Free Sven the Zombie Slayer by Guy James Page A

Vicky, I’m sorry but I have to.”
    Jane brought the fork up and stuck it in Vicky’s left forearm. There was little effect. A drop of what Jane could only interpret as stale blood leaked down one of the fork’s tines, and dropped to the top of the wine refrigerator. Vicky’s hands kept on scraping away, as if Vicky felt nothing. Another chunk of door came away with a hollow rending noise.
    Jane shook her head, withdrew the fork, and fork-stabbed Vicky again, in the other arm this time.
    That also had no effect, so Jane withdrew the fork again, and fork-stabbed Vicky again, in the shoulder this time—the shoulder that was now peeking through the rapidly enlarging hole in the door. Vicky still didn’t react, and Jane didn’t try to get the fork back this time. She left it sticking out of Vicky’s shoulder, skewering its last weenie dog.
    Feeling more light-headed than she should have from the wine, Jane backed deeper into the kitchen. “What am I going to do with you?” She picked up the wine bottle and took a panicky gulp. The wine was getting warmer, and didn’t taste as good as it had when it was cooled to its appropriate drinking temperature.
    Jane picked up another knife for the hand that had previously held the fork. She didn’t know what to do next. Should she try to kill Vicky? Was Vicky still alive? And what the hell was that smell?
    The knob began to shake, and the door rattled on its hinges.
    “Don’t come in here,” Jane yelled, trembling. “Don’t you dare. I’m late for work and you’re making such a mess. I’m not gonna clean all of this up, that’s for sure.”
    Jane looked at the Viognier, shrugged, and downed the last of it. Why not?
    Then, with a rattle and the sharp splintering of wood, the door came off its hinges.
    At first, Vicky tried to push past the dislodged door while it was still in front of her, jammed between her and the wine refrigerator. That wasn’t working, and after too short a time, seemingly by trial and error, Vicky staggered backward, letting the door fall outward, away from its frame, and away from the wine refrigerator.
    Then Vicky reversed, lurching forward again, and shambled straight into the wine refrigerator. It was as if she didn’t see it in front of her. She bumped into it, backed up, and then tried to walk through it again, repeating the process.
    “Now look what you’ve done with the door,” Jane said, brandishing the knives at face level. “Stop it, or I’m gonna cut you, I’m not kidding this time. It’ll be worse than that fork sticking out of you.”
    Jane pointed a knife-wielding hand to the fork sticking out of Vicky’s shoulder.
    “I’m gonna cut you right in the face.”
    Vicky walked into the wine refrigerator again, and she was getting the hang of it. Each time she walked into it now, she edged it a little out of position. A path was opening up through which she would soon be able to stagger.
    “Now don’t you come in here,” Jane said. “I’m warning you.”
    Jane ran up to the wine refrigerator and pushed it back into position while Vicky was backing up from a bump against it. Vicky reached out and tried to grab Jane, but Vicky was too slow and awkward in her movements. Jane sidestepped out of the way and swiped at Vicky’s outstretched arm with a knife. It put a gash down the length of Vicky’s forearm. Vicky didn’t react, and no blood came out of the gash.
    Vicky reached for Jane again. Jane backed up now, and began to look for a way out. Could she get around Vicky? It didn’t look that way. Vicky was slow-moving enough, but the space was too small to get around her without getting grabbed, and if there was one thing Jane wanted to avoid, it was Vicky’s grip and slobbery, diseased mouth—although the mouth looked much drier now than it had before...not that a dry mouth meant Jane was into it, of course. Vicky was trying to bite her, of all things. The gall of some people!
    She and Vicky weren’t working out as