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    Goners
    Goners
    Goners
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Goners

    By Gerald Dean Rice

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    About this ebook

    From the author of The Ghost Toucher. Meet Murray, a man whose superstition is about to ruin his dream business, Terence, a loner in a post-apocalyptic city on the eve of the end of man, an employee who realizes the office place is being run by idiots of a most dangerous variety, a magician whose trade is about to become surreal, and a couple who are about to get serious on a cross-state car ride.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRazorline Press
    Release dateFeb 11, 2011
    ISBN9781458155566
    Goners
    Author

    Gerald Dean Rice

    Okay, my last biography was loooooong and boring. I didn't realize how dull it was until I actually tried to go back and read it. Blah-blah-blah. Anyway. I'm Gerald Dean Rice. Used to be Gerald Rice--I suppose I still am, but all future works shall include my middle name. It's a rebranding thing. I've always been into horror. When I was in kindergarten my mother took me right from school to see Creepshow. I saw a ton of stuff I shouldn't have when I was a kid. I got a book of ghost stories when I was 11 for Christmas. These were the days before YA novels, unless you picked up one of those namby-pamby VC Andrews books. Okay, scratch that; I've never actually read a VC Andrews book. But the more I read and the older I got the more I wanted to write my own stories. I tried my hand at writing comic book stories with my best friend in high school, but we had no clue how to break into comics. I submitted my first story to Cemetery Dance back in 2000. It took somewhere around 7 months for the to respond. I was so proud even though they'd rejected me. The truth of it was it wasn't a very original story and it was very straightforward. There was a whole lot I didn't know about writing back then. But I learned pretty quick and have since had stories published in print and on-line. My first novel, "The Ghost Toucher", was published in 2010. It was born out of several failed novel-writing attempts and I'm immensely proud of what I created. I've since put out a couple short collections of my own and a few zombie shorts. My newest project, "Fleshbags" was just published. I kind of had a "In Treatment" thing in my head like when Paul's patients have some aspect of them reflected in his personal life. I blended my characters that way (tough to explain what I mean). But it's definitely something different than you've ever read and I'd suggest giving it a try.

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      Book preview

      Goners - Gerald Dean Rice

      Goners

      By Gerald Rice

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 Gerald Rice

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      First Customer copyright © 2002, Goner copyright © 2010, While You Work copyright © 2006, Mr. Cumberland’s Last Magic Show copyright © 2010, Things You Never Say copyright © 2006

      All stories written by Gerald Rice. All rights reserved.

      This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places or events is purely coincidental and unintended. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical or written, without express permission from the author.

      For more information about the author, please visit his website: www.feelmyghost.webs.com.

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      First Customer

      Goner

      While You Work

      Mr. Cumberland’s Last Magic Show

      Things You Never Say

      GONERS

      First Customer

      Finally, Murray had achieved his dream. His own business. He stood in the middle of the display room, his hands on his hips surveying everything around him. An outdoorsman’s store. What a great idea going into business doing something he loved! He’d done it before his self-imposed age limit of thirty-five.

      He checked his watch. 9:41. Less than a half hour before opening. Murray felt his excitement bubbling up inside. He tried not to worry about customers. Just a mile away from the business district and he didn’t have the rent they did, he had the best of both worlds. Everything was in order. Everything was right.

      He looked over to the large plate glass window to the street outside. His store was on the corner at a traffic light. Plenty of passersby would see ‘Mr. Outdoors’ on a modestly sized sign outside while stopped at the light. Murray had built it. They would come. He even had outdoor displays and a medium-sized water dispenser with conically-shaped paper cups.

      A cool drink of water. Murray was walking toward the dispenser when he spotted a black bird light on the wooden corner fence outside. Its darting head seemed to take in the whole store.

      A jolt of anxiety buzzed through Murray. He began alternately touching random objects, smoothing down his shirt and tie, and flicking his keys and wallet through the outside of his pants pockets. His mother had always said those birds were a bad sign and even though he had dismissed her superstitions years ago, this one snuck back into his mind.

      What is it? he thought, dragging his forearm across his slick forehead. A raven? A crow? He didn’t know how to tell. He clenched his hands into tight fists, holding them stiffly at his sides. When he forced them open they were glossy with sweat, white nail crescents embedded in his palms. He smoothed his hands down his shirt again.

      It’s fine, he muttered to himself, plying his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Murray curled his hands back into balls, drawing away from the dispenser. His voice took on a singsong quality. I’ll just shoo him away and everything’s fine. Just fine. His tie felt a little tight and he wrenched it around. Murray wondered how the striped clip-on looked with his plaid shirt. He’d check his appearance again once he got back inside.

      Caw! it said as he walked away from the water dispenser and stepped through the door. The sky was cloudy and the air thick, but the weatherman had said it would clear up sometime around noon.

      Hey! Shoo! he shouted. It cocked its head as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ but did not move.

      He checked his watch again. 9:45. Fifteen minutes! Panic seized him and he heard his fingernails combing down the faux wood paneling. Everything had to be right or they wouldn’t come. Murray’s throat dragged up and down against sandpaper when he tried swallowing. He cawed at the top of his lungs to frighten the bird away, but it ignored him, hopping a semi-circle around a nearby tent.

      In a moment of desperation, Murray picked up a rock and chucked it. It struck the fence on the opposite side of where the bird was but it paid no attention, pecking at some sleeping bags.

      Murray picked up another and gave his best wind up and pitched! hitting the bird square in its chest as it stood by a neat pile of firewood. It squawked, taking flight and leaving behind a few black feathers.

      Murray threw his arms in the air, laughing and did a dance of relief back into the store. Now he could have that celebratory cup of water. More like three or four. No sooner had the door shut behind him than he heard another Caw!

      Angry, he turned and charged back through the door. Part of him wanted to grab his bow and arrow and shoot it, but an uglier part felt only bare hands were appropriate. The bird was still circling the same tent. It looked up at him and back to the tent as he raced in its direction.

      Murray imagined stomping on the bird if it didn’t fly away first. He didn’t notice the display of rocks he’d laid the night before and tripped, impaling himself on a stake when he fell. All other thought was blotted out as pain radiated from the wound throughout his body. His arms and legs scissored and clawed at the ground. Murray made grunting noises from his nose, his mouth working in silence as he struggled to get air into a lung that wasn’t punctured.

      Finally, he lay still. Murray listened to his faint breathing and heard the thick sucking sound coming from underneath him as the earth soaked the life out of him. He could feel the bird’s eyes on him, could hear it hopping its way closer. It pecked his scalp two quick times and continued towards the shop entrance.

      The sky sighed with falling rain and a moment later droplets of cold were stinging him. There was a belch of thunder and a moment later Murray was covered in a blanket of cold wet. He wished he could turn over and drink or at least quench the burning in his chest. The dirt against his lips was semi-moist. He began to lick it. Murray could see his useless arm where it had stopped with his watch facing him. It was 9:58.

      Goner

      Terence had caught one in his trap. He supposed it was pointless to destroy it only to set the trap again to capture another zombie and destroy that one, too. But that kind of thinking was deadly. That kind of thinking got

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