Free Machines of the Dead 2 by David Bernstein

be. 
    “Don’t be afraid, little man,” the giant said. “Come on out.”
    Yeah, okay, Kyle thought, as urine soaked his crotch. No way in hell. Keep going you big, crazy fucker. 
    “I will protect you,” the man said. “You shall be a member of my human flock.”
    Kyle didn’t move and hoped the notorious serial killer would move on. Why someone would release him, Kyle did not know. 
    He heard the man’s footsteps echoing off the floor, praying that the man was heading off somewhere else. All the other prisoners must have left by now. It was himself and Cannibal. He’d heard rumors about the big man, that he only ate hefty people. If that was true, he was safe, but it still wouldn’t stop the guy from killing him. Then he thought about it; the big man had been confined for so long. It would be like locking up a sex maniac and giving the guy the ugliest girl on the planet. He’d take whatever came his way. Bony or not, Kyle was dead.
    “I won’t ask again,” the man said. “You’ll be on your own amongst your fellow inmates or food for the undead, my children.”
    “Children?” Kyle said aloud, not meaning to. He crouched lower and closed his eyes like a child hoping the boogeyman would go away. Time seemed to stand still. Quiet filled his ears so that he only heard the rush of blood. Unable to take it any longer, he opened his eyes and saw an oversized pair of prison-issued sneakers. He swallowed, then glanced up.
    Cannibal stared back, grinning. The sleeves from his prison-supplied evergreen-colored shirt had been torn off, revealing well-muscled arms. Kyle was reminded of the time he met one of the NY Giants’ linemen.
    Holding out his oversized hand, blood-caked around the fingernails, Cannibal said, “It’s okay, little lamb. You will be safe by my side.”
    Seeing he had no choice in the matter, Kyle took the man’s hand and rose to his feet. He stiffened, waiting to be attacked, but the big man simply turned and walked out of the cell. “Follow me.”
    Wherever they went, no one bothered them. Kyle couldn’t believe the carnage he saw. People were looting, shooting, stripped of body parts, eaten to the bone. The dead were everywhere. The police presence was null. It was every person for his or her self. He saw Bulldog, one of the prison’s most notorious men, pummeling a woman to death just before a pack of zombies fell on him. Kyle couldn’t have been more satisfied as the man screamed.
    The streets were lined with vehicles. People drove over bodies—both dead and alive—and onto lawns, smashing through fences and mailboxes. But the streets were too small, the roads too clogged. Cannibal and Kyle took to the forest to make their way out of town before working their way back to the road that led to the Thruway.
    They came to a house just outside of town. Cannibal smashed the door down. A family was there, the father holding a sledgehammer, the son a knife.
    “Get the fuck out of my house,” the man threatened. Kyle could tell he was scared and was no fighter, and if he could see that, then Cannibal did too. The big man came forward, the father swung the sledgehammer. Cannibal nimbly sidestepped the blow, then grabbed the tool with one hand and shoved the lanky man to the floor. The son came at him with the knife. Cannibal swung the tool and smashed the kid in the side of the head. A loud crunch echoed around the room. Blood exploded from the impact as the kid landed on the floor. The father howled in agony. Cannibal stood over him, raised the hammer and smashed the man’s face, killing him instantly.
    “What’s going on, Henry?” a woman’s voice called from down the hall. Then Kyle saw her, a woman in her late forties with long blonde hair and a slender build. Her eyes went wide, jaw dropped open at the carnage. She screamed, then ran back down the hall and into a room. Cannibal grinned and went after her.
    Kyle remained where he was. He felt bad for the family, but if his