Free Zombie Bitches From Hell by Zoot Campbell

sight.
    Two nun bitches bring the empty cross that he
had formerly occupied into the room and the new guy is nailed in
place of the old one. He wakes up in the middle and screams through
his duct tape gag until a reddish foam seeps out of his nostrils.
I’m thinking that whatever this guy did that landed him in the
hoosegow, I hope it was worth it. Then I think that if more of
these fuckers knew that this might happen to them, people could
throw their locks away, women could walk naked down the street and
kids would never need to be afraid of strangers because no one, I
mean no one, would want this as a punishment. Justice has a way of
finding you, I think. It sure found these bastards. Tim looks at me
like he knows what I’m thinking and gives me a thumbs up. That guy
has got to have ESP or something, but then I realize that I can
hear someone on the stairs coming up toward us and he’s giving me
the high sign to maybe get the fuck out of there. But to where?
    We each slip into one of the cells. I can
hear Tim slide under a cot. I do the same. We hold our breaths. A
nun bitch ambles along the corridor. She enters one of the rooms
and shuffles around. She comes into my room. I can see her face
smeared with blood from the feast downstairs. She smells the air,
raising her face like a hound on a scent. But the blood is masking
my smell and she has some guts stuck near her nostrils. She leaves.
I assume she does the same thing throughout the rooms, finding
nothing. I hear her shuffling down the corridor, mumbling and
gnashing her teeth until the sounds of her returning downstairs die
away.
    Tim opens the door to my room and says, “That
was fun.”
    I climb out from under the cot. He signals to
me to return to the grate with one hand, the other with his finger
on his lips. Like I need to be reminded to be quiet, the dumb
fuck.
    The convict has been nailed to the cross and
one of the bitches has jammed barbed wire onto his head like the
crown of thorns. They drag the cross to the corner of the room and
heave ho it up into the corner, the convict moaning and groaning, a
puddle of urine on the floor where he was. The others have been
pushed and shoved down the cellar steps and I can hear them
grumbling and pleading through their gags with an occasional yelp
that indicates the biting is still going on to keep control. The
cellar door slams and the two nun bitches who got the convicts into
the cellar join the rest around the current crucifixion.
    The mother superior raises her arms and
begins to chant some shit that sounds like Latin. I look at Tim and
he shrugs as if to say, “This is the wackiest shit ever.” Which it
is. I can’t make out a word but I see her take a large curved
carving knife from under her robe and as she raises it, she speaks,
actual fucking words, even if they’re a guttural scraping from
decaying vocal cords, “Take……eat…for it is my body.” Least that
what I make of it. And she slices a slab off his calf as the other
bitches kneel. The convict screams and moans and bleeds. The mother
superior takes a bite of the meat and passes it around to the
others who each take a slurpy chomp.
    One of the nuns rises to her feet, goes into
the kitchen and comes back with a water glass. She goes to the
convict and catches the blood seeping from his wounded leg and
catches it. In the glass, there is some milk probably left over
from who knows where and the blood and milk mix like a strawberry
malt.
    The mother superior takes the glass and
mumbles and moans, and through the guttural tones and scratchy
nonsense I can decipher the words: “Drink this for it is my blood
which is a covenant with you.” She takes a big gulp and I can feel
weeks of rations rise from my stomach into my mouth.
    She passes the glass around and they each
take a sip. Just when the last decomposing nun has drunk her fill,
I let go with a barf the size of Cleveland and it drops through the
grate and lands on a nun bitch’s head kneeling