Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Something Not Hunger

The Hungry had clawed for weeks at the walls of St. Martin’s Cathedral. Their fingertips and nails were stripped away, and exposed bone grated against the rough stones. 

It was a fortress for the faithful and had, so far, repelled all others. Each morning and evening they held Mass. Fervent entreaties to God mingled with the low groans from outside the walls.

“Judica me, Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta. Judge me, O God, and distinguish my cause from the nation that is not holy. Ab mortuis iniquo et doloso erue me. Deliver me from the unjust and deceitful dead.”

He marked the time by these communal prayers, leaning against a crumbled wall across the square.


He was the oldest among them. Boots, hard black leather, and a motorcycle helmet – as luck would have it – were sound armor for an animated corpse. With armor came longevity, and with longevity came experience. He had learned a few tricks and, in turn, followers who trailed him for scraps.

During the prolonged siege of the Cathedral, all but one had left him.

Her hair was the color of food: bright red, frizzed in the fetid humidity. She survived on the fringes, snatching scraps as the others fought bloody tug-of-wars. Her lower lip was split to the chin, and the slack caused the corners of her mouth to curl in a smile.

She crouched beside a bench; her slender fingers grasped the armrest. She watched him watch the onslaught in the dawn.



Piles of accumulated undead pulsed. Doors were blocked by bodies after the first days of the campaign. They continued to advance, treading on each other, raising mountains on the shoulders of flailing brethren.

He had kept his eye on one pile in particular. It blocked the main doors, and it had grown high. 


It was time.

He joined the fray, and so did she, an arm’s reach away. She followed him up the stair of bodies.

Near the choir loft window he pressed close against the surge. A shotgun barrel poked through a gap in the stained glass, and he was splattered with scalp and rot. He held up the limp body and continued his advance while more shots shook the corpse. He grabbed the gun barrel and pulled. Glass shattered as the defender followed the shotgun out the window and into the claws of the swarm.

He stepped aside then, pressing himself against a gargoyle. She pressed herself against him. They watched as shots felled one after another from the crowd in front them.

Minutes later, the gunfire ceased, and the undead steadily filed through the window. She held on to the tail of his jacket as they entered the church.

In the loft, scrums of five or more scrapped for flesh. The horde crowded down side stairs or tumbled over the balcony. The young and elderly huddled in pews crying and praying.

Clergy knelt before the altar at the front of the church, hands folded, eyes raised to the crucifix. “Conserva me ab inferno,” the bishop cried.

He tore out the bishop's throat.

He wrenched the arms from their sockets and shuffled behind the altar as the swarm reached the carcass. He set the right arm down and began feeding on the left.

She sat apart from the frenzy and stared. He ripped a bicep free from its tether; her tongue flicked out, vicariously tasting warm muscle.

He felt her eyes on him. Something that was not hunger stirred in his distended belly. 


He grasped one finger, snapped it off, and tossed it into her lap.

If his generosity was odd, her reaction was more so. She didn’t eat the finger; she turned it over in her hand, inspecting it.

A ring still circled the stump. It was thick gold, stamped with a cross and centered with a dark ruby.

She stood slowly and walked into the light. The morning sun blazed through the red and yellow stained glass. The jewel sparkled. The colored light played a kaleidoscope in her hair.

He went to her.

He took her hand, took the finger, and removed the ring. He slid it over her thumb. Then he picked up the second arm and handed it to her. 


Together, they fed.

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Guidelines:

• Word count: maximum 1.000
• The story must be a romance between two zombies. Make it as horrific as you like. ;)

• Stories containing animal cruelty, torture, graphic sex or violence, any form of exaltation of violence, racism or other forms of prejudice will be immediately disqualified.
• Post your entry on your own blog, with a title resembling this:
  Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Story Title
• Leave your story title and a link to the story entry post as a comment at Mari's Randomities.
• Copy and paste the contest logo and the guidelines at the end of your entry post.