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Modern Horror - Angel in the Devil's Shoes (Updated 13 October)
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<blockquote data-quote="Puppy Kicker" data-source="post: 1597331" data-attributes="member: 20284"><p><strong>Angel in the Devil’s Shoes</strong></p><p><strong>Part III</strong></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink, thump.</p><p></p><p>It was a body Ryan had just kicked in his blind advance through the execution room. He’d been around enough corpses to know how they felt when he kicked them. He crouched low and ran his hands over the body.</p><p></p><p>Bald head. Johnson. Abusive sonofabeech… no pulse… uniform insignia… name tag… pen in the shirt pocket… belt… cuffs… holster! … empty… keys!</p><p></p><p>Ryan fidgeted with the keyring, trying one after another on the manacles hindering his wrists and then ankles. The cuffs fell to the ground with a final clink. He gave the body a solid kick for good measure. “That’s karma mother%$#@#$.”</p><p></p><p>Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle, thump.</p><p></p><p>“Damn!” He rubbed his forearm and felt along the corner of the wall he’d abruptly slammed into. Stone gave way to something smooth - the plexiglass window into the viewing area. Ryan knew the door was left of there. He found it. It was open. This is where the warden should have been. The warden who’d sat there reading <em>Field & Stream </em> while he waited for Ryan’s brains to cook and his body to twitch like a wiggling little strip of frying bacon. </p><p></p><p>“I hope you’re dead.”</p><p></p><p>Ryan stumbled through the dark of the room. Thoughts of freedom sped his step and overcame the thoughts of vengeance and hate.</p><p></p><p><em>Your work on this world is not done, Ryan Andrew Hobbes. More must die.</em></p><p>“Goddamnit, no! Noooooo!!!” Ryan’s screams echoed back to him but they couldn’t silence the voices.</p><p></p><p><em>You have been freed for our use. More must die.</em></p><p></p><p>Ryan whimpered. His lips mouthed no. Thoughts of freedom faded.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>“It starts with you removing the gun from my head.”</p><p></p><p>“Right. Sorry about that.” Mike dropped the Beretta to his side. “Now, about that plan?” He looked through the window at the rapidly filling waiting room. The zombies were devouring the bodies of the guards but Mike doubted they would be occupied for long.</p><p></p><p>“Oh god, Sean! I thought you were dead!” Sal hurled her arms around Sean’s neck.</p><p></p><p>“Nope. More alive than ever, bunny. Scraped my forehead though.” He returned her embrace. “First thing we need to do is call the cops.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s your plan?” Mike pressed his face against the window. The phone sat on the desk, partially obscured by the remains of a dead guard and the gyrating of an undead brain-muncher. “Reaching out and touching someone’s going to be a bit harder than you might think…” A zombie hurled itself towards Mike, rocking the metal door and spiderwebbing the reinforced window. “Plan B?”</p><p></p><p>“Get the hell away from these brain eating zombie bastards!”</p><p></p><p>“Good plan, pookie. Let’s go.” Sal led the way down a clean passageway at a vigorous trot. No clue where she was going but damned if she didn’t LOOK in charge.</p><p></p><p>“What’s with the brain-eating anyway?”</p><p></p><p>Mike shrugged at Sean’s question. “Low carb maybe?” </p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p><p></p><p>Getting into the prison was certainly easier than getting back out. Locked doors and the occasional dead guard were their only scenery. The sounds of the zombie feeding frenzy had long ago faded in the distance. They felt safe to slow down then, but noone had a clue where they were. With hearts racing and breathing coming in shallow gasps they universally decided to stop in a small office that seemed to oversee the entrance to a cell block. Two guards lay dead in their chairs here and the Holy Grail sat on the desk between the corpses. A phone.</p><p></p><p>“No tone.” Sean slammed the phone back onto its cradle, rocking the desk and causing one of the guards to flop to the floor.</p><p></p><p>“We’re in some kind of sh** here, you know?”</p><p></p><p>Sean and Sal both nodded at Mike’s painfully obvious remark. A moment of silence.</p><p></p><p>“Why the gun?” Sean suddenly asked.</p><p></p><p>“Beg your pardon?”</p><p></p><p>Sean took a step towards Mike. Cautious. Wary. “The gun. Your gun. Why do you have a gun?”</p><p></p><p>With his left hand Mike pulled his jacket back to reveal his holstered weapon. “This… is because of this…” With his right he pulled out his wallet. It flipped open to reveal an FBI identification card. “Somebody important thought something bad might go on at the protest. We were sent here to keep an eye on things.”</p><p></p><p>“We? I assume you have a partner then. Where is he?”</p><p></p><p>“Last I saw him he was chewing on the head of a dead security guard. I’d say we currently have a conflict of interest.”</p><p></p><p>While the boys talked Sal was examining the corpses of the two guards. Like the others they’d seen these two had been killed by a single gunshot to the head. Sal had been on enough late night shifts at the ER to know gunshot wounds. “Small caliber. Close range.”</p><p></p><p>Sean pulled his suspicious gaze from Mike. “What?”</p><p></p><p>“Like the others we’ve seen I imagine. I just haven’t had a chance to examine them. These two guards were both killed by a small caliber round to the head at a very close range.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine. Small caliber, close range. Who’s doing the shooting? Seems to me that’s the question of the day. At least, that’s what I care about.”</p><p></p><p>Sal glared at Mike. “I’m telling you what I can. I’m not a damn cop.”</p><p></p><p>Mike flipped his wallet closed and put it back where it belonged. “They have their weapons out. Guess they weren’t surprised.”</p><p></p><p>“I take it you know your guns Mr. FBI guy…”</p><p></p><p>“You can call me Captain America.”</p><p></p><p>Sal tossed Mike a fake smile as she tossed him what she’d found on the floor. He caught it. </p><p></p><p>“9mm shell. Guess they shot back or this is what shot them. 9mm sound about right for the bullet hole size?” </p><p></p><p>Sal nodded.</p><p></p><p>“Alighty then. We may now deduce that they were killed by a 9mm. Now about the zombies…”</p><p></p><p>“Safety’s off on both their guns.” Sal was now intimately familiar with the safety mechanism on the guard’s issued pistols. “You know what I think?”</p><p></p><p>“What’s that, bunny?”</p><p></p><p>“They shot each other.” </p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">---</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Puppy Kicker, post: 1597331, member: 20284"] [B]Angel in the Devil’s Shoes Part III[/B] [CENTER]---[/CENTER] Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink. Shuffle, clink, thump. It was a body Ryan had just kicked in his blind advance through the execution room. He’d been around enough corpses to know how they felt when he kicked them. He crouched low and ran his hands over the body. Bald head. Johnson. Abusive sonofabeech… no pulse… uniform insignia… name tag… pen in the shirt pocket… belt… cuffs… holster! … empty… keys! Ryan fidgeted with the keyring, trying one after another on the manacles hindering his wrists and then ankles. The cuffs fell to the ground with a final clink. He gave the body a solid kick for good measure. “That’s karma mother%$#@#$.” Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle, thump. “Damn!” He rubbed his forearm and felt along the corner of the wall he’d abruptly slammed into. Stone gave way to something smooth - the plexiglass window into the viewing area. Ryan knew the door was left of there. He found it. It was open. This is where the warden should have been. The warden who’d sat there reading [I]Field & Stream [/I] while he waited for Ryan’s brains to cook and his body to twitch like a wiggling little strip of frying bacon. “I hope you’re dead.” Ryan stumbled through the dark of the room. Thoughts of freedom sped his step and overcame the thoughts of vengeance and hate. [I]Your work on this world is not done, Ryan Andrew Hobbes. More must die.[/I] “Goddamnit, no! Noooooo!!!” Ryan’s screams echoed back to him but they couldn’t silence the voices. [I]You have been freed for our use. More must die.[/I] Ryan whimpered. His lips mouthed no. Thoughts of freedom faded. [CENTER]---[/CENTER] “It starts with you removing the gun from my head.” “Right. Sorry about that.” Mike dropped the Beretta to his side. “Now, about that plan?” He looked through the window at the rapidly filling waiting room. The zombies were devouring the bodies of the guards but Mike doubted they would be occupied for long. “Oh god, Sean! I thought you were dead!” Sal hurled her arms around Sean’s neck. “Nope. More alive than ever, bunny. Scraped my forehead though.” He returned her embrace. “First thing we need to do is call the cops.” “That’s your plan?” Mike pressed his face against the window. The phone sat on the desk, partially obscured by the remains of a dead guard and the gyrating of an undead brain-muncher. “Reaching out and touching someone’s going to be a bit harder than you might think…” A zombie hurled itself towards Mike, rocking the metal door and spiderwebbing the reinforced window. “Plan B?” “Get the hell away from these brain eating zombie bastards!” “Good plan, pookie. Let’s go.” Sal led the way down a clean passageway at a vigorous trot. No clue where she was going but damned if she didn’t LOOK in charge. “What’s with the brain-eating anyway?” Mike shrugged at Sean’s question. “Low carb maybe?” [CENTER]---[/CENTER] Getting into the prison was certainly easier than getting back out. Locked doors and the occasional dead guard were their only scenery. The sounds of the zombie feeding frenzy had long ago faded in the distance. They felt safe to slow down then, but noone had a clue where they were. With hearts racing and breathing coming in shallow gasps they universally decided to stop in a small office that seemed to oversee the entrance to a cell block. Two guards lay dead in their chairs here and the Holy Grail sat on the desk between the corpses. A phone. “No tone.” Sean slammed the phone back onto its cradle, rocking the desk and causing one of the guards to flop to the floor. “We’re in some kind of sh** here, you know?” Sean and Sal both nodded at Mike’s painfully obvious remark. A moment of silence. “Why the gun?” Sean suddenly asked. “Beg your pardon?” Sean took a step towards Mike. Cautious. Wary. “The gun. Your gun. Why do you have a gun?” With his left hand Mike pulled his jacket back to reveal his holstered weapon. “This… is because of this…” With his right he pulled out his wallet. It flipped open to reveal an FBI identification card. “Somebody important thought something bad might go on at the protest. We were sent here to keep an eye on things.” “We? I assume you have a partner then. Where is he?” “Last I saw him he was chewing on the head of a dead security guard. I’d say we currently have a conflict of interest.” While the boys talked Sal was examining the corpses of the two guards. Like the others they’d seen these two had been killed by a single gunshot to the head. Sal had been on enough late night shifts at the ER to know gunshot wounds. “Small caliber. Close range.” Sean pulled his suspicious gaze from Mike. “What?” “Like the others we’ve seen I imagine. I just haven’t had a chance to examine them. These two guards were both killed by a small caliber round to the head at a very close range.” “Fine. Small caliber, close range. Who’s doing the shooting? Seems to me that’s the question of the day. At least, that’s what I care about.” Sal glared at Mike. “I’m telling you what I can. I’m not a damn cop.” Mike flipped his wallet closed and put it back where it belonged. “They have their weapons out. Guess they weren’t surprised.” “I take it you know your guns Mr. FBI guy…” “You can call me Captain America.” Sal tossed Mike a fake smile as she tossed him what she’d found on the floor. He caught it. “9mm shell. Guess they shot back or this is what shot them. 9mm sound about right for the bullet hole size?” Sal nodded. “Alighty then. We may now deduce that they were killed by a 9mm. Now about the zombies…” “Safety’s off on both their guns.” Sal was now intimately familiar with the safety mechanism on the guard’s issued pistols. “You know what I think?” “What’s that, bunny?” “They shot each other.” [CENTER]---[/CENTER] [/QUOTE]
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