Free This Rotten World (Book 1) by The Vocabulariast Page A

a
shiny foil package and opened it. Strawberry... not the best, but hell, it was
at least something in his stomach. With the Pop Tarts in one hand, his
cigarette in the other, and a can of paint thinner under his arm, Mort walked
from the house. He stopped to close the door behind him and left it unlocked,
in case the lady that ran from the house ever decided to come back. She might
not considering he had probably just seen her dragging her dead son down the
street while her dead husband chased her.
    The
occupants of the squad car were still trying to get at him, and Dirty Kurt had
inched closer to the window, although how he planned to hoist himself out of it
was anybody's guess. Mort took a drag from his cigarette, and shoved the
Pop-Tarts into one of the large pockets on his green military jacket. He popped
the top of the paint thinner and sprayed it on the interior of the cop car, as
if he were just some regular Joe getting ready to have a barbecue, only this
time the charcoal happened to be wriggling humans with a craving for flesh.
When he had used up half of the can, he tossed it inside the car, followed by
his cigarette.
    Flames
built slowly in the car. It wasn't the dramatic whoosh he was expecting, but it
would get the job done. He had expected screams from Dirty Kurt, as he was the
first one to light on fire, but he simply wriggled in the back seat, seemingly
unaware that he was being consumed by flames. The smell was awful and when the
mesh bag that was over Kurt's face melted to his skin, Mort decided that he had
seen enough. He backed away, turned around and limped down the street, away
from the fire. He was a mile down the road, munching on the last scrap of
strawberry Pop-Tarts when he heard the car explode.

Chapter 19: Iceman and Busy Signals
     
    Rudy had
made it back to his apartment. It was a straight shot up the street, and when
he turned around, he could see the man with the bloody jaw continuing his
march. Rudy was glad that the door to his building locked. He gave the guy the
finger, sneered at him, and ducked inside.
    He began
the laborious climb up the three flights of stairs, his knees creaking at every
step... as the steps did at his weight. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket at
the second landing, and took a deep pull that tasted like shampoo. As he waited
to catch his breath, he heard a rattling downstairs as if someone were trying
to get into the building. The pounding was insistent, and Rudy didn't want to
stick around to find out what was going on. Besides, it wasn't his job. That's
why the building had a security guard. Where the hell was the security guard?
    He huffed
up the last flight of stairs, fished out his keys, and unlocked the door to his
apartment. Rudy placed his things down on the table next to the door, and then
slammed the door shut, firing the deadbolt home with a quick twist of his pudgy
wrist. He could faintly hear the banging downstairs, but decided to put it out of
his mind. If the guy got into the building, someone would call the cops. That's
the way the world works. The security guard was probably off getting high
somewhere. When he finished, he would see the guy at the door, call, the cops,
and the world would be set right again.
    Rudy
waddled into the kitchen and put his spare bottle of Code Red into the fridge.
He then plopped down into his favorite chair in the living room, which sat
right in front of his TV. It was actually the only chair in the living room.
Rudy didn't often have guests over. As a matter of fact, Rudy never had guests
over.
    He opened
his bottle of Code Red and took a liberal swig. The liquid fizzed as it went
down his throat. He switched his TV on and tried to find something on TV. The
search didn't take long. He only had about five channels or so. One day, when
he was done with college, he would be able to splurge and get cable, but until
then, it was local TV... which meant a whole lot of news and disposable sitcoms
that made you want to gouge