Club Zombie: Zombies Suck Part 1

Club Zombie.

Zombies Suck.

by Z. Allora.

Dedication.

To Readers Afraid of Zombies: My zombies are not the rotting corpses stumbling around searching for brains. They're forever hot and s.e.xy and seek only male essence and their mates. The Club Zombie series is dedicated to stopping zombie prejudice one page at a time.

I want to acknowledge:.

My Pretties on Facebook... you keep me sane!!!.

Thursday Euclid for 'patiently' untangling my words from my issues and for calling me on things I couldn't see (I miss you).

Johnny Williams for making me go places I need to but I'd rather avoid.

Danny Bruggeman for being a wonderful friend who allows me to bounce my crazy off her.

Derekica Snake (Empress of Dark Romance) for helping me figure out how to make the opening scene worthy of a nightmare that was Alex's life.

Eden Winters (our sweet Southern belle) who is more than a mentor and crit. partner she's the sister of my heart.

And as always my love who allows me to believe in happily ever after.

Hugs, Z.

Chapter One.

"Uli. Mm mm, come on you need to..." Alex twisted. He needed to stop his best friend, but the sound of Ulrich's sucking on him was unbelievably s.e.xy. His apartment-mate's head bobbed in time with the incredible suction. "Oh! Come on, Uli."

Pleasure curled through his insides. Maybe he should let Uli suck a few more moments. Though there'd be h.e.l.l to pay if Alex's mother found out, Uli's mouth latched on to him. Mounting need made him s.h.i.+ver.

He craved this connection with Ulrich. Alex's fingers stroked soft blond hair, trying to communicate his tender feelings. However, before his body could take him to fruition, his s.e.xy dream morphed into the usual nightmare.

His mother loomed over him, staring down at him in disgust. He had no time to cover his lower half before she swung the dreaded punishment rope.

"No, Mama! Don't. Please. I'm sorry." He s.h.i.+elded his face as she switched him again with the rope, which always seemed to be in her hand. Pain licked over his shoulder. "Ow!"

"You're nothing but a no-good, dirty pig! You know you aren't supposed to let your thing get hard. See! This proves the devil lives in you."

She dragged him out of bed by his hair and tossed him to the floor.

He landed hard, hitting his head against his dresser. "Ow. No, Mama. I'm sorry." Why couldn't he be good?

She pulled hard on the fabric, ripping his pajama top right off his body. His hands flew up to cover his nakedness. "It's my job to see that you are corrected. Now stand up."

He saw the gla.s.s of clear liquid on his nightstand and knew it wasn't water. Would she even remember tearing off his pajama top or would humiliating him be lost in an alcoholic haze? Why couldn't he control himself? He tried never to think of dirty things, but sometimes in his dreams...

She held out the rope. "You know what to do."

He did. With a trembling hand, he took the rope and closed his eyes. She sat on his bed and opened her Bible.

She had it marked and labeled for each of his sins to test his knowledge of why he was condemned. "Flee from s.e.xual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the s.e.xually immoral person sins against his own body.

1 Corinthians 6:18."

He swung the rope, slas.h.i.+ng his own back. Fire licked across the first lash, crossing over it when he struck a second...third and fourth time. Again. Harder. Again.

Pages turned as she located the next quote. "For this is the will of G.o.d, your sanctification: that you abstain from s.e.xual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the pa.s.sion of l.u.s.t like the Gentiles who do not know G.o.d."

He knew G.o.d and he wanted to abstain from immoral acts that made him a sinner in her eyes. He snapped the rope harder until he could feel his skin part and blood roll down his back, cleansing him. "1 Thessalonians 5:3-5."

"You do not know G.o.d. Thessalonians 4: 3-5." She jumped up and stalked over to him, s.n.a.t.c.hing the rope from his hands. "Give me this."

Chapter four, not five; why couldn't he remember his quotes? Lashes blazed and stopped his regret and made him shout promises. "I'm sorry. I'll study harder."

"You should be ashamed, you disgusting pervert. You are too busy touching yourself to remember the words of our Holy Bible." Her tirade continued down the usual path. "Were you going to let your snake spit its venom?"

How could he let this happen again? Why was he so bad? Why couldn't he control this part of himself?

The rope seared pain in a crisscross pattern over his back. Her screaming lecture continued. He tried to internalize her words so he could be good; then maybe she would love him back. Maybe then she wouldn't have to always punish him. But his body didn't always obey his wishes or hers.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I'm trying to be good."

"Trying. Trying! When you're cast into h.e.l.l because you can't control your rod of evil, you'll see what trying gets you." She swung the rope harder.

"Sorry, Mama. Ow!" Squirming, he failed to avoid the lash.

"Casting your seed to the wind is a violation against G.o.d." Each strike she aimed at his back found its mark, one to emphasize each word.

"I didn't, Mama. I promise I didn't. I'd never do that." And he wouldn't. He wouldn't dirty himself in that way. He tried not to cower, but the rope was tearing his skin.

"You look like a girl. Act like a boy!" Her voice dropped as she backed away. "There are demons in you."

Her a.s.sessment seemed to renew her determination to beat the evil out of him.

"You're no good. Good boys don't get hard."

His wounds continued to split and bleed. Warm trickles itched down his back. She'd be furious if he got infected again and had to see a doctor. Tears sprung to his eyes and he blinked them away. "I'm sorry, Mama. I promise I won't let it happen again."

She took the apology as invitation to intensify the punishment. "You never mean for anything to happen. Stand there and accept your punishment."

At the very least, Alex should show willingness to take his punishment. He slowly rose to his full height. He'd prove to her he could be good. He stood straight and braced himself, hands held to his sides. I will not flinch, I will not...

She stalked to her large collection of hourgla.s.ses. Her prized collection was housed on the bookcase right outside his bedroom door. The devices were displayed next to her small collection of Holy Bibles. Everyone admired the unique beauty of each timepiece. Each time he entered or exited his bedroom, he was reminded of her collection's true purpose. He didn't admire them nearly as much as everyone else.

He held his breath and remained silent as she caressed each ornately designed piece. He'd submit to her will. He'd demonstrate how good he could be and how much he loved and honored her by accepting the punishment he earned.

She turned to study him. It unnerved him and he couldn't meet her gaze. He wondered if she enjoyed his dread. Her fingers danced over the largest hourgla.s.s but he knew better than to give any outward indication of fear. She only chose the hour timer once and the cuts and bruises took over a month to heal.

But he controlled his relief as she s.n.a.t.c.hed a middle-sized one. He prepared himself for thirty minutes of chastis.e.m.e.nt. He could take it. At least he wouldn't have to administer it to himself.

She sneered at him as she returned to his side. His mother stared at him with undisguised disgust as she turned the device over.

Alex forced himself to stand unprotected. He was a sinner by his very nature, but he chose to voluntarily accept his penalty as the sands of her silver-framed dragon hourgla.s.s marked his beating. He hoped to be purified as the fire licked across his skin. Before half the golden sand spilled into the bottom gla.s.s, she redoubled her efforts. Pain ripped through him and caught him off guard.

"Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: s.e.xual immorality, impurity, pa.s.sion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry."

He knew this one. He tried desperately to kill any impurity within him. Clearly, he failed. "Colossians 3:5."

His knees trembled, and he balled his hands into fists. He bit down on his lower lip, tasting blood. I won't fall. Please don't let me fall! The heavy rope smacked his back. He stumbled, righting himself just in time. I won't fall, I won't, I won't. I deserve this. She's beating me to make me better. It's for my own good. The rope crashed down harder.

Her amused grunt proclaimed her imminent victory. He gritted his teeth tightly; his legs were weak and shook under the strain. When next the lash came down, he collapsed under the blow.

"You can't even stand up like a man and take what's coming to you." Her fury translated into more pain. The sneering words whipped him harder than the twined cable. Alex failed yet again. Why couldn't he do anything right?

His mother judged him worthless and bad. She was right. He deserved to be punished. He was terrible for not being able to control himself. Why couldn't he submit to the consequences he earned like a man?

He forced her to do this. His heart squeezed and a sob escaped. I made her do this. I made her...

"So flee youthful pa.s.sions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart."

"2 Timothy 2:22, Mama." He needed to flee his evil desires and become pure.

She pulled her gin and tonic off his nightstand. He was grateful the flashes of fire got lighter for a moment when he heard her squeeze the slice of lime into the gla.s.s. The ice clinked in the gla.s.s as she noisily gulped the drink.

He waited for his punishment to begin again, but nothing. Why had she stopped so soon? There were grains of sands still sifting through the gla.s.s. He risked a peek.

His mother clutched her throat, an alarming shade of red suffusing her face. She stumbled to the bedroom door and grasped the frame. The gla.s.s shattered against the floor, sending chunks of the crystal scattering across the floor indistinguishable from the ice cubes.

Alex crunched over the gla.s.s. Shards cut his bare feet didn't stop him as he flew to her side. A vague thought penetrated his panic: I hope my b.l.o.o.d.y footprints don't stain her floor.

"Mama. Mama!"

She gasped for breath but still weakly pushed him away. She never let him touch her. He'd been forbidden to lay a hand on her since he turned eight and she declared him unfit and G.o.dless.

When she fell to the floor, he ignored her protests and tried to intervene, but she wasn't responding. She wasn't breathing anymore. Her eyes stared out of her still body, and the rope slipped from her limp hand.

Everything became surreal. His dream morphed, granting him unwanted memory flashes of the hospital, the somber doctor who told him she choked to death, his mother's church friends chasing him out of her funeral service. The dream slowed.

Alex was grateful to the icy rain, which drenched him and hid his tears as he hiked to the cemetery on the back roads. If he hurried he wouldn't miss his chance to say good-bye. He failed to hear the words uttered at the graveside because he dared not get too close. He stayed out of sight as his mother's coffin was lowered into the ground. He tried to form his own words of farewell. None came. He stayed until everyone else left and the men came to push the pile of dirt in the grave.

When the fresh dirt was patted down and the workers left, the finality of the moment reinforced he was absolutely alone in the world. He had no one. His mother was gone. She hadn't allowed him friends, and he had no other family. He was lost and didn't know what he supposed to do.

Numb, he trudged back through the muddy roads and wet streets to his house. He didn't react when he found two strangers sitting on his porch. A dark-skinned mountain of a man sat with his legs kicked up on the railing in a way of which his mother would not have approved. The other stopped pacing and began talking with a deep, refined Southern accent as soon as he saw Alex.

"Alex, hi. I'm Beau Renau," The man said as he tossed his wavy hair over his shoulder. "And that gorgeous man is the love of my life, Lafayette Renau."

Alex was rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. Were they friends of his mother? With the same last name not from family ties, he doubted it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Beau pulled Alex onto the porch, out of the rain and into a hug.

He realized the embrace was the first human contact he'd had in almost ten years. The simple gesture of kindness broke him. He shattered just like the shards of gla.s.s that still decorated his bedroom floor. He'd never be whole again.

He couldn't stop his tears but eventually they dried up thanks to Beau's fancy lace hankie. "Who are you?" he asked, examining the delicate fabric.

"I'll let Lafayette explain," Beau replied as he stepped back.

Lafayette groaned. "Fine. It's my turn." He kicked off the rail to put the chair down with a thud. He stood up and threw an arm around Alex, stepping them around the table to the porch swing. Lafayette tested the chains holding up the seat before plopping down on it.

"Sit," the big man said a little too loudly when Alex hesitated.

His mother never let him sit in the swing, so he sat on the railing and picked at the peeling white paint.

"You like scary movies?"

"What?" Alex never had much opportunity to watch them since his mother wouldn't allow a television in the house and certainly wouldn't let him go to the movies. He'd overheard kids at school talking about the latest scary thriller suspense every Monday morning in homeroom. They sounded pretty good. "I guess."

"Well, do you know zombies aren't like what you see in the movies?" Lafayette asked as he pointed at him like he'd done something wrong.

His mother was dead. Why were they here to talk to him about zombies? "Zombies?"

Beau sighed dramatically as if he were put upon greatly. "I'll do it." He gave Alex a toothy grin before he continued. "Some people have inherited something that causes them to turn into something like a zombie." He was quick to add, "But zombie is just a simplified way of looking at our condition."

"Your condition?" Alex measured the distance off the railing to the th.o.r.n.y rose brushes circling the porch. He'd get scratched to bits but he could outrun them.

"And yours."

"Huh?" My condition? Right. What, was he a zombie? "Thank you for coming over. I appreciate your sympathy but I just want to go to bed and sleep for a week."

"That's one of the symptoms. Your nineteenth birthday's coming up," the large man stated. How did he know? So what? Lots of people had birthdays.

Beau's soft voice clarified. "The transition starts at nineteen and completes at twenty-three. We set up a safe haven for people with this condition to get what they need."

"Brains?" Alex almost laughed.

"No. We don't need brains." His expression of disgust did make Alex smile until he spoke again. "We search for our mates, and once we find them we are bound to them." Beau dreamily gazed at Lafayette.