Nightmare of the Dead: Rise of the Zombies Read Online Free
Author: Vincenzo Bilof
from home with a song in his heart. They had to be staring at the thin ropes of hair which traced the length of his peanut-shaped skull.
Surgeons gazed at him while he pushed his mother between the rows of desperate, sobbing men. Their eyes wilted as they watched him pass—they knew what he wanted, and they were ashamed. Who were they to argue with a man who had the president's approval?
Saul pushed his mother to the blood-spattered dissection table. Upon the floor was a collection of severed hands, feet, arms, and legs. He clapped his hands and bounced on the heels of his feet.
"Delightful!" he exclaimed.
Near the table, a bearded officer sat on the floor, his head hanging dejectedly upon his chest. His red eyes searched over the scientist's face as if attempting to remember who he was. A long wooden peg had replaced his left leg. In his fist, he clutched a bottle of amber liquor.
"Sergeant Buford," Saul saluted the mangled officer. "It seems that your prediction came true. Yesterday, you were in extremely boisterous spirits, but I recall the wound that you so gallantly chose to ignore. I see they've added one of your own dear limbs to the pile. I hope this doesn't affect our relationship."
"The hell you want?" Sergeant Buford growled.
"Well, materials, of course, as per our arrangement. This couldn't have happened at a better time! Don't you see? The Confederacy will be able to win a major victory. The recent siege of Vicksburg will be lifted!"
Buford spat and seemed to ignore Saul completely with inane ramblings. "Champion Hill was nothing. That bridge over the river…goddamn Pemberton waited for Loring to come back. Waited and waited…and now I'm just waiting. He waited, and now I'm waiting."
Saul knotted the fingers of his hands together and pulled at them. When was the officer just going to give him what he needed?
Buford continued, "You know how many I've seen on that table? How many boys , c ut down by that heartless bastard, Grant ? Now they've got Vicksburg under siege. I don't need to go anywhere. The war's over for me. All over."
"You're quite drunk," Saul ventured. He was never very good in social situations. Mother detested that weakness in him .
"Maybe. Maybe not. Damn Yanks let us take our wounded south, and here we are holed up next to the bloody river that has chunks…no, it has souls…of good men. Good boys . We're cut off. No way out." Buford swallowed mightily and gasped as the sweat on his brow slipped through the black bristles of his unkempt beard
His red eyes locked on Saul. "We were fucking ordered to come here to this pit. I was told that you were in charge, on special assignment from Davis himself. But you're a godless freak. I oughtta shoot you myself."
The sergeant's head appeared to be growing larger upon his shoulders. His eyes were filled with an incredible amount of blood. Saul couldn't help but think about gangrene; this disenchanted soldier was going to die! He could still be used for the war effort. Saul couldn't let such a good specimen go to waste. He needed to connect the sergeant to the apparatus and drain the man's labored, painful gasps from his lungs. The man's rotting body could contribute to another jar of the precious weapon!
The sergeant rambled on, but Saul didn't hear him. Saul had the power to solve the greatest riddle of all, if only he could perfect his powerful creation. He'd been extremely lucky that the war had dropped right into Mississippi, and he was even more fortunate that Vicksburg was under siege. There were dying, suffering men everywhere.
Saul suddenly interrupted the man. "These right here will do nicely!" he pointed at the disconnected limbs. "I require the usual, Sergeant Buford. Men suffering from gangrene are preferable, you understand. The advanced stages of decay will satisfy my current haste."
Buford spoke, but Saul could no longer hear his words. Mother's own voice overwhelmed Buford's as it always did when she spoke over the
Surgeons gazed at him while he pushed his mother between the rows of desperate, sobbing men. Their eyes wilted as they watched him pass—they knew what he wanted, and they were ashamed. Who were they to argue with a man who had the president's approval?
Saul pushed his mother to the blood-spattered dissection table. Upon the floor was a collection of severed hands, feet, arms, and legs. He clapped his hands and bounced on the heels of his feet.
"Delightful!" he exclaimed.
Near the table, a bearded officer sat on the floor, his head hanging dejectedly upon his chest. His red eyes searched over the scientist's face as if attempting to remember who he was. A long wooden peg had replaced his left leg. In his fist, he clutched a bottle of amber liquor.
"Sergeant Buford," Saul saluted the mangled officer. "It seems that your prediction came true. Yesterday, you were in extremely boisterous spirits, but I recall the wound that you so gallantly chose to ignore. I see they've added one of your own dear limbs to the pile. I hope this doesn't affect our relationship."
"The hell you want?" Sergeant Buford growled.
"Well, materials, of course, as per our arrangement. This couldn't have happened at a better time! Don't you see? The Confederacy will be able to win a major victory. The recent siege of Vicksburg will be lifted!"
Buford spat and seemed to ignore Saul completely with inane ramblings. "Champion Hill was nothing. That bridge over the river…goddamn Pemberton waited for Loring to come back. Waited and waited…and now I'm just waiting. He waited, and now I'm waiting."
Saul knotted the fingers of his hands together and pulled at them. When was the officer just going to give him what he needed?
Buford continued, "You know how many I've seen on that table? How many boys , c ut down by that heartless bastard, Grant ? Now they've got Vicksburg under siege. I don't need to go anywhere. The war's over for me. All over."
"You're quite drunk," Saul ventured. He was never very good in social situations. Mother detested that weakness in him .
"Maybe. Maybe not. Damn Yanks let us take our wounded south, and here we are holed up next to the bloody river that has chunks…no, it has souls…of good men. Good boys . We're cut off. No way out." Buford swallowed mightily and gasped as the sweat on his brow slipped through the black bristles of his unkempt beard
His red eyes locked on Saul. "We were fucking ordered to come here to this pit. I was told that you were in charge, on special assignment from Davis himself. But you're a godless freak. I oughtta shoot you myself."
The sergeant's head appeared to be growing larger upon his shoulders. His eyes were filled with an incredible amount of blood. Saul couldn't help but think about gangrene; this disenchanted soldier was going to die! He could still be used for the war effort. Saul couldn't let such a good specimen go to waste. He needed to connect the sergeant to the apparatus and drain the man's labored, painful gasps from his lungs. The man's rotting body could contribute to another jar of the precious weapon!
The sergeant rambled on, but Saul didn't hear him. Saul had the power to solve the greatest riddle of all, if only he could perfect his powerful creation. He'd been extremely lucky that the war had dropped right into Mississippi, and he was even more fortunate that Vicksburg was under siege. There were dying, suffering men everywhere.
Saul suddenly interrupted the man. "These right here will do nicely!" he pointed at the disconnected limbs. "I require the usual, Sergeant Buford. Men suffering from gangrene are preferable, you understand. The advanced stages of decay will satisfy my current haste."
Buford spoke, but Saul could no longer hear his words. Mother's own voice overwhelmed Buford's as it always did when she spoke over the
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