Free Wake Up Dead - an Undead Anthology by Adam Millard, Guy James, Suzanne Robb, Chantal Boudreau, Mia Darien, Douglas Vance Castagna, Rebecca Snow, Caitlin Gunn, R.d Teun Page A

offering his hand.
    Randy took it with his good hand and pulled himself up.
    "Barely. How can I repay you?"
    "By letting me take you to a hospital. My name is Barry."
    "Well, Barry my name is Randy. As much as I would like to, I can't go to the hospital. There is nothing they can do for me anymore."
    "I know what you mean. My brother had the same thing. Near the end all we could do was try and make him comfortable."
    Randy looked into Barry's eyes; they appeared to have seen much pain.
    "Comfortable. I have passed that stage ages ago."
    In a blinding rush of movement Al pushed Randy back to the ground and swung the bat at Barry. It connected with his head. There was a sickening sound. It sounded like a melon breaking open when dropped to the floor.
    While Barry was lying on the ground helpless, Al hit him with the bat again and again and again.
    The smell of blood sent the stabbing pangs of hunger back inside Randy. The hunger was unbearable. It felt as if a hand had reached inside his body and gripped his stomach in a vise.
    Slowly Al stopped hitting Barry, who'd died shortly after the first blow. He turned and looked at Randy.
    Al took a few steps and stooped to pick up the knife, and then continued until he was inches from where Randy lay.
    From behind him, Al heard Billy stirring.
    "What the hell happened?" he asked.
    "Take a look," replied Al.
    Billy walked over to where Barry's body lay. He looked down, and an expression of nausea washed over his face.
    "Aw, man. Why did you have to kill him?"
    "Just go see about Joey, you friggin quiff."
    Billy obeyed and helped Joey. Joey was limping and complained about his leg until he saw Barry. Joey didn't say anything. He just looked at Barry's dead body.
    "Now that I taught the nigger a lesson, I'm gonna teach that fag boy a lesson."
    "No, c'mon. Let's just get the hell outta here," pleaded Joey.
    "Yeah, Al. Let's get out of here fast," Billy said, putting his hand on Al's shoulder.
    Al shrugged it off and said, "Nothing doing. He's dead."
    Al pressed the little silver button on the side of the switchblade.
    Billy started, "Be care..."
    "Son of a bitch!" said Al.
    Randy saw the thin, tiny stream of blood from the wound on Al's finger. The stabbing pain did not return, but a little strength did. Randy gripped Al's wrist with his left hand and Al screamed.
    Pulling himself up, Randy applied more pressure.
    Al dropped the knife, stunned at the resistance more than the pain. He drew back his left arm to deliver a blow when Randy sank his teeth into Al's wrist.
    The arterial blood squirted out like a geyser before Randy began to feed.
    Al was screaming for help, but his friends were shocked.
    A few seconds went by before Billy grabbed the tire iron and tried to save Al.
    "You crazy son of a bitch!" said Billy.
    Randy was enraptured by his feeding, and his mouth was pressed to Al's wrist like a leech. Only the second blow from the tire iron dislodged him from Al.
    Once he was freed, Joey tied a bandanna around Al's wrist.
    Billy continued to strike Randy, who was already unconscious from the blows to the head.
    "Billy, come on. We got to get Al to the Emergency Room."
    Billy threw the weapon down and ran toward the back of the alley and into the car.
    Driving out, they made sure that they ran Randy over, which they did, over both of his legs.
    ***
    Randy was lost in a myriad of images. In them, he was his old self again, and nothing hurt. Nothing. However, he eventually woke up several hours later.
    It was five-fifteen a.m., and the city was still dark.
    The euphoria of his feeding began wearing off, and the pain was all that he felt. The right side of his face was caved in, and he could not see out of that eye. His whole left side was smashed and broken. Part of the bone stuck out through the skin. His legs, however, were worse. They had been driven over. Every inch of them was splintered and shattered. The pain was unbearable. He did not know what to do.
    Looking up at the roof he