Rotting Dead F*cks: An Extreme Novel of Horror, Sex, Gore and the Undead Read online

  IMPORTANT NOTICE

  The following book is an extreme horror novel. It is intended for a mature audience only. It is not intended for people who are easily shocked, offended or upset.

  The views and interests of one of the characters contained within this book are not the views held by the author.

  All the characters are purely fictitious.

  Copyrigh t©2014 by Matt Shaw

  Matt Shaw Publications

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ROTTING

  Dead

  F*CKS

  M A T T S H A W

  Present Day

  * * *

  There is no escape from it

  His name was Ted

  No one knows where it began. Some people say it started in a laboratory whilst others say it is a new strain of the common cold which has mutated into…into whatever the Hell this is. Me? I’m not sure which category of believers I fall into. At this stage I’m not entirely sure it matters what people do and do not believe. It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t make things any better or put us any closer into finding a cure for it - if such a thing even exists. If anything - having beliefs just puts us in danger as we find ourselves tempted to get closer to the Rotting Dead Fucks in an effort to unravel the mysteries of where they came from and what they want. For all intents and purposes we should all just agree to disagree about where they came from and just go with the classic ‘When Hell is full, the dead shall walk the Earth’. It’s simple. It’s elegant. I’m pretty sure it’s a quote from the Bible too. Maybe not word for word but something similar. And if not then it is definitely a quote from a George A Romero film and - right now - those films should be our new Bible. With that question answered we can look to what they want and that isn’t hard to answer; they want flesh to feast upon. I’ve seen these things eat brains and flesh as though they’re nothing but a warm meal (like a shepherd’s pie for arguments sake). Honestly they just kneel there, next to their food, and tuck in as though enjoying a dinner after a hard day’s work. The noise of their teeth tearing through the flesh, the sight of the blood ejaculating across whatever surface they happen to be on, the smell of the newly dead mixed with the Rotting Dead Fucks; a sick combination of shit, piss and death. I’m not usually squeamish but that is enough to turn my stomach.

  So anyway - there you go - they’re here because Hell is full and they’re here because they fancy a decent meal. Problem solved. Now people can stop arguing about the silly little things and concentrate on the more important scenario of just running when you stumble into a horde. The name ‘horde’ was given by the news broadcasters before the power went out. The power outage; I presumed one of the R.D.Fs mistook a power cable for a person’s arm and bit through the fucking thing thus causing the city-wide black out. Again, probably not accurate but what does it matter? It answers a question without the need for further discussion. Problem solved once more. Anyway the name ‘horde’. I’m not sure what I think about that. See, we all have our personal preferences as to what we should call them and in this instance the news team opted for a horde of the walking dead. Usually when I turn a corner and see a massive group of them I tend to just scream something like, “Lots of Rotting Dead Fucks”. I prefer that. Or even “Rotten Dead Fucks”, that works too. Once I even remembered shouting something like, “Lots of fucking Rotting Dead Fucks”. I found it funny when I was safely away from them but - man - that was a hell of a tongue twister. Try and say it now. Chances are, you’ll stumble on some of the words at least. Anyway - ‘lots of Rotting Dead Fucks’ - I like that. No one can get confused. People hear the words ‘Rotting Dead Fucks’ together with ‘Lots’ and they already know what to expect. Lots of them. It’s just simpler. I digress. Where was I. Ah yes. The basics. We know where they came from and we know what they want just by settling on one god-damned answer. After that everything becomes a lot simpler; we just keep our distance. We shouldn’t be getting closer. We shouldn’t put ourselves anywhere near them. We should distance ourselves as far away as possible and - even then - we should continue to run. Don’t look back. Don’t go back for those who have fallen or been left behind. Don’t put ourselves in the bite zone. Just fucking run. Just as people have varied beliefs on where these things came from, people seem to have different names for them too. Some people stick with the classics such as The Walking Dead, the Undead and even Zombies but I think those are the people who lack imagination and flare. That’s why I opted for Rotting Dead Fucks. Sure the name is longer to speak out than some of the other names but - I don’t know - I like it. I feel as though it has the potential to be a classic in the making. At least it would if the people I bumped into on my journeys would stay alive long enough for the name to sink in. It is always the same when I meet a new person; we exchange names, we spend an hour or so together discussing potential survival tips, we encounter a group of Rotting Dead Fucks (see, just rolls off the tongue) and - boom - they either end up getting torn from limb to limb and dead-ed or they get bitten and I have to kill them. Same end game either way; they’re dead and I’m alone again. Well - nearly alone again. I can still hear it on the other side of the table I’m hiding behind. The flesh being ripped from the bone with dirty yellow teeth. At least with their lack of dental hygiene it will not be long before the teeth fall out. Like to see them try and eat us then…The Walking Gummies. I accidentally snorted as I tried to stifle a little laugh.

  I can still hear the R.D.F chewing greedily so I don’t think it heard me. I peered around the corner. She’s still munching on my old friend, Colin. I say friend. He wasn’t really my friend. If he had been - I might not have hit him in the leg with my machete. Don’t judge me. I didn’t have a choice. We were trapped and it was always going to be a question of him or me and - well - he’s a black African and we all know those fuckers can run. He was no different; a fast fucking runner. Even with these (wannabe) Nike trainers I had looted from the store, after my leather work shoes gave up the ghost, there was no way I was going to out run him so I did what any sane person would do. I cheated.

  I just did it. Didn’t even think. Just swung at his leg with the rusty machete I’d found sticking out of the earth in a garden across town. Damned thing nearly cut his leg clean off. He dropped to the floor screaming, blood gushing everywhere, and I overtook him. See - I can’t be that much of an asshole because I clearly remember apologising to him as I ran on by towards the door. The door. Fucking locked. And now I was here, stuck behind this little table with two doors in the room, one locked and one blocked by my fallen comrade and an R.D.F. I just hope the greedy little bastard eats all of my friend. I don’t want him coming back because - man - he will be pissed and these things are angry enough as it is. I don’t need one that has a grudge against me too. Fuck that shit.

  I snuck another look around at the carnage on the other side of the desk. The pulpy, still-twitching mess of Colin suggests there won’t be enough of him to make a grudge-fuelled comeback. Good, One less problem to worry about. Just leaves me and the R.D.F - some dead girl in her mid-thirties. Going by the slit across her throat, which is allowing bits of Colin to slip right out as she swallows down his fleshy goodness, I’m guessing she either took her own life or was killed by people who wanted
to rob her of her possessions. The world was always a bitch of a place to survive in but since this has all kicked off it has become a lot worse. It is hard to trust anyone. As Colin found out. R.I.P Colin. Know that your death was not a waste. Shame about this R.D.F though. She looks as though she may have been pretty when she was alive. Her hair, now matted with blood and brains, is shoulder length and looks as though it may have been a nice shade of brown. Her complexion, splattered with bits of Colin, is relatively clear (if you take away the blemishes brought about by death). And her cloudy eyes, from the glimpse I caught of them when I first spotted her, looked as though they would have been a sexy shade of blue before death’s curtain closed over them. Yeah - I reckon she could have been pretty at some point. My mind wondered as to whether R.D.Fs could get pregnant for a split second before focusing back to the more important task of getting out of this room alive and unbitten.

  Okay. Here’s the scene. She currently has her back to me. She is on her knees, crouched over the body of Colin. His face is staring directly at me; a look of disappointment in his dead eyes caused by my betrayal. Not sure why. He’s in a better place now. Lucky bastard. If he does come back to life, he should be thanking me. No more worrying, no more stress…I fixed upon the girl again as she leaned further forward, raising her pert ass in the air. Her fashionably short skirt gave me a glimpse of the pink panties hidden beneath. Weird. A stirring from under my boxer shorts reminds me that, despite all the death around me, I am still very much alive. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be surprised by my body’s reaction but right here and right now? Yeah that is strange. Especially given the fact that said pink panties are tainted with various stains which must have soaked into them at time of death. Mmm. Fragrant. Jesus what’s wrong with me? Society has been down the shitter for a few days now and already I’ve turned into a murderous savage. To be fair - some might have argued I was already a murderous savage before the events unfolded but that’s not important and, for the sake of argument, we shall simply bypass that statement. Come on, Ted, sort it out. Right…So she is still eating. I wonder - do these things ever get full? Do they have a preference over whether it is dark meat or white meat in a non-racial meaning…Although, come to think of it, even in a racial meaning - do they have a preference? Not important. Just another pointless debate which ends up getting people killed (possibly by racial extremists in this instance). The door is just the other side of her. I could possibly make a run for it. I reckon I could get out into the corridor before she even knew I had made a dash for it. And so what if she chases? These things aren’t exactly fast on their feet. Especially this one - even in death she is sporting killer heels and one of those is broken. The only problem is - I don’t know what is out there. I could be running right into a group of them. These things rarely travel alone. Hence the news readers desperation at trying to find a suitable word to describe a group of them.

  Okay here is the plan. I will sneak out from where I am hidden. I will go up behind the girl, careful not to make a noise and then I’ll put the blade of the machete into the back of her skull, piercing her dead brain in the process. Again - I’m not sure how these things ‘die’ when you cause trauma to the brain. People describe them as being brain-dead so surely it stands to reason, with the brain already being dead, harming it will have no reaction. I don’t know. Whatever the science is, behind these things, fucking with the brain works so it is good enough for me. Right – enough of this internal monologue - this is it. Fight or flight? I choose fight.

  Keeping low, and as silently as possible, I moved from behind the table with the machete grasped firmly in my right hand. I used my left hand as extra support, on the floor, to help keep me quiet and balanced. When I get near enough I want to jab forward with precision to ensure I pierce both skull and brain. The last thing I want to do is fall on my ass and become dessert.

  The damned floor creaked under my weight as I moved ever closer to the feasting dead girl. Thank God her chewing, crunching and slurping (and even belching) is noisy or else she’d have heard me for sure. Every time a creak sounded I froze with my eyes shut tight - something about the act of closing my eyes making me feel safe for some reason; I can’t see her so she can’t see me. Stupid. Better served by keeping them open on the off-chance she did hear me. At least I’d be able to see her looking at me as opposed to the blackness that is my rear eyelids. I slowly opened my eyes again. She’s still blissfully tucking into Colin’s intestines, pulling handful upon handful out of his twitching gut. I read somewhere that if you laid a person’s intestines down, in a long line, it would be about 6.5 metres in length. That’s nearly a double decker bus. No wonder these things take their time when it comes to eating us. That’s a whole lot of chewing right there. My mind bounced to a joke I heard once; if you laid your intestines down in a long line…you’d be dead. I never understood how that was funny. Fuck sake. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about it either!

  I am practically within touching distance of the girl. A nice close-up of her ass as she continues to bend over in front of me with her face practically buried in Colin’s near-empty gut. The stains in the knickers both arousing me and making me want to gag. She really does fucking stink. I shuffled forward another step and raised the machete up in the air. Okay - this is it. I breathed in to ready myself to bring the blade hammering down into her dead brain.

  Cough.

  The scent of dirty rancid cunt and ass was over-powering. I couldn’t help but cough, I told myself as I momentarily froze on the spot. She stopped eating. A second later she looked up, dead ahead. Another second and she turned to me. Her eyes filled with a burning hatred for me mixed with a wanton desire to feast upon me. I screamed as I brought the blade down hard into the top of her skull. She too made a funny noise (not quite a word, not quite a scream, just a sound) as the blade disappeared into her head with the tip re-appearing under her chin after another push down with all of my strength. Another weird noise from her as her clouded eyes rolled to the back of her head until I could see nothing but the whites. I gagged again as a thick black tar seeped from her gaping mouth and onto the floor between us. I pulled the machete from out of her skull and she slumped forward with her head in my lap. A random, disturbing twitch from below as my body decided there was a strong possibility I was about to get a blow job. What the fuck is wrong with me? I pushed the Rotting Dead Fuck away from me and onto the floor next to the body of Colin.

  That takes the kill total to… Fuck, I’ve actually lost count. Pretty sure I’ve killed more of the R.D.Fs than real people though. 70% RDF and 30% human? Maybe? I’m fairly happy with those percentages. I fell back on the wooden floor, machete still in hand. I am knackered. I haven’t eaten properly for as long as I can remember. Just the odd packet of crisps and bar of chocolate I tend to steal when passing shops. I could murder something proper to eat - like a great, big roast with all the trimmings…Hell, I’d even make do with a Birdseye Roast, cooked quickly in the microwave. It’s too dangerous though, to light a fire and eat something cooked. I’m not sure how good the R.D.Fs sense of smell is or whether they’d be attracted to smoke caused by a fire I could light. Better safe than sorry if I want to survive this. I couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone will survive this or whether this will be game over for the human population. The people now, like me, trying to forge a life for ourselves (trying to find some kind of safety) already doomed and just waiting to die without realising it. Jesus. There’s a thought. For all I know Colin and I were the last two survivors. And I killed him. My mind drifted back to the sight of the R.D.Fs ass, pointing high in the air again, and I found myself thinking - if this is to be it, if I am doomed…Why not go out with a bang? I sat up and looked across to where the girl was sprawled out on the floor. It has been so long since I have felt the touch of a woman. The touch of a woman who wanted it at least. I don’t count that girl I saved from the ‘lots of rotting dead fucks’. Not fair to count her considering the fact I think I spent
more time fighting her than I did fucking her. Ungrateful whore.

  “I saved your life, don’t you think you kind of owe me this?” I had asked her as I pushed her down on her knees. Little fucker had teeth alright. I remember sitting up all night, cursing her abandoned dead body, worried that I was in for the change. Thankfully she wasn’t infected. Now with whatever causes the R.D.F disease at least but, I have to be honest, since that day - and our time together - it kind of burns every time I urinate. Doubt fell she passed anything to me but…Never know in this day and age.

  “Fuck me!” the dead zombie girl whispered. I looked at her face. Still lifeless. I mean more so than the other R.D.Fs. Lifeless as in properly dead. Eyes still nothing but white from where they’re facing the back of her skull. Did she really just talk to me again or was I hearing things? “I said fuck me, you pathetic maggot.”

  “You talking to me?” I asked - instantly reminding myself of the classic De Niro film ‘Taxi Driver’ and instantly remembering that - chances are - no one will be making another film again.

  “I don’t see anyone else here. Come on, fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me. I want to feel you ejaculate in me. I want to feel you empty your load. You deserve it. You came this close to death. Take me. I’m your reward.”

  “Well if you’re sure.”

  “I won’t fight you. Fucking put it in me.”

  It wasn’t the first time I had heard voices in my head. And I knew they were voices in my head. I’m not completely insane after all; I know it’s not the dead girl really talking and giving permission to penetrate her.

  I hopped up onto my feet and crept towards the open door, still unsure what was waiting out in the corridor. I didn’t look. I just quietly pulled the door shut. The good thing about the R.D.Fs is the fact most of them haven’t figured out how to use a door handle yet. All too busy wanting to eat us instead of grasping the basics (which would actually make their task easier). I turned back to the recently slain dead girl, “Are you sure you want this?”