Beautiful Death (Bella Morté Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Yeah, somethin’ ain’t right. Just too many abandoned cars. This ain’t a neighborhood to leave a car unlocked, with keys in it, an’ they’re all still here. Hell, the chop shop would have a field day on this road alone.”

  Alice gripped Dani by the arm. “Yeah, but it’s not a neighborhood where you should be out after dark either.”

  She smirked, gently prying off the death grip. “Ma. I’m an adult with an enormous bat. I don’t think anyone’s gonna start any shit with me unless they wanna lose a couple teeth in the process.”

  “Just be careful.” She pointed to the abandoned vehicles littering the road. “All of them could’ve gotten out for a quick look too.”

  Nodding, she gripped the door handle, before turning to look to the two of them. “Stay in the truck an’ keep quiet. Keep the doors shut an’ the windows up.”

  Alice swallowed hard. “Ya make it sound like you’re never comin’ back.”

  “I’ll be back, but you two stay locked in here until I do.” She held up the bat. “Remember, I’m the one with the big ass bat.”

  Opening the door, she stepped out. The squeak in the silence was deafening. Cringing, she looked around, making sure it didn’t call unwanted attention her way. That reminded her; she really needed to get some WD-40. Closing the door, she pointed for her mother to lock it then quickly darted over to the first empty car.

  “Becky? You out here?” Her whisper cut through the silence. “Becky!”

  It was obvious someone was living in the car. It was dirty. Clothing strewed over the backseat, food wrappers, empty cigarette boxes, empty beer containers and garbage scattered all over the floor. For her to be so in love with this car, she didn’t clean it, or it wasn’t hers. What she saw on the front seat made her swallow hard. Taking a step back, she instantly looked around.

  Blood covered the front like a jagged seat cover as if someone bled out, horribly, probably painfully. It was on the seat, the window, the roof, the floor, the steering wheel, and the rearview mirror. It was during her inspection when she noticed something on the other side that looked like a foot.

  Rushing over, she wondered if someone was hurt and needed help. Even though she was a mechanic, it shouldn’t be that much harder to fix a human body, not that she could. That was before she saw her lying on the ground. Dropping the bat, the sound echoed. Quickly rushing towards her, she stopped short after two steps. It was apparent, she was beyond help: deader than dead could get. There wasn’t any mistaking death’s shroud, covering her eyes like the final curtain during a play. However, that wasn’t what stopped Dani in her tracks, staring at her best friend in disbelief. It was how she died.

  Her body was propped up against the front driver’s tire with a gigantic hole ripped out of her stomach. Her intestines littered the ground, eyes wide open staring down. Someone - or something - ripped her arm out of the socket leaving strings of meat hung in its place. Her leg, still attached, was broken and bent in a grotesque, painful looking position. It was a brutal attack.

  She felt a scream well up in her throat. It was like the beginning of a cold: thick with chest congestion that lodged there and froze. Putting her hand over her mouth, she calmed that urge. She had to think. Run, her mind told her. She wasn't worried anymore about what happened as she was about getting out of there before she found what did that kind of damage. However, she had to get her family to safety first, but where was safe?

  Back home.

  Tired of waiting, Alice rolled down the window. Leaning out, she glanced around. “Dani, what’s goin’ on?”

  Not sure, she motioned for her mother to be quiet. “Sh. Stop talkin’!”

  “Well, what is it? What do ya see? Ya look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  She was too loud. Turning, Dani looked around for any sign of movement. What could do that? It took a lot to literally bust through someone’s stomach. Hell, she didn’t think it was possible, but after looking at Becky, something could and it was still out there.

  She looked around, cautiously, spying under the cars as she backed towards the truck. “Ma, stop drawin’ attention to us.”

  Alice arched a brow. “Why?”

  “I’ll tell ya when I get back there.” She rushed around the car, back in the direction of the truck. “We have to get the fuck outta here.”

  “Dani, what’s wrong? You act like--” someone dragging her through the window by her hair, silenced her words. “Dani, help!”

  A man appeared quietly from out of thin air like a Ninja sneaking around. Alice screamed; kicking and punching, as he dragged her away from the truck like some cave dweller claiming his woman.

  Hearing the yell, Dani rushed over. Grabbing her bat off the ground in mid-stride, she raced towards the man. She didn’t have time to be worried about herself. She had one thought in her head; save her mother. “G-ma, stay in the fuckin’ truck!”

  The man looked at Dani as he picked up the struggling woman with one hand. Keeping his eyes on her, he had his way with Alice; clamping his teeth down on her fleshy throat before ripping out a chunk, chewing the stringy meat. Blood dripped down his chin, further dying his blue shirt red. Crimson gushed from the wound, but he threw her away as if she was nothing more than a ragdoll. Then he turned to Dani. Growling, he rushed at her.

  Alice bounced, rolling away before writhing and trembling. Bleeding from the deep gash, she looked in horror as her blood spilled like a leaking garden hose. Shock settled in, wrapping her in a quiet cocoon of sweet comfort, telling her everything was going to be fine: pacifying her into its comforting sense of tenderness. The great liar.

  From out of nowhere they came. Grabbing Alice, hoisting her in the air, like a winner’s trophy at a sporting event. They tugged at her clothes, her hair, and her limbs. Ripping her out of shock’s glorious embrace from the excruciating pain of broken limbs. Screaming at the top of her lungs only made it worse. It was like a dinner bell calling more crazed people to the site. Soon, her shrieks stopped. In time, so did her blood.

  Grace watched Alice bouncing away and stumbled to get the truck door open to go and help. As Dani asked, they locked the doors when she left, and in her panic, it took a few minutes to remember how to open it again. The doctor told her she had dementia, which was the start of Alzheimer’s. She argued that the doctor didn’t know what he was talking about until times like this.

  Dani wanted to scream, cry or wake up from this terrifying nightmare, but she couldn’t do any of it. The man raced at her with all intentions of ripping her to shreds. Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen. As he grabbed at her, she hit him with the bat. It was like hitting a concrete piñata, repeatedly. She struck his hands, his shoulder, and even hit him in the stomach. The only thing she managed to do was move him around in a circle. He should’ve dropped many times over.

  She felt drained. It was tiring swinging the bat. He might even win this battle. She wasn’t sure where the burst of energy came from, but it was there when needed. Screaming in anger, she put every ounce of rage she felt into that swing, hitting him upside the head. Finally, he hit the ground, missing a few teeth with a loud, echoing snap.

  Once he was down, she raced off in the direction of her mother’s last scream. “Ma!” It was too late. There wasn’t anything left but a pool of blood. Even the mob was nowhere in sight. One minute they were there tearing her mother apart, the next they just disappeared. That was worrisome.

  “NO! ALICE!” Scrambling out of the vehicle, Grace ran towards Dani. “Where is she? Do you see her?”

  Turning, Dani opened her mouth to scream, growing white as a sheet with a wide-eyed, terrified expression. Raising the bat high, she rushed towards her. “G-ma! Behind you! Quick, run towards me!” She found the mob. They returned, running at a full speed right at them.

  When standing on a building, or a cliff, or even a bridge high off the ground, the first thing people say, don't look down. This is useless information because it causes people to do just that. I
t was the same for not looking behind you. Though she didn’t tell her not to look, it was in her expression: fear. Her granddaughter was the strongest, bravest woman she knew. She would stand up to a horde of angry people with little fear in her eyes, break up two grown men fighting in the street, and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. However, what she saw on her face made her quickly turn to see. She wouldn’t be surprised to see the mighty T-Rex snatch her up in his hungry jaws. In that second, she realized it was too late to run. Hell, it was too late to do anything.

  She would never again taste the sweetness of cherries.

  The horde came after her as if they were escapees from the mental ward for the criminally insane. Ripped clothes hung off their bruised and bloody bodies. Some even had jagged slashes in their flesh, but one thing they all had in common; they were coming at Grace.

  She screamed as they pulled her to the ground, struggling, trying her best to fight them off, but it was useless. There were too many. “Dani, help!”

  They didn’t waste time, tearing her clothes off like plucking feathers off a chicken. Once her shirt was gone, one of the men punched his hand through her stomach. He grabbed handfuls of her intestines, shoving them into his mouth, chewing greedily. The others played tug-of-war, ripping her limbs from her body, bathing in the blood.

  Dani couldn’t get to her in time because the mob attacked her too. Screaming, she swung the bat, trying to make a path. “Get off her!” Knocking a few on the head, sent them out of her way, crashing to the ground, but it was too late for G-ma. She had joined Alice in the blood pool. She screamed. “Noooooooo!”

  That was when rage took a hold, making her a deadly weapon. Her intent was to kill. She beat them, not just to get out of her way. She wanted them to suffer. Many crashed to the ground, but she was outnumbered. Her fate was about to be the same. In between swings, she looked around for an escape route.

  The police station was the closest, most inviting. After all, how much safer can one get than a police station? Keeping the bat in her hand, she turned and ran. Her feet moved, but she didn’t need to look behind her to know they were chasing her. They were hot on her heels, with their grunts and groans whispering in her ear that she was next.

  Dead bodies littered the ground and she didn’t have the luxury of being traumatized or distraught by it. That was where all the owners of the cars went! Resentment fueled her, keeping her running, swinging when anyone lunged. A brief glance was all it took to see most of the figures had received the same treatment as her family though some of them were missing heads. It was a dream. It had to be! However, she knew deep down it wasn’t. It was real, and she had to keep moving to stay alive.

  The throng was close when she reached the building. She didn’t have time to open the door. The swarm hit her from behind, sending her flying headfirst into the concrete barrier, knocking her unconscious.

  Two

  Drip, drip, drip…

  The incessant plopping was like a leaky faucet, steadily dripping into a pan of water, but it finally managed waking her. How long was she knocked out? Without moving, she opened her eyes, looking around. Just that act alone felt as if her head was going to explode. She could feel the goose sized egg on the front of her head, throbbing out her heartbeat like a drum solo. It was painful and annoying but kept her alert.

  When her vision cleared, and her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she was lying behind a big overturned desk in a pool of blood. The plopping came from an enormous crimson stain on the ceiling. Cringing, she moved her head as another drop splashed on her face. The smell was distinctive; booze, ass, and death. On the air was a musky coppery taste: blood. The nasty flavor stuck in her mouth like when she accidentally grabbed a diet drink.

  Once she was able to stand, she closed her eyes tightly to the pain in her head, looking around with shocked wide eyes. At one time, this was a very busy police station in Walkersville, Maryland. She wasn’t sure what it was anymore. The desks were overturned, papers and files strewn about like paper towels, sopping up the flood from The Ten Commandments after Moses turned the water to blood. Mutilated body parts were scattered within the puddles. It was obvious there was a massacre, but how did she survive? The last thing she remembered was getting up-close and personal with a concrete wall.

  Death is without prejudice. Uniformed cops, pimps, bikers, gang members, and prostitutes all had one thing in common. Most of them were so mutilated it was hard to decipher who was from which group. Hearing a sound, her head snapped to the right. Across the room was a police officer. She almost called out to him with some sarcastic quip about the end of the world. Almost. Common sense, which is lacking in most people, struck her with a lightning bolt and she winced at the severity of it.

  It looked as if he was leaning over, helping one of his own, but it was dark and hard to see. The one on the floor was groaning and writhing in obvious pain. The moon shined through the window, striking a point in the room and she could see he was losing blood. Where fresh blood met stale, it reminded her of the joining of two bodies of water: one blue, the other green.

  She needed to protect herself. On the floor and on each of the cops, there was a holster with a gun. However, she picked up a nightstick. It wasn’t her bat, but it would do the job better than a gun, which she didn’t have the first notion how to use. She planned to teach herself, but for now, she needed something she could operate.

  Water is the loudest surface in the world. The plops, splashes, and swirls making the slowest of journeys sound so loud, like the refrigerator after midnight. This crimson ocean was no different. It was thicker than regular water, but it still made the same sounds. A few times, she had to pause as the cop turned his head, listening. She forgot to breathe as she kept her eyes glued to him as she approached his backside. She gingerly stepped into the wetness, cautiously moving over body parts, trying not to think of how real they were. Special effects had nothing to the real thing.

  Once close enough, she saw what he was doing. He wasn’t helping his partner. He used him as an all you can eat buffet. Reaching into his stomach, he pulled out plump, red, stringy intestines. Shoving them into his mouth, chewing greedily as if he hadn’t eaten in days. A gorilla was quieter, huffing and puffing, pounding on his chest in a rage. His slurping was like her family during spaghetti night as each one tried to out-slurp the others.

  She knew what needed to be done, and did so without thinking because if she waited, she would never have the courage to do it. Raising the stick in the air, she brought it down upside the back of his head and leaped on him. She didn’t give him time to fight back or she wouldn’t make it out alive. She hammered down on his head with violent, quick thrusts, repeatedly striking him. The sounds echoed, he tried to stop her, but she didn’t stop until his skull caved in and looked like a vat of smashed tomatoes.

  Cringing, she dropped the weapon, staggering away from the bloody scene. There was blood splattered, pieces of his brain hanging out of the strands of her hair. She could see them. It was on her face, hands, in her hair and on her clothes. Her hands were covered in pulpy parts of… well… she didn’t want to know what that was. Her first thought was a manual car wash to take a shower.

  Staggering away from the scene, she fell against the wall. Pressed against it for support, she lifted her hand to touch that tender egg. It hurt. She felt the bump and dried blood that scabbed over like a Band-Aid, but not before streaking down her face like war paint.

  Looking around at the bloody devastation, she felt her stomach rumble. Turning, she puked, gagging, and sputtering; coughing as she spit. Though it wasn’t soon enough for her, eventually there wasn’t anything left but dry heaves racking her body into deep spasms. It left a horrible taste in her mouth. Hell, the aftertaste of diet drinks was better than this.

  Moving away from that mess to another wall, she slid down it to rest on her heels, spitting, trying to purge herself of that horrid taste. Closing her eyes, the tears lightly cascaded down her face. In
her mind, she saw the faces of her mother and grandmother, pulled apart, eaten. What the hell was going on around there? They were all she had for family and now they were gone. She was on her own.

  After a few minutes, she wiped away the tears, leaving more streaks across her face before pushing up the wall. She had to do something. She didn’t know what but knew where to start. Wiping her mouth, she glanced around on the floor. It didn’t take long to locate her bat. There were plenty of guns; she was in a police station, but she didn’t know how to arm one. However, she did know how to swing that bat. Gripping it tightly in her hand, she slowly made her way through the police station.

  It was the same in each of the rooms. She did a quick search, whispering for anyone to answer her, as well as looking for something to drink. There was a vending machine in the front lobby and it was in the direction she headed. Each search provided the same grizzly scene: dead people and body parts littered within the crimson river.

  Once at the vending machine, she had to think of how to get the damn soda out. There wasn’t any electricity so it wasn’t as if she could put money in. Looking around, she found some metal pipe that apparently one of the dead had in his death grip. When she finally managed to pry it loose, she went back to the machine and forcibly opened it. It took a good thirty minutes, but she wasn’t going away empty-handed. When the door finally swung open, she noticed the machine was full. Taking out a Coke, she cringed. She was a Mountain Dew girl, but beggars couldn’t be fussy.

  Taking a drink, it wasn’t long before she puked that up too. The taste was back again. This time, instead of swallowing the Coke, figuring something must be wrong with it, she merely gargled, spitting out the nasty flavor. It worked. Setting the can down, she continued her search through the precinct, looking for anyone who might have survived.

  She felt a shooting pain in her arm and spun around quickly, ready to hit someone. It felt like someone stabbed her with a hot fire poker. Not seeing anyone there, she reached her hand around to touch the area. Cringing, pulling her hand away, she noticed some kind of thick pus-like mucus dripping from her fingers like green slime. Gagging, she wiped it off on the wall, watching it run like paint, before brushing her hands off on her jeans. Dirty, bloody, what was a little more to add to the mix?