Freddy, in the back of the garage, grabbed an axe. He ran back into the house.
The corpse was holding Trash close to himself. She covered her eyes. She couldn't look at it. She could hear it breathing, its lungs filled with fluid. She felt its cold, wet hands touching her skin. It removed its left hand from her arm and felt it moving down her side to her waist.
Freddy came running down the hall with the axe raised high. He turned in the doorway of the bathroom, saw the corpse, and drove the axe into its back. The corpse turned around, letting go of Trash for a second, then pushed Freddy from the room and closed the door. It turned the lock. Freddy got up and tried to open it but it was no use.
"Fuck you!" Freddy screamed, wiggling the door handle.
The corpse turned back towards Trash, who had backed into the far wall by the window. It limped over to where she was standing, grabbed her with gusto, and sat her on the toilet seat. She made not a sound as the corpse tore her tights off, exposing bare flesh. Trash squirmed, but the corpse was strong and held her in place.
She finally opened her eyes to see it standing over her, bones showing through its rotting skin, its brown and green ooze-covered zombie cock pulsating. She wanted to scream, but couldn't even make a damn sound.
Freddy began hitting the door with the axe, huge over the shoulder swings that only nicked off small chunks of the thick wooden door. He could hear the corpse on the other side grunting and wheezing.
The corpse took its free hand, covered in chemical goop, and rubbed Trash's cunt, sticking its bloated fingers in and pulling them out. She closed her eyes again and bit her lip. Freddy kept swinging the axe at the door. Trash surprisingly found herself getting wet. The corpse took its hand away and grabbed its slimey cock, which had grown to an absurdly large length. He drove it into Trash's pussy, all the way in until there was nothing left. Trash shivered. It was so cold, like a marble slab caked in gelatin. The corpse pulled out and then drove his cock into her again. With its free hand, it ran its fingers over her tits, leaving a trail of slime behind. Faster and faster it pumped into her.
Freddy continued to hack away at the door, creating a small hole. He peered through and his jaw dropped.
"You fucking monster bastard!" he shouted, and swung the axe at the hole he had created, chipping off more wood.
The zombie lifted trash off the toilet, his cock buried deep inside her, and leaned her against the sink. It grabbed her leg and lifted it up under its arm as he fucked her harder and faster, dripping chemical sludge on the tile floor. Trash finally mustered a scream. She felt limp and weak, felt the corpse pumping inside her, hitting her clit each time. The corpse moved faster and faster. A loud squishing noise echoed through the room each time he entered her pussy. Trash felt extremely numb throughout most of her body.
She tried to escape the reality in her mind, picturing happy thoughts, a song she was working on. She hummed it in her head, "Fuck all you lying whores, fuck your designer stores, don't care about fighting wars, blood seeping from my pores."
She imagined herself as a child, but the calm vision was tainted and she saw her young self being chopped to pieces by her father with an axe. Her childhood lost and forgotten, her dignity spoiled, her eyes filled with tears, her mind filled with sudden fears. She felt her once strong demeanor fading away, her air supply shortening, her body aching and shaking like a seizure that would never end.
She closed her eyes as the corpse came inside her, but it kept coming out as if it were being released with extreme pressure. The corpse pulled out and sprayed Trash in the face with his semen. It just kept coming until there was nothing left inside him. Trash felt sick. Her vision was blank. Her stomach churned.
Freddy reached through the hole in the door he had created and unlocked the door, busting it open. The corpse stood dizzily in the center of the room. A foul odor radiated through the room, that of rotting flesh and bodily fluids. Trash was covered in zombie jizz and green ooze. She fell to the ground. Freddy charged furiously at the corpse and sliced off its head in one swift move. The head ricocheted off the back wall and landed in the bathtub. The body continued to walk around in circles, blood spewing from the neck stump. Freddy kicked the headless body and it fell backwards into the bathtub.
Freddy picked Trash up off the ground and carried her out of the room. She was unconscious. He shut the door behind him and brought Trash into the basement. He let her down onto the couch and alerted the others.
"Mofo, get Trash some towels and maybe a blanket," Freddy said, breathing heavily. He turned to Tina. "Keep her company, I'm going to go take care of that thing."
Mofo ran to the laundry dryer and grabbed a few towels as Freddy paced up the steps. Tina was in hysterics.
Freddy swung himself around the bathroom door frame. The corpse was standing upright, holding its severed head in one hand, trying to compose itself and move forward. Blood stained nearly every surface, red smears along the walls and the sink and the toilet seat. Its head twitched and its lips curled into a smile.
"Brains!" it spoke in a gravelly voice, its free hand grabbing at the air.
Freddy grabbed the axe off the hallway floor and gripped it tightly. He lunged at the corpse and drove the axe into the corpse's shoulder, severing the arm. The corpse's head roared as the arm holding it fell to the ground. Freddy swung again, driving the blade into the corpse's abdomen. He pulled it out and swung again, hitting the corpse in the chest. The head shook and gyrated on the floor, its eyes rolling up in the sockets.
Freddy pulled the axe away and backed up into the hall. He ran back to the garage and frantically searched for something else to use, something more severe. He knocked everything off of the work table, screwdrivers and wrenches galore. In the back of the garage, beside the work table, he spotted a can of gasoline. He hesitated at first, but the image of the monster brutalizing Trash flashed through his mind, temporarily blinding him. He grabbed the can and rushed back into the house. When he reached the bathroom, the corpse's body was swaying back and forth, its left arm holding the severed right arm, which was still grasping the head. Freddy didn't even think. He splashed the gasoline onto the corpse. He stepped back, took out a matchbook from his jean pocket, and lit it. He tossed the match onto the corpse and it went up in flames. Freddy shut the bathroom door and heard the corpse screaming in agony.
He joined the others in the basement. "How's Trash doing?" he said, breathing hard.
Mofo was sitting beside her on the couch, holding her in the blanket and rocking with her.
"She's in shock," he said.
Tina was crying and ran towards Freddy, embracing him. Freddy wiped the sweat off his forehead. From upstairs he could still hear it screaming.
-3 Months Later-
The Bloody Rape Dolls got a show at some dingy club 30 miles from home, one of the only venues of its kind in Kentucky. Rusty's Garage it was called. Many local bands had played there since the 70s, anyone from The Gnomes to The Fuckheads, none of them were any good. The club's sign was weather-damaged and covered in spray-painted graffiti. A group of no-good skinheads waited outside the door. Spread liberally amongst the crowd were the usual airheads, new-wavers, and mods, all waiting patiently to be let in. Surrounding the club's exterior were small businesses, one-story buildings with dated signs and broken windows barred-up. A derelict pushing a shopping cart added spice to the scene, crossing right in front of the club only to be harassed by the clubgoers.
Trash, Mofo, Freddy, Devil and Tina stood across the street from the club. Tina held her Panasonic camcorder. She was going to document this event, visual evidence it even happened. The band themselves were surprised they got a gig, not even having recorded a decent demo.
"Tina, get a shot of us outside the club," Mofo said. He ran out into the middle of the street and waved at Tina. Freddy, Trash and Devil joined him in the street as Tina rolled the camera. They waved awkwardly and motioned towards the club like Vanna White.
"There's sound, you can talk," Tina said from behind the camera.
"Oh, well then," Trash said. "We're here at Rusty's Garage to play a fucking rock show and get paid."
"We're actually here to piss off rednecks and airheads and get laid," Devil said.
"Okay, I think we're good," Tina said, stopping the camera and putting the lens cap on.
The group headed inside the club, pushing past the riff raff. The club was empty save for a few bartenders and waitresses hanging around the bar. The stage was lit with multi-colored lights, a moderately sized stage about four feet off the ground. The floor was covered in cigarette butts from the previous show. The band jumped on stage and grabbed the instruments from their stands, which were all ready and set up for them.
"How convenient, I feel like a real rock star," Trash said sarcastically. She went up to the microphone in the center of the stage and screamed into it, her voice echoing throughout the whole room.
"Can you guys test the other mics?" came a voice from the mixing booth in the back of the room.
Mofo and Freddy began speaking into the microphones on either side of the stage.
"Hey, Freddy, how's it going?" Mofo said, his voice erupting from the amps on each corner of the room.
"Oh, thanks for asking, Mofo. I'm doing great. I'm about to play a show," Freddy said, laughing.
"Really? Tell me how that goes!" Mofo replied.
"You guys are fucking geeks," Trash said into her microphone.
"Alright," said the sound guy. "How's that sound for you guys?"
"Just fine and dandy, sir!" Freddy said in a mock polite voice.
Tina stood in the empty mosh pit and got a shot of the band tuning up. One of the club's bartenders approached her and tried chatting her up.
"Are you part of the band?" he asked, his bearded face smiling.
"No, I'm just filming," Tina replied, still looking through the viewfinder.
"You wanna come join me over here?" the man said, pointing to a dimly-lit spot by the bar.
"No thanks, that's my boyfriend up there," Tina said.
The man turned and walked away.
The band warmed up, played one or two abridged songs, Freddy asked for more low end on the bass. Trash wasn't looking too swell, and from the mosh pit Tina noticed she didn't seem her usual self. The events three months prior really took a toll on her, Tina thought. The lighting didn't do much to hide the dead look in Trash's face, and under the green strobe she resembled a ghoul.
Tina went over to the bar and ordered a coke while the bouncers let the riff raff in. They spread themselves out across the mosh pit until Tina could barely see her friends on stage. She took her coke into the crowd that was forming and weaseled her way towards the front, camera in hand. She stood stage left, by a large speaker. That could become a problem if things get too loud, she thought. She chugged down her coke and set the cup on the edge of the stage, then swung the camcorder onto her shoulder and turned it on.
Through the viewfinder, she watched Trash as she stood there on stage, eying the audience with comical intensity like a general inspecting his troops. Trash swayed subtly from side to side, side to side, looking almost nauseous as she watched the crowd growing. Freddy had his guitar turned down and was playing something inaudible. Mofo was kneeling on the stage floor tuning his guitar, and Devil was sitting behind his kit not doing much at all. He looked nervous, they all looked nervous. They looked weak, afraid, helpless, small. Tina became overtaken by anxiety on their behalf, imagining a crowd of disapproving hecklers booing them off stage. She lowered the camcorder from her eye and bit her lip.
"Tina!" she heard from within the crowd. She looked around through all the Mohawks and back-combed hairdos for the source of the voice. She saw bodies being shoved aside and a familiar face emerged. It was Scuzz in his usual attire; Mohawk, trench coat, Doc Martins, fingerless leather gloves. She wouldn't have even noticed him amongst the crowd had he not approached her first.
"Hey, Scuzz," Tina said, her voice sounding concerned, still thinking about the Bloody Rape Dolls.
"What's happening?" he said, his head bobbing up and down to a rhythm that did not exist.
Tina didn't really feel like talking. "I'm filming!" she said.
"Oh, cool. Cool. This is going to be fucking amazing, right!" Scuzz said enthusiastically, using his arms to emphasize his statement.
Tina laughed nervously. "Uh, yeah," she said, smiling crookedly. "It's going to really rock."
Scuzz kept bobbing his head and drumming in the air. He seemed hyped up on something. His eyes were darting every which way. Tina lifted the camcorder onto her shoulder and pretended to be filming something until Scuzz finally got bored and disappeared into the crowd, shouting something to Tina as he went.
Tina heard microphone feedback and looked up on stage. A tall, thin man in rather inappropriately dressy clothes tapped the microphone, Trash standing idly by his side.
"Welcome, everyone," the man said loudly. He had the geekiest, most adolescent voice. "I have a few announcements I'd like to make before we get going here."
Somebody from the audience shouted some expletives, which prompted a few others to join in.
"Please, let me just get this out of the way," the man said into the microphone, his voice cracking. "We've got two great local bands here tonight, but there are a few things I'd like to say."
"Get on with it!" a voice called from the audience.
"Wednesday we've got a raffle, so be sure to get your raffle tickets by the door. Secondly..." the man went on, but Tina stopped listening. She was watching Trash. God, she didn't look good at all.
"...Wet T-shirt contest, and the winner will receive a Rusty's all access pass good for 4 more nights..."
Trash was standing awkwardly, leaning to one side with her legs crossed. She coughed into her hand and then wiped her lips with her arm. Freddy and Mofo were making gestures at the crowd, and Tina wondered if they noticed how ill Trash looked.
"...Nobody wants that, now do we? No. Refrain from pushing or hitting others. This is not a place for violence..."
Tina started up the camcorder and put the viewfinder to her eye. She recorded a panning shot of the crowd, then zoomed up to the talking thin man and then Trash, who had her eyes closed.
"Thanks for your patience," the man said, "Now here's...The Bloody Rape Dolls!"
He walked offstage, leaving the band alone and looking like frightened tree-dwelling critters, eyes-wide.
Trash stepped up to the microphone and took it off its stand, speaking into it.
"You people sicken me. Look at yourselves. You're just as bad as the ones you're making a statement against. You're followers, nothing but a bunch of sheep in uniforms," Trash said aggressively, walking along the edge of the stage.
Devil hit his sticks together four times and they began blasting away, a loud wall of sound with Trash's shrill and insistent vocals. Tina made sure to get good coverage of both the crowd reaction and the band itself. Trash moved around the stage like a pinball, bouncing from each corner. Freddy was jumping around too, and by comparison Mofo was as still as a statue. Devil looked like a blur he was moving so fast. Somebody climbed on stage and tried to grab Trash, but she kicked them with her boots and they returned to the mosh pit.
The song ended, everyone on stage looking exhausted. The crowd shouted in approval. Tina smiled. They sounded great! She removed her eye from the viewfinder to witness the madness of the crowd.
All of a sudden, Trash doubled over and fell to the ground, dropping the microphone which sent a cascading wave of reverb throughout the venue.
The crowd calmed down. Freddy and Mofo dropped their instruments and ran to Trash's aid. Tina surveyed the room as the crowd began to talk amongst themselves, a mesh of incoherent mumbling. Tina heard two eccentrically-dressed moshers discussing the event.
"Oh, what a drama queen," the one said to the other.
"She's probably a fucking junkie. What a loser," said the other.
Tina turned off the camcorder and set it off her shoulder.
Mofo grabbed the mic and spoke into it, pacing back and forth.
"Uh, hold on everyone. Just a minute here, we have a problem."
A figure came bolting from the back of the room and grabbed Tina by the arm. She spun around to see Corporal Ton L. Syndrome.
"This is fucking nuts! Best show I've ever seen!" he laughed.
"I don't think this is very funny, I think she's hurt!" Tina said, unamused by his amusement.
Tina watched as Devil got up from behind his kit and knelt down beside Trash's unconscious body. Freddy and Mofo were checking all over for some semblance of life, touching her neck and wrists. They looked at one another and Tina could see them talking, and they didn't look happy.
"Oh, god. They're really dragging this shit out!" Corporal said, craning his neck to get a better look. Tina looked worriedly from Corporal to the stage before handing him the camcorder.
"Here, take this," she said, and then climbed up on stage to join the others.
When she approached, Freddy looked up with a panic-stricken grimace on his face.
"No pulse," he said. "She's not breathing."
"Maybe we're not checking it right," Devil said hopefully.
Mofo jumped to his feet, grabbing the microphone to alert the crowd.
"Somebody call a paramedic, we need help right now!" he shouted in a quavery voice.
Tina choked and began crying. She knelt down next to Trash's lifeless body and cradled her head.
Freddy put his arm around Tina and lifted her to her feet.
"Don't look, don't look. We should move away," he said urgently as he lead Tina to the corner of the stage where Corporal stood in the pit.
"You guys are psychos!" Corporal laughed, shaking his head. "Fuck, man!"
"Shut up, Lance!" Freddy said sternly, holding Tina's sobbing head against his chest.
"Hey fuck you, man. My name's not Lance," Corporal said.
"Look man, somebody's hurt. Show some fucking respect," Freddy shot back.
"Bitch fell down, don't get your panties in a bunch!" Corporal said. He didn't seem worried at all, which Freddy found strange as almost everyone knew Corporal had a serious thing for Trash.
"What's your damage, man? Why don't you make yourself useful and call for help?" Freddy said, shocked at the man's audacity.
"Oh, we got a tough guy here!" Corporal chuckled, clapping his hands. "Why don't you come down here, tough guy, and we'll see how tough you really are?"
"Get bent, Lance. I have more important things to worry about," Freddy said, leading Tina towards the opposite end of the stage.
"Please, somebody help! We've got a man...er...woman down here!" Mofo was pleading, grabbing his shaved head in distress. Devil was still on his knees inspecting Trash.
Someone from the audience shouted, "Performance artist fags!"
Another faceless voice called, "Junkie whore!"
Devil got to his feet and grabbed the microphone away from Mofo. "Hey, who said that?" he yelled, a look of incredible anger on his face.
A young kid about 15 came forward from the darkness. "I did, you fat piece of shit! What are you gonna do?"
Devil grunted and dropped the microphone, kneeling back down beside Trash.
Corporal was eating this up, laughing hysterically.
"Somebody..." Mofo began, but his voice was not heard. He grabbed the mic off the ground and spoke. "Somebody phone the hospital!"
The audience's whispers had grown to literally a dull roar like that of an old furnace. Somebody threw a sneaker at the stage which hit Mofo directly in the forehead. He ducked as another shoe was thrown.
Devil looked up, his eyes glowing. "She's moving! I feel her breathing!" he shouted.
Mofo put the mic in its stand and rushed over. Freddy followed, leaving Tina sobbing in the corner.
"Feel, feel!" Devil said frantically. He grabbed Freddy's hand and placed it on Trash's abdomen. Indeed, it was moving, but Freddy wasn't very pleased.
"That's not her breathing, back up!" he shouted, grabbing the two others as he jumped to his feet.
Trash's stomach began to grow, like a balloon being inflated. Freddy, Devil and Mofo stood speechless a few feet away, watching this volcanic growth stretch and shake. Trash's feet started to kick, a nerve spasm. Blood was seeping out from her belly button.
"What the fuck is that?" Mofo screamed a high pitch scream. The growth was beginning to tear the skin.
With a loud bang, her stomach burst open, splattering the three with blood and entrails. Out from within Trash's chest cavity crawled three deformed, little mutant babies drenched in stomach bile and ooze. They fell to the floor and stretched their bodies before biting off their own umbilical cords with their little sharp teeth.
To be continued in Part 3!...