Post-apocalyptic Escapades of Heroes & Scrubs: The Creature

By Jeremiah Donaldson

Post-apocalyptic Escapades of Heroes and Scrubs is the short story series companion to the card game Post-apocalyptic Escapades.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremiah Donaldson
• Release date: Dec 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005106430

Jeremiah Donaldson

Jeremiah Donaldson is a science fiction/horror writer, editor, game designer, free thinker, corporate slave, and overly blunt commentator that grew up in rural Kentucky and lived in Florida for 13 years before moving back in 2008.When he's not working...whatever, he always works, let's start that over. When he's not playing his part as a cog in the machine for the specified number of hours per week, or doing housework, or planting fruit trees in preparation for the climatic meltdown we're forcing upon the planet, he strings together words for peoples' enjoyment.

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Post-apocalyptic Escapades of Heroes & Scrubs:

The Creature

copyright 2022

by Jeremiah Donaldson

www.ephiroll.com

Smashwords ISBN: 9781005106430

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All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced without permission except for review purposes or unless you want to photocopy it and make a paper effigy of me to burn. Any resemblance to people or places is probably 'swamp gas'.

The first thing that Henrietta noticed about the dilapidated farmhouse were the handmade curtains hanging in the windows. Once bright and cheerful, they were now sun faded and tattered at the corners, with the crude sunflowers made from yellow cuts of cloth barely visible. The second thing she noticed was the half open front door. The third being the stench of blood that caused the hair on her arms to stand up.

She paused at the edge of the forest and squatted so that she was just looking above the tall grass between her and the house. At least two minutes passed while she surveyed the scene, watching bees and butterflies go from flower to flower and listening for any sign of life. Nothing else moved, so she did.

Her rifle led the way as she plowed through the grass to the door and pushed it open with the barrel. The smell of blood and perforated bowels was overpowering.

A dimly lit hallway was beyond the door, surprisingly clean, and a crude broom made from a bundle of grass lay on the floor. Dust, swept into a small pile, sat at the business end of the broom as if someone had been interrupted while housecleaning. The trail of blood didn't start until halfway down the hall in front of a door on the left.

She