And here I present for your reading pleasure, the opening pages of file two of theBroadhead Archives, a collection of novellas and short stories that bridge the gaps and answer the questions that were not or have yet to be answered in my series Designated.
So, with further ado, enjoy The Kinkade file.
~: Rick :~
Ricky Cooper is a writer with a love affair of the written word. He is an avid shooter and outdoors man and loves art and sculpture. He can often be found “when not Writing” spending his time designing and sculpting his own figures and models or designing equipment and characters for his books, a fervent supporter of LGBT rights and Equal rights for all. He spent most of his young adult life alongside his family working for a UK based HIV and Aids charity, where he spent time aiding people suffering from the often deadly afflictions brought on by the disease. He lives with his family in West Wales in the UK.
Links to Designated Infected and Designated Quarantined.
The wind snapped at her skin as she lay in the gathering powder, the thermal sheeting beneath her doing little to stave off the bone-gnawing chill that was eating its way through her. She scooped a handful of snow, setting it into her mouth to hide her breath as she settled the scope against her eye, the reticule lining up on its brow as she watched it sniff at the air. ‘Breathe in and out, even draw, and squeeze the trigger between heartbeats.’ The muffled pop sent the stock thumping into her Parka covered shoulder as a small business of crows took to the skies. Their indignant cawing filled the air as Sarah pushed herself to her feet, snow crunching beneath her boots like cotton-laced glass as she softly made her way forwards. The deer lay silent and still, the coils of steam rising through the air, shrouding it slightly as Sarah knelt. The knees of her mud- and dirt-smeared canvas trousers sank into the bloodstained snow, the satin-white carpet coloured crimson as the hot life-giving fluid slowly flowed free. ‘Sorry for this; I just hope you take some comfort in knowing your life goes to extending many others, even if it is only for a night.’ Sarah leant forwards and kissed the deer’s neck, the soft, bristled fur tickling her lips as she sank deeper into the snow. She walked her fingers along her belt, her gloved hands numb to the tactile feel of the canvas and leather as it rasped against the outer layer of her glove. Her hand found the carved elk horn handle of her brother’s hunting knife and slowly drew it from the sheath. The four-inch-long blade glinted dull in the dwindling light of the noon sun as it pushed its way through the grey blanket that smothered the sky. With a soft grunt, she heaved the doe towards her, pushing its hind legs apart as she gently pressed the knife into the soft skin around its anus and began to cut, her movements quick and practiced as she cut away skin and sinew. Sweat beaded her brow as the cold bit into her, the heat from the doe’s cooling body warming her as she straddled its chest. She began to slice away the skin, her small shallow cuts carving through the skin and tissue like paper as she deftly revealed all that lay beneath. Flesh parted like water around a stone as she felt the heat of the doe’s flesh hit her face like a hammer. Sarah grimaced only briefly as she felt the rippling, undulating mass of gastric fluids move beneath her fingers. Shifting her hand forwards, the doe’s stomach bulged, the mass of organs and fluids sliding over each other as she sliced further along the steaming carcass. Shifting herself off the now rapidly cooling corpse of her prey, Sarah dragged her blood-smeared wrist over her brow, wiping away the prickling layer of sweat as she sat back on her heels and stared at the partially disemboweled deer. ‘Come on, move it, before it freezes or a freak finds you.’ Her muttered words drifted on a boiling cloud of mist as she sank her arm elbow deep into the doe’s chest. She slowly peeled away the diaphragm; its heart sat under her hand like a thick wedge of wet rubber. As she pushed past it, her brother’s knife held firmly in her grip, she traced over the length of ridged cartilage, sinking the knife into the malleable bone with an audible pop before wrapping her hand around the organ and dragging it free. With a heavy grunt, Sarah dragged the rippling mass from the doe’s eviscerated carcass. Sinew and fat stretched, snapping free as she ran the bloodstained knife against it and continued to pull. The undulating conglomerate of intestines and organs hit the snow with a wet plop, powder spraying out in a red-tinged cloud. Sarah leant down, hooked her fingers into the open chest cavity, and heaved the doe onto her front to drain the last of the blood from its empty form. As the last of the doe’s crimson fluid hit the crystalline satin beneath her feet, Sarah heaved upwards, sending the rapidly freezing carcass up onto her shoulders before plucking her rifle from where it lay beside her and trudging towards her hidden snowmobile.
The gate rattled shut amidst the chattering rasp of the snowmobile’s engine as Sarah slowly ground to a halt, the snow-glazed carcass of the deer lashed tightly to the rear jump seat behind her. She climbed off and began the soul-wearying task of wheeling the heavy beast of plastic and steel into the motor pool’s workshop. ‘Carl, you lazy English prick, you in here?’ Her mellow tones echoed through the cavernous space, rebounding off the shattered hulks of long-dead vehicles, their gutted shells left abandoned by owners long since dead in a land where only the wandering few were left to lay claim to them. The clang of metal on concrete filled her ears as she dropped into a ready crouch. The heavy lump of plastic and polymers in her hand filled her eye line as she slowly moved behind one of the hulking lumps of rust and peeling paint. The hushed whisper of winter filled Sarah’s ears as she leant against the wind-blistered metal. Closing her eyes, she listened intently to the silence that was slowly eroding her mind. Nature’s call carried on it the breath of death. She could hear the cold-battered chatter of teeth and hunger as they stalked around the perimeter fence, eyes studying, searching for a way in…a way to sink their teeth into the pliant warm flesh that was trapped inside. Sarah could feel infinitesimal trickling of her own sanity as it skittered and slid into the abyss that was irrefutably claiming her day by day. The shuffling of feet flirted with her ears as Sarah strained against the ever-present drone. Wind whistled over the mouth of the hanger as the shuffling drew closer.
* * * * *
The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.
Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!
Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!