Death Role: Post Two, The Brothel
The Brothel
It was like stepping into the past, all heavy curtains and wallpaper, sitting rooms and elegant paintings. A giant, carpeted staircase rose to the second floor. Cendy felt incredibly underdressed for such grandeur. After she’d checked all the first floor rooms, she made her way back to the staircase. A door creaked open on the second floor.
“Hello?” she asked cautiously. Most of the buildings were abandoned but some were filled with violent squatters. Abandoned buildings didn’t have doors that opened themselves. She put a hand on her gun and prepared herself for a fight.
“We don’t get very many women in here,” a beautiful voice responded. “And I thought the door was locked.”
Cendy looked up to the second floor and saw an attractive, dark-haired woman wearing nothing but a thin silk robe. She was pointing a gun at her.
“The door was open,” Cendy said. “I can go somewhere else if it’s a problem.”
The woman lowered the gun. “No, we’re open. How can I service you?”
“Oh, no!” Cendy laughed, “I’m not here for that. I’m looking for a safe place to stay for awhile.”
“This isn’t a hotel and who’s to say we can trust you?” the woman asked as other half nude women gathered at the top of the stairs. Suddenly Cendy felt overdressed.
“She could help us with our problem,” a woman in green footie pajamas suggested.
“What problem?” Cendy asked, genuinely curious as to the unique troubles a whorehouse might have.
“The men, they keep coming in the door like usual. But some of them have been wounded and we’ve had to put them out the back door. I’m Magda, by the way. The madam here.” She walked down the stairs toward Cendy and slid her handgun back into its holster, expertly concealed beneath her dainty robe.
“Back yard’s full of zombies now,” a woman in a red corset said from above.
Thank God I didn’t open that door, Cendy thought. She considered her choices for a moment and, though her mind swam with fears of dirty beds and the possibility of a work-for-rent situation the building was safe. Its barred windows and doors, reinforced with steel, made it one of the safest places in the city.
“So if I get rid of your problem, I can stay?” She hoped it was that easy.
The women on the second floor huddled close and began whispering to one another. After their private discussion was finished, they looked to Magda for a decision.
“Clear out the backyard and you can have a room,” the madam said.
Cendy took her gun from its holster and turned the safety off. She walked down the hallway to the door that led outside. It had a small, frosted window inset near the top. She stood on her tiptoes and checked the opaque rectangle for movement, but it was impossible to tell what was happening on the other side.
“Ok, Cendy,” she calmed herself, “you’ve made it this far. Easy as one, two…three!” She pushed open the door and scanned the yard. It was little more than a wet patch of dirt surrounded by a fence; not even a bench or bird bath. The undead men represented a diverse cross-section of the city. She could see the mayor, a local bookstore owner, a police officer – all of whom were married – and several working-class others in the mix. It didn’t really matter anymore who they were in their previous lives or that they ran to a brothel when the world went to hell. All that mattered was they were between her and a safe room to sleep. One of the men was wearing only boxers. They must have found out a bit too late that he was infected, she thought.
They moved in her direction, bumping into one another, their feet sticking here and there in the mud. She looked down the short barrel of the pistol and attempted to steady her shaky hands. With determined accuracy, Cendy dispatched of the nine undead men, reloading part way through the slaughter.
“Nice work,” Magda said from the doorway, “the last room on the right is all yours.”
Cendy was happy to find that the bed was clean and she had a view of the street in front of the building. There wasn’t much to look at, other than the dead, but the birds still sang in the trees and the sun still rose and set. And, she was still alive.
Many more of the infected, drawn by the firing of her gun, pounded on the brothel’s facade.
Cendy laughed. “A popular place you have here,” she said to Magda, who stood beside her at the bedroom window.
“Yes, always they have come for our bodies, but now they come for our brains.”
The awesome folks over at WatchPlayRead are holding onto three sets of VIP tickets for the advanced screening of World War Z in Portland and Seattle. What are you doing on Tuesday night?
Head over to their Facebook page like it, and then comment on the contest post to enter! Hope to see you there!!
The Barn
Alexander had been running through the woods for hours. It seemed as though the forest would never end. Just before the sun went down, he emerged from the trees and into a large wheat field. Scattered about in the grain stood more of the walking corpses that he had been trying to escape. On the far edge of the field he could see a large, weathered barn. At the door of the barn stood his father, his arms waving above his head, signaling for Alexander to go to him.
He would have to run straight through the dead to rejoin his dad. The barn was the best thing he’d seen all day and maybe they could find a way to climb up to the hayloft that he hoped to find inside.
Being young and still yet to grow to full height, Alex was quick on his feet and able to dodge the hands that reached for him as he passed. He was too scared to look behind him, knowing that the zombies would be following. His presence was agitating them and some of the dead began to moan as though in frustration at the meal that was getting away.
He came to stand in front of the barn’s huge doors, but his father was nowhere to be found. The doors towered above him and he pushed against them with his remaining strength, but they wouldn’t budge. Behind him the undead drew ever closer.
“Dad!” he yelled as he ran around the right side of the building, his eyes scanning the wall for any way inside. As he neared the next corner of the building he found a hole where the wood had rotted away. If he wiggled, he just might make it through.
He dove for the ground and reached his arm through the hole. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the interior of the barn. The hole led into what looked like a horse stall. There was movement in the shadows and suddenly a face emerged from the darkness; a girl, as young as him, infected and ready to attack. Seeing her up close reminded Alex that his father was gone; one of them.
He scrambled backward through the hole, but the zombie girl grabbed one of his arms, keeping him from escaping. Another arm gripped him from outside of the barn. He was stuck, halfway in and halfway out, with zombies on both sides.
As their teeth broke his flesh, he knew his luck had finally run out and he’d be seeing his father once again.
Just a few more gems from the few moments I had to stop chatting with folks and selling at Crypticon Seattle. Our table, zombie gnomes, Permuted Press authors, John Carl Buechler “reading” When the Dead and The Spread zombie novels, Rocky Horror, tattooing, and skulls!
Maybe there hasn’t been enough fanfare after returning home triumphant and nearly sold out of the 50 books we brought to Crypticon, maybe I’m still sleep deprived, maybe it all still feels like a dream. I know somewhere deep inside that I should be jumping up and down at the success of the weekend, but I think I’m still in shock.
For a long time I felt like the person who was doing too much and not really getting anything done (or anything of quality) and, two books later (and with great reviews coming in from purchasers of the books), I guess I can start letting go of that idea of myself.
Three paragraphs in and I haven’t really touched on Crypticon. This is the third time I have been to the event but my first year behind the table. Each year it grows and improves. A year ago I was wandering the halls of the con with my twin, passing out postcards advertising When the Dead (which I hadn’t finished yet) and talking to anyone who would listen about my ideas for the genre.
At the When the Dead Books booth we had copies of When the Dead and The Spread: A Zombie Short Story Collection, bookmarks advertising both and bracelets, plus several items of my design (banner, signs). I was very happy to be assigned to table right next to Permuted Press. I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for some of the authors (Eloise, Tim, Peter, Thom, Craig) and it was great to make better connections (and some new ones) with them.
Sharing our table was the wonderful and intrepid owner of Evil Girlfriend Media, Katie Cord. She happens to also be an author in the zombie genre, a design client and a good friend of mine. I greatly enjoyed tabling with her and look forward to doing so in the future.
I got the books out for review with The Scream Sirens, The Horror Honeys and WatchPlayRead. WatchPlayRead has just posted their review of The Spread.
On Saturday many attendees took advantage of our “buy both get a zombie wound” deal. Becky was busy behind the booth doing makeup as I sold our books. And we even made someone’s night by doing a raffle for a full zombie makeover. The winner? Ticket number 589965, Natalya!
I’m most excited to give back to the fans who stopped by the booth and liked the Facebook page by writing zombie short stories that feature them as the main character and giving the e-book away for free.
Saturday night we danced foreverrrrrrrrrrr at the Biohazard party. I love dancing, especially in my Zombie Black Swan costume.
Oh yeah, THIS:
and so much more.
Until the next convention…
