister, mister!” called the boy. “Please, please, let me and my grandma in! Please!”
“You two fuckers clean or what?”
“We’re clean! No bites. No bites at all. We’re clean.”
“Prove it, kid! Fucking prove it. I don’t want any infected motherfuckers coming in, you hear?”
“Please! Please just let us in, Mister! Please!”
I pushed Razor out of the way, and unlocked and opened the door. “Quick! Get in,” I whispered as I
signaled them in. Once he and his grandmother were in, I shut the door and locked it.
Razor slapped me across the face. “You fucking bitch,” he yelled as he shoved the nozzle of the rifle into
my stomach. “Why’d you let these fuckers in? What if they’re infected, huh? Then what, bitch? Then
what?!”
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The boy had big blue eyes and curly blond locks that reached all the way down to his chin. “My name’s
Tommy,” he told me, his voice shaky. He appeared shaken up and fearful. “I’m eight, and me and my
grandma live a couple streets away from here.”
“And what the fuck’s your name, Grandma?” asked Razor as he looked over at her, his glare cold and
intense.
Tommy’s grandma looked over at me, large glasses framing her squinty blue eyes. Her right hand
nervously combed through her long brown hair. “Ellen.”
“Okay, Ellen, how old are you?” continued to question Razor. I don’t know if he was genuinely curious or
just trying to give her a hard time.
After hesitating for several seconds, she whispered, “Fifty.”
Razor scowled. “Grandma and kid, get the fuck undressed. I gotta check you two fucks for any bites or
shit like that. No infected allowed in this fucking house, ya hear?”
Ellen furiously glared at Razor. “Unacceptable,” she yowled as she grasped Tommy’s shoulders and held
them. “That’s not right to do that to us! We’re not infected.”
Rifle in hands, Razor aimed it right at Ellen’s head. “Get undressed, you fucking hag, or you and the kid
will be my shooting targets.”
“Stop it, Razor,” I whispered bitterly to him. “Stop threatening them!”
He grasped the roots of my hair with his left hand. “I will rape this little bitch right here,” he growled at
Ellen and the boy as he pointed at me, “if you two fucks don’t comply with my rules. You hear me or
what? Strip, fuckers, strip! Get naked in front of me right now.”
Tommy immediately began to strip until he was completely nude. Ellen did so, but very hesitantly and as
slowly as possible.
Once both were finally completely nude, Razor went over and did a full check of their bodies for any
bites or scratches or anything else that could indicated an infection. Once he was done, he looked over
at me. “You better not be getting any ideas, you little whore,” he yelled at me. “You’re not allowed to
fool around with or fuck the little boy. The only dick you get is mine. You got that, whore?”
What the fuck? Why would that asshole say something like that?! I’d never in a million years want to do
anything sexual with some eight-year-old boy! Razor is so going to get it when he’s asleep! That fucking
asshole creep!
He jabbed the rifle nozzle into my stomach. “Got it, whore?”
I looked at him spitefully. “Got it, Master.”
“Oh, so think you can be all snarky with me, huh, whore?”
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I rolled my eyes. “No I’m not.”
“Then fucking take that back! I’m Razor not Master, you fucking whore! Razor, whore! Razor is my
fucking name, and that’s the only thing any of you fuckers is allowed to call me by. Understood? Yeah,
well, you better fucking understand or I’ll blow your fucking brains out with one of my guns,
motherfuckers!”
“Calm down, Razor,” I said, sighing. I knew better than to get upset when he had one of his many freak
outs. Taking it personally was the worst thing to do. This poor boy and his grandma: having to listen to
this. “You’re scaring them.”
He looked over at me and stared… just stared. “You’re right,” he said, finally calming down. “All that this
yelling is doing is attracting those dead motherfuckers. We can’t have that.”
Finally Razor listened. The zombies were attracted to loud noise. The last thing we wanted was to have
them all coming to the house trying to invade. I touched Razor’s shoulder and grabbed his hand. “Let
them put their clothes back on, Razor.”
“You two can put your clothes on,” he said as he took one last glance at them. They stood before him
stark naked and shaken up. As quickly as they possibly could, they put their clothes back on.
Razor headed to the master bedroom after taking one last look at the boy and his grandmother. I
followed behind him and once I was finally at the bedroom, I looked up at him. “Razor,” I began to say,
my hand reaching out for his, “I’m glad you finally listened to me for once.”
He grabbed the pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes I had dropped on the ground. “Yeah, whatever,” he said
with disinterest as grabbed a cigarette lighter from off the bed and pulled out a cigarette.
“What made you finally listen?”
After putting the cigarette in his mouth, he took the lighter and lit the tip. “It wasn’t what you said,” he
said apathetically. “It was ‘cause I realized the zombies would hear.”
Yeah, sure, Razor. Keep on denying it, you selfish, heartless, ignorant bastard. The more you tell yourself
those lies, the more you start to believe it. But whatever; you can believe whatever nonsense you want.
I know the truth.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about that kid, Christy,” he told me, his right hand grasping my shoulder. “You
and him might try and get it on when I’m asleep or some shit like that.”
“What the hell, Razor?” I barked as I shoved him away from me. “You seriously think I have an interest in
an eight-year-old?! I mean, seriously?!”
He took a long drag on his cigarette before replying. “Hey,” he said, his shoulders shrugging as he
smirked, “You might have a thang for the youngins. I mean, c’mon, Christ, he’s kinda yummy, yeah? I
know you want yourself some young boy dick, don’tcha?”
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“Fuck you,” I whispered, shaking my head in disgust. “That’s the last thing I want, you fucking perverted
creep!”
“Ohh, baby, I know what you want,” he said, moaning, as he thrust his hips forward and placed the palm
of his left hand on his crotch. “You want my dick. You want it all day n’ night, just totally pounding that
tight pussy of yours. Mmm, yeah, baby, right? You want this dick. You want it badly.”
Okay, let’s stop for a little and examine what he just said. Are guys really that disgusting, or is it just this
freak I’m stuck with? I’m thinking that it’s the latter? I sure hope so, because if all guys were like this, I’d
be spending to the rest of my life chaste and without any boyfriend. I just can’t believe I was desperate
and stupid enough to have done it with this guy! Ewww!! I’m appalled and ashamed and disgusted and
horrified that I did it with him – with Razor, the biggest, creepiest, grossest, fucked up freak of all. God,
Have Mercy on Me, a Sinner. I fucked up big time, and now I just need to catch a wee bit of a break.
Please? Please? This whole fucking zombie thing destroyed my morals, my hope, my love… my
everything. I’ve become a sinner, a hater, a killer, a slut.
“Is there such thing as God?” I asked Razor. I don’t know why I bothered to ask; he’s a serial killer, for
Christ’s sake! I guess I asked because I was losing my faith in Christianity and God.
Razor laughed loudly. “God? God?” he questioned, his laughing growing louder.
“Yeah, God.”
“You silly girl,” he said, shaking his head. “Religion is shit, and God doesn’t exist – nor did the fucker ever
exist. I’m not going to Hell; you’re not going to Heaven; you and me are both going to the zombies.”
“Don’t you mean the dirt?”
“You think anyone is going to bury us? Hah, that’s a good laugh! You’re so ignorant at times, kiddo.”
Okay, so he was right: no one would be burying us. If we die, it’ll probably be because of the zombies.
And if it isn’t, the zombies will probably find us and eat us. A funeral with a nice casket and a ceremony
with a preacher isn’t going to happen. No one will care when we die. No one else gives a shit about us.
Everyone is either: a.) a zombie; b.) dead; or c.) trying to survive.
Honestly, I no longer have any faith in God. Why would he do this to us? What did we do to deserve this
Hell? I’m a sinner, I realize that; I’m not going to Heaven, I also realize that. But I’m okay with it… sort of.
All I want is to be happy again. All I want is to see other living, healthy humans again. All I want is a
normal fucking life! I’m tired of running. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being lonely. I want to be happy
again!! I just want my family back, and my house, and my friends, and all my pets. Is that so much to
ask? It sure seems like it these days. I need to settle for something realistic; something like just surviving,
because that’s all that matters at a time like this.
I burst into tears right in front of Razor. I just can’t keep it all bundled inside anymore. I had to let off
some steam. He just looked at me like I was a fucking idiot. “Oh god,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.
“What now, you fucking crybaby?”
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“Can’t you for once just hug me?” I whimpered. “Can’t you for once just treat me affectionately? All I ask
is for a little respect and affection, you know? Why the fuck can’t you give just that to me, Razor? You’re
such a heartless, selfish asshole!”
Stare, stare, stare; is that all you can manage to do, Razor? Fucking stare at me some more, why don’t
you?! Keep it up, dude, and maybe you’ll win a fucking award. Oh, no, wait; maybe something magical
will happen. Better, yet: maybe I’ll become your robot and do everything you want, the way you want it.
Come on, Razor, I dare you; keep staring and see what happens. Really, please do. I happen to love
when you stare like a jackass, cold-hearted piece of shit.
“Cry me a fucking river,” he hissed as he got on the bed and laid down. “We’re trying to fucking survive,
and the only thing you can manage to do right now is break down and cry like a fucking baby. God, get
with the program, Christy. I don’t give a shit how you feel, so stop crying; all it does is make me realize
how weak and worthless you are. You have to pull your weight around here, so you better cut the
fucking woe is me show and get with the program. Your ass goes to the zombies if you keep this up,
understood?”
I nodded my head as I wiped away the tears. “Sorry,” I sobbed as I got on the bed and burrowed my
head into the sheets. I felt all alone, so isolated, so unloved. I’m only sixteen. I don’t have much life
experience.
He lay there saying nothing; all he did was smoke his cigarette down to its filter and then extinguished it
on the bed stand. After shoving me off his leg, he got up and stared down at me. “I’m leaving this
shithole,” he said. “You can either come with or continue your little pity party here all by yourself with
this totally doable zombie head. Maybe he’ll even eat you out if you position his head just right.”
I continued to lay there, tears still streaming from my eyes. I really didn’t care anymore. Life sucked and
it wouldn’t get any better, so why should I continue to survive? At this point, death’s the better way out.
I just wanted to lay here and die.
Razor wasn’t letting me be. “Christy,” he said, his hands grasping the side of my body and viciously
shaking it. “Stop this pity party and get up! I’m not leaving you here to die, you stupid girl! Get the hell
up!”
“What do you care?” I mumbled.
“I like you,” he told me as he sat down on the side of the bed. “Even though I want to strangle you half
the time, you keep me sane. I don’t want to be left alone with some grandma and her grandson. I want
you.”
“I hate you!” I screamed as I shoved him off the bed. “I can’t fucking stand you! I hate life, I just want to
die. Can’t you understand, you stupid, pathetic, serial killing freak?! Leave me the hell alone!”
“I’m not letting you die, you stupid girl,” he yelled as he got up from the ground and shoved me off the
bed. “Get your ass up and let’s go.”
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I didn’t budge. I just continued to lay on the ground crying. I was too depressed to care. Razor sure did
care... in some sort of strange Razor-type way. “Get up,” he yelled at me as he grasped the back of my
sweatshirt and tugged. “We’re trying to survive a zombie apocalypse and we need you, Christy.”
“I don’t care,” I cried. “It doesn’t matter anymore! We’re all going to die, so what’s the point of going
on?”
“What happened to the strong willed, happy-go-lucky, optimistic girl I met four months ago?
She succumbed to the misery and loneliness of this newfound world. Once alive and full of life and
destined to live; now, just another pessimistic dumbass ready to cash in her poker chips and end all of
this.
“What happened to that girl, damn it?” He grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me violently.
And then as suddenly as a candle flickering its last flicker, a thought came to me: There is hope. This
whole messed up situation will be over soon enough, and then the world will return to its normal
chaotic state.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I looked up at Razor and smiled. “She just needed that positive
thought to pop into her head.”
He sneered as he stared me down. “What positive thought?”
I got up from the ground and grabbed his hand. “C’mon,” I said, rushing my words, “let’s get Ellen and
Tommy and get the hell outta this place!”
“That’s what I thought you were gonna say.” Razor winked at me. “Let’s kick some zombie ass, you
fucking whore!”
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Chapter Four:
Zombie at 9 o’clock. Bang. Right in the forehead.
“You see that sickass shot, Christy? That was hella precise, yeah?”
I smiled and nodded my head. “You know how to use your guns, that’s for sure.”
“Damn right!” Razor was grinning from ear to ear as he examined the bullet hole in the zombie’s head.
“We serial killers know how to kill.”
Murder was his middle name, death was his game, and blood was his twisted treasure. Watching him
bang out the bullets from his rifles and pistols was my newest form of entertainment. I’d even start to
laugh as I watched him blow the fuck out of zombies. Sickeningly enough, I think I was starting to pick up
on some of his traits -- mainly the demented ones.
Another zombie, at 12 o’clock. Bang: in the crotch. Bang: in the stomach. Bang: in the forehead. Haha.
Razor had a lot of fun with this one. I started to laugh hysterically -- mainly because he shot it in the
crotch. I high fived that dipshit and kissed his lips like I’ve never done before: all aggressively like a
savage animal.
“Finally,” he responded, grinning. “I like it rough -- anything really.”
I laughed and snorted, at the same time. “I know, you freak!”
I had an iPod in my pocket and earphones in my ears. Now playing was Reverence by The Jesus and
Mary Chain. “I wanna die just like Jesus Christ. I wanna die on a bed of spikes. I wanna die, go see
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paradise. I wanna die just like Jesus Christ,” began the lyrics. The song was spectacular, and it certainly
summed up how I felt as I watched that freak kill zombies like it was what he was born to do.
Tommy and Ellen were inside the house, probably cowering in some dark corner like two guinea pigs
who had just experienced a close encounter with the hawk kind. Razor and I were out amongst the
countryside, kicking zombie ass and breaking into the small and pitiful shops that dotted the streets of
this isolated, piece of shit wannabe town. Seriously, though, this place was a cowboy’s orgy gone wrong:
old western shops full of feed, bedding, useless western stuff. We needed, like, a grocery store or
general store; just something other than western wear and feed for animals.
I turned around and spotted a fat little 12-year-old kid in the distance; he was munching on licorice and
twinkies, and guzzling down a liter of pop. A human – a living, seemingly non-infected human, who had a
treasure chest of junk food peeping out from his backpack. Score!
“Yo, freak,” I said to Razor, grabbing his sweatshirt and pulling him toward me. “Look at the kid over
there. He’s got food!”
Razor looked at the boy and then back at me. Sneering, he laughed and said to me, “Got any bait to leer
the fat kid with? Like, a cookie or slice of cake – or, shit, any damn thing, cause he ain’t gonna come over
here for nothin’.”
I checked my backpack and found a lone fun size snickers; it was pleading for me to keep it safely
secured inside the bottom of my backpack. “Nope,” I responded. “I guess we just need to round him
up.”
“Or maybe you can flash him something he’s never seen.” Razor winked and continued to sneer. “When
I was twelve, I was totally wanting to see some ass or tits. But you know what I wanted to see the
most?”
Looking over at Razor, just glaring him down, I expected him to just blurt it. But nope; he was waiting for
me to ask. So, I did. “What?”
“A dead girl’s uterus.”
I thought he was going to say “pussy,” or something else like that. But a uterus – and a dead girl’s at
that? What a freak of nature. That’s one of the weirdest things I have ever heard. “That’s weird.”
“I know.” Now staring down the boy, Razor brought his gun up and aimed it at the boy’s face.
“Razor!” I screamed, trying to grab the gun from his hands, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
He pulled the gun away from me and continued to aim it at the boy’s head. “There’s no way we’re
taking that little fat fuck back with us. We already have to worry about that old bitch and her little
dipshit grandson.”
“Whether you like it or not, we have to help him!”
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Razor set down his rifle and threw up his arms in frustration. “He looks like he’s doing pretty damn good
to me! Sure has quite the stash of good shit in his pockets and mouth and backpack. What more could
we do?”
“He looks like he’d benefit us well, Razor. I mean, think positively.”
“Maybe he has the nose of a dog,” sarcastically remarked Razor. “And he can sniff out sweets and salts
and others num nums for us! We could get him a collar and leash, and shit! He could even sleep by our
feet. And maybe even bring us in the morning paper. You like the sounds of that, sweetheart?”
I slapped his chest and shoved him away. “Yeah, okay, whatever. You’re really pissing me off now.”
He continued his sarcasm. “We better go out and find gramps and his granddaughter, since apparently
we’re building up a whole god damn family! When’s the baby due, my dear sweet love? Girl or boy?
Can’t wait till I got my hands wrapped around its neck! Whoops! I meant body. Heh.”
“Hey,” I called out in the direction of the boy. “Hey, you! You in the green shirt!”
I got his attention, that’s for sure: he spazzed out, which resulted in one of his twinkies falling to the
ground. “You talking to me?” he responded.
“Yes! Come here!”
“You clean?”
After nodding yes, he casually walked over, looking all around and guarding his candy.
Turning to Razor, I bumped his shoulder and whispered, “See? All it took was asking.”
After talking to the boy, I found out that his name was Ryan and he was really fifteen. Barely a couple of
inches taller than me, he had medium length light blond hair, tanned skin, and big eyes that were the
palest shade of green I had ever seen. I couldn’t stop staring into them, wondering if they were his real
color – and they were, that’s the shock.
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MISC:
“My dad loved ‘em black girls; oh god did he!” – Razor. “He’d fuck ‘em twenty ways while my momma
was at her lameass housewife parties.”
“I swear to god, Christy, that if we come across a fag, I’m gonna shoot that motherfucker!”
“I like my bitches in the kitchen, cooking me up some fried food!”
“They should sneak poison into alcohol, you know?”
_________________________________________
Razor was a horny son of a gun today. I wouldn’t give in to his woos and thus, he went on to the only
other woman in the house: Ellen, Tommy’s grandmother. That look of his was all that was needed for
me to come to conclusion that he’d do something with her, and that really pissed me off! Why was he
always bugging her? Why did he feel the need to make her and her grandson feel so spooked, so scared,
so hunted down and abused? I wanted to kill him at times, that’s how badly he got to me. The poor boy,
he was just a child, and yet Razor would do these heinous acts while he was right in the room, watching
and hearing all that was going on. Never could I picture this serial killer a father. Never. If I did end up
pregnant, I would make sure he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the child. Could you just imagine
the things he would possibly do to the baby? I can’t because they’d be way too savage.
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“Ellen,” warmly said Razor as he brushed his fingertips against her bare shoulders. “You wanna come
and lay down with me?”
She had learned the hard way that when Razor asks something nicely like this, you better fucking do it!
So, instead of being stubborn and righteous, as usual, she immediately replied back with a fake smile.
“Sure.”
Razor grasped her hand and pulled her to the bed. “I’m fucking horny,” he told her as he grasped a hold
of his crotch and squeezed. “I need pussy.”
“I’m…I’m…“ and then she stopped saying what she was about to say. I think it was because she came to
realize her fatal mistake: telling Razor she didn’t want to have sex with him. If Razor says he’s horny and
acts nice about it, you better give him some ass, or else you’ll be seeing some stars!
http://zombie.wikia.com/wiki/Weapons
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