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Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill
Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill
Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill
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Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill

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An energy pill called Kilt turns the elderly into overactive, dangerous zombies. Time for the walking dead to Get Kilt. A horror comedy novella.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 15, 2011
ISBN9781458054715
Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill
Author

Raymund Hensley

Raymund Hensley is the author of Filipino Vampire.

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    Get Kilt - Raymund Hensley

    Get Kilt: A Zombie Pill

    Raymund Hensley

    Copyright 2011 by Raymund Hensley

    Smashwords Edition

    Join my mailing list at raymundhensley.blogspot.com

    All rights reserved

    Cover design by Raymund Hensley

    Smashwords License Statement

    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 reader. 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. All rights reserved.

    CONTENTS

    THE RECORDED MESSAGE

    CHAPTER ONE

    The Home

    CHAPTER TWO

    The Pill

    CHAPTER THREE

    The End

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR

    THE RECORDED MESSAGE

    After the incident, a soldier patrolling downtown Honolulu discovered a cellphone in a bus with burning tires. Although the phone was damaged and deemed useless, a recorded message played on a loop. This is that message:

    I'm stuck in the office. I'm too scared to go outside. Saidi, I love you. Oh, God...I hear them outside. I don't have much time, but if there's anything I want you to know, it's that I love you and that I wish I was with you....I can hear them outside in the hallway, running around, looking for people to eat so they can get faster, stronger, better. I'm so scared right now. They can run so fast. I saw one run after a dog and actually catch the thing. The old hag ate the dog, and then ran off, and I swear it was even faster than before. What is happening to these old people? Are they possessed? This isn't normal. Another one of those old...THINGS...picked up a small Honda and threw it at a group of cops. They were all wiggling, squirming under the car and crying for help. I had no choice but to vomit all over myself. The cops were shaking...bleeding...pleading.

    I'll never get that image out of my head. Especially when those crazy old people started eating them. After they licked every bone clean, the monsters ripped off their shirts and started flexing their muscles and posing like champions. Some of them golf-clapped and nodded in approval. I saw cops SHOOT them – right in the body, sending those old people right to the ground. They just got right back up again like nothing happened. These people...they're like...like...zombies. They don't wanna stay DEAD. Creeping Jesus. They just laugh and kill everyone. They seem so merry. They laugh when they kill. So cheery. Why?

    One of them smelled my musk and tried to smash their way into the office. Remember that taser my boss, Mr. Murbag, gave me? I used it on the zombie old woman – got her right on the forehead – and didn't stop cooking her until her eyes popped out and dangled by their optic nerves. It was quite a sight. God, forgive me. Oh, hunny. Oh, my love. I wish I was with you, wife. I love you. I'm so scared. I can't stop shaking. Timothy's dead. It happened in the copy room. I saw the zombie....I saw the old man lift Timothy up high into the air and snap his body in two like a pencil. His innards came out in a hurry. The monster drank Tim's torso like a gallon of milk. They're so strong. TOO strong!

    How is that even possible? It's ridiculous! It doesn't matter now. All logic is shit now. The whole island has gone weird. Things don't make sense to me anymore. Where are the police? The soldiers? I don't understand. I don't wanna die. I wanna be with you, Saidi. Please, I miss you. I admit that YES I slept with Mary. If I'm gonna die, I want to be honest with you. YES, I slept with your sister. Creeping Jesus! Forgive me. I left her. She's not with me. I promise. (Crying sounds.)

    Please pick up the phone. Dear God, I hope you're still alive. I hope you're not on the streets. (Crashing sound.) No! Nooo! Take your stinking hands of me, you old, dirty bastard!

    OLD VOICE 1: Let's play jump rope with his guts!

    MAN: Don't do it!

    OLD VOICE 2: I have a better idea. Grab his feet. Let's make a wish!

    MAN: Noooooooo!

    (Big, wet ripping sound. Various splats. Eating sounds.)

    OLD VOICE 1: I am invigorated!

    OLD VOICE 2: I am filled with life!

    (A woman screams.)

    OLD VOICE 1: Someone's in the office!

    OLD VOICE 2: Eat her!

    (Screams. Static. Message ends.)

    CHAPTER ONE

    THE HOME

    JANICE ALTAIR

    I celebrated my 80th birthday by getting drunk. Is that pathetic? It felt pathetic. I wasn't even a drinker. And yet, all those drunks were right! The alcohol killed my worries. My brain was numb. I smiled. I was relaxed. I gagged down my beer and slammed it down on the little glass table between me and the TV. On the screen was a newsman rattling on about some crime that happened in downtown Honolulu. Something about an old lady that held up a Japanese tourist at gunpoint. I shook my head.

    These Japanese tourists keep Hawaii on its feet! First earthquakes, now THIS?

    I got another beer.

    That higher part of me argued against it. I was a health instructor, dammit. Well...before I retired. And it wasn't even my choice. Fred (my son), made me leave the one thing I was passionate about. All because of that night at the gym, at YEStrition. All because I broke my hip on the treadmill. All because I broke my hip on the treadmill and flew off and landed on a 101-year-old woman and put her in a coma. What the heck is a 101-year-old grannie doing at a health joint anyway? SHE'S the one that should stay at home – that should be left in her son's ratty apartment all alone – that should be getting stupid drunk – that should be worried about her son – that should be wishing his new girlfriend dead. My son, dating a stripper!

    Oh. I'm sorry.

    Dancer.

    Let's move on to happier thoughts. My hip was fine. I assumed the beer helped. Jesus, never mind the pills, doc, just give me more beer.

    I was fine. A-Okay. So why did I have to stay there at Fred's? There in his ratty apartment?

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