A Zombie's Revenge

By Aaron Abilene

An ex con is murdered by a corrupt cop only to come back as a zombie hellbent on revenge when the zombie outbreak happens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Abilene
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223170068

Book preview

A Zombie's Revenge

Aaron Abilene

Published by Aaron Abilene, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

A ZOMBIE'S REVENGE

First edition. April 30, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Aaron Abilene.

ISBN: 979-8223170068

Written by Aaron Abilene.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

A Zombie’s Revenge

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A Zombie’s Revenge

Written By Aaron Abilene

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A cloud of dust swirled around the scrapyard as Jason Hardway, former criminal-turned-zombie leader, heaved a massive piece of twisted metal onto the growing mound. Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the grime that covered him like a second skin. He paused for a moment, taking a step back to survey his work in progress - a sculpture formed from the remnants of the old world. A testament to his rebirth.

Almost there, he muttered under his breath, flexing his once-dead muscles, now teeming with life and strength beyond what he had known before. With renewed vigor, he plunged back into his task, hoisting another slab of rusted steel onto the pile before deftly welding it into place.

From behind a mountain of crushed cars, Smelly Smells, the scrapyard owner, watched Jason's efforts with a mixture of admiration and unease. The man's talents were undeniable, but his close proximity to water made Smelly's skin crawl. If only baths weren't such a terrifying concept, he might be able to approach Jason without feeling like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. He scratched at his filthy beard, contemplating the risk.

Damn it all, Smelly grumbled, deciding it was worth the fear-induced palpitations to witness Jason's artistry up close. You got this, Smelly. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable discomfort, and emerged from his hiding spot, cautiously approaching the site of the sculpture.

Jason! Smelly called out, trying to sound casual despite the tension coiling in his gut. That's some mighty fine work you're doing there.

Thanks, Smelly, Jason replied, pausing in his labors to wipe the sweat from his forehead. I've been working on it for days. It's like... a symbol of my transformation, y'know? From the life I had before.

Uh-huh, Smelly agreed, nodding vigorously as he tried not to think about how close he was standing to an actual hose. Well, it's... impressive. He choked out the last word, his fear of baths momentarily forgotten in the face of Jason's skill.

Appreciate it, Jason said, flashing a grin that revealed teeth stained by years of decay and neglect. The two men stood there, side by side, each battling their own demons while finding solace in the shared experience of creating something new from the wreckage of their lives.

––––––––

The afternoon sun cast a golden haze over the mounds of twisted metal and rusted relics that littered Smelly's Scrapyard. Amidst the graveyard of civilization, Jason Hardway labored with an intensity that seemed to defy his undead nature. The loose earth crunched beneath his boots as he wrestled a large piece of scrap into place, muscles straining beneath the grime and gore that coated his once-human flesh.

Yo, Jason! a voice called out from the entrance, shattering the silence that hung heavy over the desolate landscape.

Tommy Crybaby ambled through the scrapyard, his lanky frame navigating the precarious terrain with surprising grace. Despite being Smelly's son, he had an air of cleanliness that contrasted sharply with his father's filthiness. His eyes locked onto Jason's work-in-progress, curiosity shining in their depths like a beacon of hope amidst despair.

Hey, Tommy, Jason greeted him, pausing in his efforts and flashing a grin that was equal parts friendly and grotesque. What brings you by?

Couldn't resist, Tommy admitted, his gaze lingering on the half-formed sculpture. I heard you've got some crazy project goin' on here, and I just had to see what all the fuss is about.

Ah, well, Jason chuckled, running a dirt-streaked hand through his greasy hair. I guess word travels fast, even in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Sure does, Tommy agreed, stepping closer to examine the sculpture. So, tell me about this thing. What's it supposed to be?

The zombie artist hesitated for a moment, his milky eyes flickering with uncertainty. It's... complicated, he finally replied, his voice tinged with the weight of past sins. It's sort of a representation of my journey, y'know? From who I was before... to who I am now.

Deep, Tommy mused, nodding his understanding. I like it, man. It's got a real... emotional intensity to it.

Thanks, Jason said, clearly touched by the younger man's words. Your support means a lot, especially since I didn't exactly have any friends before all this went down.

Hey, we're in this together, right? Tommy clapped him on the back, ignoring the squelching sound that accompanied the gesture. Besides, who says zombies can't be artists?

Exactly, Jason agreed, his grin widening as they shared a moment of camaraderie amidst the detritus of their ruined world. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a masterpiece to finish.

––––––––

A cloud of rust and dirt seemed to hover over the scrapyard, casting a murky veil over the remains of civilization. Smelly Smells stood behind a pile of twisted metal, watching his son, Tommy, converse with the undead artist. The stench of decay wafted from Jason, mingling with the ever-present odors of rust and filth that saturated the air.

Come on, Smelly, he mumbled to himself, gripping the grimy hem of his tattered shirt. You can do it. Jus' a bit closer. His reluctance stemmed from more than just the reek; it was rooted in the fear of confronting his own demons - his aversion to cleanliness.

With a deep breath, Smelly stepped out from behind the mound of scrap and approached the two men, his heart pounding in his chest.

Ah, Mr. Smells, Jason greeted him, his voice sounding like gravel being crushed underfoot. Nice of you to join us.

Smelly's fine, he replied, attempting a weak smile. Thought I'd come see what's been keepin' ya so busy.

Tommy looked from his father to the sculpture, then back again. His sensitive eyes glistened as they took in the intricate details of the metallic artwork, the way it seemed to capture the raw essence of pain and redemption.

Wow, Jason... This is... It's beautiful, Tommy choked out, his voice cracking as the tears welled up. He hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

Thank you, Tommy, Jason said, his milky eyes reflecting a deep appreciation. I'm glad it resonates with you.

Resonates? Hell, man, this thing's practically singin' my soul, Tommy sniffled, giving an awkward chuckle. You got some serious talent, buddy.

Your support means a lot to me, Jason replied, casting a glance at Smelly, who had edged closer, driven by the desire for camaraderie.

Uh, yeah, it's real... somethin', Smelly stammered, his gaze darting between his son and the zombie as he fought the urge to flee from the overwhelming odors. Good job, Jason.

Thanks, Smelly, Jason said, a genuine grin spreading across his decaying features. And thank you for giving me the space to work here in your scrapyard.

Least I could do, Smelly mumbled, forcing himself to take another step forward, inching closer to the sculpture that represented so much more than just an artistic endeavor.

As Tommy's emotional response to the artwork continued to flow, the three men – each with their own struggles and demons – found themselves bound together by the threads of understanding and friendship, woven among the wreckage of a world gone mad.

––––––––

Tommy's tears glistened in the fading sunlight, a stark contrast to the rusty metal that made up Jason's masterpiece. The enormous sculpture towered over them, an amalgamation of twisted scrap and discarded memories, its surface pockmarked by time and neglect.

Jason, Tommy croaked, his voice thick with emotion. What does it mean?

The undead artist took a step back, allowing the others to view his creation in its entirety. It was a strange, abstract piece – a chaotic mass of metal shards that somehow evoked a sense of rebirth and redemption.

Each piece of scrap represents a part of my past, Jason explained, his voice gravelly but steady. A life of crime, violence, and pain. But as I've put them together, they've come to symbolize something new. A second chance.

He turned to Smelly, who had managed to get within arm's reach of the sculpture without retching. Your scrapyard has given me a place to confront my demons and create something meaningful from the wreckage. It's become a metaphor for my journey from darkness into light.

Smelly stared at the metal monstrosity, his eyes wide in amazement. His own struggles with cleanliness had driven him to live among the detritus of society, and he understood all too well the desire for redemption and renewal.

Jason, he began hesitantly, his hands wringing together as if to wash away the filth that clung to them. "I ain't never been much for clean livin', but seein' what you've done here... it