Free This Rotten World (Book 1) by The Vocabulariast

tear that seemed no bigger than a quarter. The
wet, slopping sounds, amid the silence of the onlookers, were only broken by
the oddly tranquil, pained sighs of the husband, as he stared at Joan, curious
and accepting.
    When the
woman took a bite out of the intestines, as if they were some sort of jerky
stick, Clara, and a few others, couldn't help but lose their lunch. The smell
of fecal matter assaulted the group as the man's intestines were torn open amid
the sound of retching and bile splattering across the floor. Joan felt sorry
for the janitors tonight.
    The
retching did have another effect. The old lady finally stopped eating her
husband, and focused her eyes on the group. When she shoved her husband's now
dead corpse off of the bed and stood up, the crowd backed up as if they were in
a movie theater watching a horror movie and it had just turned real. They
couldn't tear their eyes away, but only because they didn't believe it was
actually happening.
    The old
lady's hospital gown was smothered in red, and as she stumbled toward the
group, Joan became instantly aware that whatever happened next would likely be
laid at her feet.
    "Officers!"
she yelled. "We've got another situation over here. The same as that guy I
think."
    The two
security guards ran down the hall, the one with the bite on his arm moved
noticeably slower and he was looking a little green around the gills. She
supposed she probably looked the same after witnessing the old lady's lunch.
She felt bad that she didn't even remember her name. "I hope you brought
more zip ties."
    The old
lady lunged at them, and the security guards easily tackled her to the ground
while avoiding her biting. The crowd dispersed, some hastening for the exit to
the E.R., others mollified and returning back to their own personal world as if
everything were under control; horrible, but under control.
    "What
is wrong with her?" Clara asked.
    Joan looked
at her, folded her arms, and said, "I don't know."
    Just then,
a group of paramedics burst through the swinging doors of the E.R. A patient
fought for her life on the gurney they were wheeling. "Make way!"
    Clara and
Joan saw the tell-tale mark of teeth around the ragged wounds on the woman's
face.
    "This
is not good," Joan said to no one in particular.

Chapter 18: Pop-Tarts and Paint Thinner, the
Breakfast of Champions
     
    Mort's
elbow seriously hurt, but not as much as his forehead. When his head finally
stopped swimming, he crawled out of the window, eternally thankful that the
cops hadn't seen fit to cuff his hands behind him. Just as with most things in
his life, his landing wasn't graceful. Amid broken shards of safety glass and
wet pavement, he slapped into the ground.
    When he got
to his feet, he saw an old man help the lady that had run from the house. One
of those things appeared to be chasing her. He couldn't blame her for not
helping him; he had seldom asked for help and the results had always been the
same.
    Mort pulled
a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and looked at the squad car. The creatures
inside were still focused on him, and he had had enough of it. He ambled into
the recently abandoned house, limping on his bad knee. It looked fine except
for the fact that the front door had been left ajar.
    It was a
nice home, simple in its decoration. Nothing stood out, just plain furniture
that you could find at any large department store and a couple of pictures. The
blood stains on the stairs were the only real original touch. There wasn't much
to see, so he headed back to the kitchen to find what he needed.
    Mort stepped
over the raw steak on the ground and opened up the cupboard under the sink. Just
as he expected, he found a delightful array of cleaners, but it was the metal
can of paint thinner that drew his attention. He pulled it out and stuck it
under his arm. As he stood up, he noticed a box of Pop Tarts sitting on the
edge of the counter.
    "I
don't mind if I do," he said to no one in particular as he fished out