Free Dead Beginnings (Vol. 1) by Alex Apostol Page A

drove his thick, hard knuckles into the spitting creatures face over and over again. It wasn’t like before with Buddy. He was aware of what he was doing, but he still had no control over it. His hands moved on their own and he simply watched in satisfaction as cheek bones fractured, the jaw shattered, and finally the right temple gave in. The dead weight of the body pulled Lonnie’s hand down to the floor with it. He leaned over the putrid corpse, its face a sticky mess of pummeled meat and cracked bones.
                  The feeling was unbelievable, like nothing Lonnie had ever experienced. Before, whenever he felt the unyielding urge to beat someone’s face in, he blacked out and was left to piece together the incident when he came to. It had always been frustrating to see the aftermath and not get to experience the electrifying feeling of knuckles against flesh, to hear the euphoric sound of splitting bones.
    He stood to his feet, his shoulders heaving up and down, his muscular arms held away from his body as black blood dripped from his hands.
                  In the far distance, Lonnie heard the sound of more outside, moaning and grunting through their efforts to get in, like a scary movie playing in distant room. He was aware, but not concerned. He was alive, Rowan was OK, and they were going to get out of there in one piece.
                  “Did they bite you at all, or scratch you?” Lonnie turned on Rowan and got within inches of his face, his own turned up to glare into the towering, shaking man’s eyes.
                  “N-N-No. No. I’m good,” he stammered as he shook his head, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears.
                  Lonnie backed off a step and swung the rifle around to his back. He scanned the place quickly to find their best exit. “The back looks clear. Let’s go.”
                  “You saved my life,” Rowan said, reverence pouring out of his eyes toward the breathless, bloodied man in front of him.
                  Lonnie forced out a puff of air from between his lips. “Whatever. No biggie. Let’s just get the hell outta here.”
                  Rowan took a step forward, his brown eyes softened as he stared his savior in the face. “It’s a huge deal. Thank you. I owe you one.”
                  Lonnie wrinkled his nose and gave a crooked smile. “What are we gonna kiss now? Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”
    He wrenched the door open and looked both ways before stepping out into the hot summer night, the partial moon shining down on his sweaty flaxen hair, basking him in a gallantry glow. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he resisted. Only he knew the traitorous thoughts he’d had before he saved Rowan from being zombie food. But he did save him. That meant something.
    A monumental shift happened inside Lonnie during that split second decision to save his life. The world was crumbling around him. Left and right, people were dying, by the hundreds, possibly thousands for all he knew. Rowan had been so close to death right before him that the foul smell stung his own nostrils. But he no longer felt the tug of unconsciousness as a seething rage burned inside him, toward Rowan, toward the dead. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. He wanted to help.
    There were people left in his town, people wounded and scared and too weak to take care of themselves, people who wanted to survive, but didn’t know how—and he was going to save them all.
     
     
     
    XVI.
     
     
     
                  Darkness blanketed the wooded area Lonnie led Rowan through, away from the overrun house. The crescent moon was unable to penetrate through the thick braches of the pine trees. The air was heavy with a dense humidity that weighed down the lungs and made Lonnie feel waterlogged and draggy, but he pressed on in a light jog.
    After the rush he felt from saving