Free Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) by Edward Crae

overlapped in a twisted and horrifying fashion. Dan gulped, slinking back behind the shelf, waiting for the creature to make the first move.
    He heard the creature step forward, dragging its flesh behind it. He moved to the opposite end of the shelf, peeking around the other side as the creature stalked into the main area. Dan watched the dragging flesh in revulsion, seeing that the fingers of its flapping hand still clutched at the empty air, and the remaining veins that fed it still pumped an odd, black fluid as they searched around like feelers.
    Jesus Christ, he thought.
    This was definitely something new, and it was something that he would eliminate right now. He cocked his shotgun, rising up just as the creature turned in his direction. The face split open, exposing a long snake-like tongue that flicked around in the air. The maw opened wide, and the creature charged; gurgling and growling as it stumbled forward.
    Dan fired, blasting the creature back in a spray of black goo. It slammed against the counter, knocking the displays over, and fell to the ground. Dan approached, coking his shotgun, pointing it down at the creature as it writhed and struggled to return to its feet. He fired again, exploding its head and splattering it against the counter.
    But the creature still writhed.
    Dan stepped back, cocking once more. The veins of the creature’s flesh began crawling toward him, snaking their way in his direction. He fired, splatting them against the tile floor. But as he cocked his shotgun again, he saw the unthinkable.
    The creature’s human flesh seemed to take on a life of its own. It peeled its way off of the white, bony frame, slurping on the floor as its gelatinous mass crawled toward him.
    “What the holy fuck!?” Dan said.
    He backed away, reaching down to retrieve his five pack. The creature’s flesh continued its movement, rolling and flopping in his direction. Mortified, Dan ran away, ducking through the broken window and racing to the Hummer.
    He floored it, tearing away from the gas station; his mind focused on the sight of the strange, fleshy blob. As he turned onto the highway, a lump rose in his throat. He swerved, narrowly missing a group of abandoned cars, just as a mouthful of bile spewed out and splattered on the passenger side.
    “ Fuck!” he cursed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”
    After catching his breath and wiping his mouth, he gunned it. He cracked open another beer, popping a few pieces of jerky. It felt like Vicodin time, too, so he reached in the back to fetch the art bag. The bottle was full and ready for consumption, and he did so happily.
    As the landscape passed around him, he barely noticed the many columns of smoke that floated up from the city ahead. But, as he saw them, he knew it could only mean one thing.
    Bloomington was a shit hole, and he would have to search like hell to find his friends.
    If they were still alive.

Chapter Seven
    The intersection at route 46 was blocked. Six fire trucks were parked together, having been attempting to put out a multicar fire when the shit hit the fan. Though they appeared to have been successful, the number of bodies on the ground told Dan that the aftermath brought a massive wave of Shamblers that had torn the living to pieces.
    As he slowly drove through, he noticed the oddly advanced state of decomposition of the dead. They were dried husks, ripped apart and mostly rotted away. It was as if it had been months since the infection.
    It couldn’t have been that long.
    As far as Dan knew, he had only been held captive for a few weeks. Was it possible that it had been longer? It didn’t seem any colder out than it should be this time of year. It wasn’t even winter yet—technically—and it should only be sometime around Thanksgiving; even earlier.
    “What the fuck,” he mumbled.
    He was beginning to feel the Vicodin kick in, and it was a comforting feeling. The beer tasted like shit, but that didn’t matter. He probably shouldn’t be