ZC Story
Zombie Coven is a gritty horror novel about an ancient coven of zombies spreading their unholy disease into the dark recesses of the city, ensnaring the lost women trapped there, and eviscerating the men who corrupted them.
Zombie Coven Synopsis
The greasy city writhes with sin under the dim light of a smog choked moon. Its back alleys keep the secrets of moralless men as they prey on the lost who take refuge there. People of the daylight world grind out frenetic lives, averting their consciences from acknowledging the evil that takes place amongst the vermin.
But in the darkness, an infection, a morbidity, an invasive disease, crawls through the veins of the city. Creatures driven by a gnawing hunger roam the recesses of the night. Shredded extremities drag across concrete as they search for meat. Methodically, monotonously, relentlessly.
As their elongated shadows creep, the walking dead bear witness to the sins of the city. The men cannot hide from them. They’re watching them. Judging them. And condemning them to the unimaginably violent deaths they deserve.
****
But somehow the young girls, that the men snatched up and turned out, are spared.
The girls. They come to the city desperately hoping for better lives, after escaping unbearable ones back home. They reach for happiness, but end up toiling in the recesses, settling for only brief moments of relief. In their despair, they lose faith in the dream, lose faith in themselves, and see no alternative but to burrow deeper into the darkness, bide their time…and survive.
The sex slaves dance as their masters gloat. But the girls have the last laugh when the masters start turning up dead. Not just killed, but horribly mutilated, with their spines removed and their intestines ravaged. The corpses are playfully displayed as a warning to any degenerate who thinks they can escape the wrath of the fallen. The cops aren’t too broken up about it. But they are stumped.
And where have the girls gone? Are they dead too? Have they taken matters into their own hands to escape their captors, their pimps, their abusers? Are they free now? Free to fly on to the life they came to the city to pursue?
****
Zack Jacek is asking these questions. And he wants answers. He’s seen way too many scarred girls during his years working at the rape crisis center. Zach does what he can to help, because he believes someone has to show these girls that there is compassion in the city, even if they haven’t seen it yet.
When Zack discovers that his ex-girlfriend Nikki has become a stripper, he descends into the seedy world of strip clubs and sex trafficking to pull her out. What he uncovers shakes him to the core.
Nikki and her hard-ass friend Cherry have taken refuge in an all female street cult called Razor’s Edge. The shameful acts Zack has seen in the sex industry are nothing compared to the filth and depravity being perpetrated by Razor’s Edge in the name of sisterhood.
They tout protection and community for their girls, but Zack knows better, and he’s determined to get Nikki out. But with so few options in life, Nikki and Cherry lean on the group for solace, camaraderie, and the only sense of connection the unforgiving city has offered up.
By all accounts, Razor’s Edge doesn’t exist. But Zack probes deeper, searching for a weakness to exploit. All he uncovers are more mysteries, vague evidences of occult origins, and possible ties to vicious ritualistic murders of past investigators that have gotten too close.
Nikki and Cherry are tough. They have to be. Their strength keeps them going, despite the odds against them. Cherry is fiercely protective of Nikki and they look out for each other with a bond that’s stronger than blood.
Despite Cherry’s vigilance, Zack appears to be getting through to Nikki. He’s hopeful that she’ll see Razor’s Edge for what it is, and leave the life. Only one thing stands in his way...
Zombies! A coven of vile zombies crowds the night, so deeply ensconced, so etched into the very foundation of the city, it’s as if they’ve always been there, feeding on mankind for thousands of years.
Their vicious acts leave Zack paralyzed with fear. But on the eve of a fateful celestial event, he must have the courage to heed the ancient wisdom he is being shown and reexamine all that he holds to be true in order to stop their onslaught, and put the wretched zombies in the ground where they belong.
Characters
Zack Jacek
Zack grew up in the rural Southwest, where he learned traditional values like loyalty, respect, and taking care of others. He moved to downtown Los Angeles and put those traits to work by helping victimized women at a rape crisis center. He has a sensitive side that women can connect with. But as of late, a sadness taints his days, after the disappearance of his sister and his unsuccessful year long search to find her with the help of his friend, Detective Frank Cooper.
Nikki
Nikki is a natural beauty from the Midwest with a troubled past that haunts her and keeps her guarded and emotionally closed off. When she and Zack dated, their relationship was tumultuous at best. Now, fully caught up in the sex trade lifestyle, she seems lost and unreachable. But Zack is not giving up on her.
Cherry
Cherry is Nikki’s best friend. They work at the same strip club where Cherry’s exotic middle-eastern features and sword play dancing act enthrall the club’s patrons. Cherry is a hard-ass and is highly protective of Nikki. Together they attend Razor’s Edge meetings in search of some sense of belonging and an hour of relief from the hard realities of their lives.
Razor’s Edge
Razor’s Edge is an underground urban secret society for victimized women of the sex trade lead by a malicious dominatrix named Lexi. They offer solace, community and protection for their girls, but something beneath the surface is not quite right. By all accounts, Razor’s Edge doesn’t exist. Zack must piece together century old cryptic clues and urban lore to uncover what they are really all about.
Assyrian
A dark, mysterious stranger who has been tracking and battling the Zombie Coven for all his life. He has knowledge that can help Zack, but prefers to fight alone, rather than spend time educating a green and ill-prepared do-gooder new to the fight.
Zombies
I don’t want to give away too much here, but the zombies in Zombie Coven have some unique qualities that will add fresh ideas to the genre. Like all zombies, they do love eating human flesh, especially brains and intestines! Their hunger is their curse, and it’s never-ending. Feed the Worm.
Chapter 1: Bite Down
The pockmarked alley door closes behind them as she leads him away from the club by the full length of his wallet chain. Raspy synthesized bass pulses hypnotically from inside, like a tribal beat calling to the gods to come for their sacrificial lamb. The beat holds their drink thick heads in its trance just a little longer.
Devotees wait outside for their turn to enter the paradise of jungle rhythms and gyrating naked bodies. The girl bullies through the throng of drugged up loners, disdain in her eyes. Rushing to break free of the music’s lure, she yanks on the wallet and the scuzzy guy in tow stumbles out of the crowd, nearly falling to his knees. He rights himself and they leave the club behind, without anyone taking note.
“Hey babe, where the fuck is this place?” he says.
“Not far.”
“Quit dickin’ around, I gotta piss.”
“Are you going to let me hold it for you?”
They walk three deserted blocks of crumbling industrial buildings and clamped down security doors. Buzzing mercury-vapor lamps mounted to the brick walls of dormant factories tint the scene blue-green-grey. A pile of soiled clothing weighs down a weary vagrant, merging man and concrete in a mass of discarded humanity. The two step over him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t see.
“We’re here,” says the girl tugging on the chain just enough to keep him off balance and on the edge of falling down the concrete stairs as they descend.
“Alright, gimme my damn wallet now.” He tucks the 8th Street Riders emblazoned wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, chain clanging against his thigh.
“You’re mine now,” she says as she opens a leaden door and leads him into the darkness.
“Ooo, whataya gonna do, spank me?”
She coyly glances over her shoulder at him as her wedge baby doll shoes shrik-clack on the gritty cement floor.
“Baby, I love following you, your ass is amazing in that tiny plaid skirt.” Sniff, sniff. “Wanna bump?”
“Not now, it’s time to play.”
The basement room is dank. Nothing but an army green metal light fixture on a cord, with a single fluorescent bulb, and a raw edged wood table in the center of the room.
“Get on the table, I want to strap you down.”
“Hey bitch, I’m tired of you giving me orders. I don’t answer to no woman, especially a whore like you.”
“Pleeeease,” she says as she licks her raspberry flavored penis lollipop, “won’t you do it for me? Pretty please, daddy, I’ve been a good little girl.”
“After all this, you gonna be nice to me?”
“So nice, daddy,” she says removing his patch covered jean vest and wife-beater tee.
He clumsily gets up on the table, sits, and drops flat. The coke is messing with his coordination, and making his heart race. The wood scratches his bare back. Iron pipes, precariously anchored to the ceiling, drip rust water on his chest. It runs down his ribs and wets the table.
The girl bites down hard on the candy penis, finishing it off, as she crunches leather shackles tight around his wrists and ankles. She drags a single finger up his leg, over his chest, up his chin and across his lips as she struts past the table into the darkness, just outside the reach of the blue-white cone of light. Another girl enters the light behind her in synchronous stride. Her rubber dominatrix suit creaks and whines as she moves, like some writhing beast in its death throes. Stiletto boots click until she stands over him, hands behind her back.
“Mmmm, two girls, huh. Right on. This ain’t no big shakes; I’ve been handcuffed before; I’ve seen bondage videos online.”
A black deprivation mask hides her features. Three vertical zippers stripe the rubber where her eyes and mouth and nose should be, making her face seem oddly flat as if the mask were smashing her features into unrecognizablity. The body suit is not form fitting like he’s used to seeing in porn videos; it’s loose and bulky like skin slipping off bone, collecting at the joints of this almost-too-skinny girl. The semi-translucent, blood red rubber replaces her skin as it covers every inch of her body, leaving no natural flesh exposed.
“Where’s the other one, the one from the strip club?”
Black death cracks his bare chest with something hard and wet to silence him.
“Damn, bitch, that hurts.”
“I’m right here sweetie. Just relax. You’re about to have the experience of a lifetime.”
He tilts his head back, squinting to reduce the glare of the spotlight. He sees the pixie standing behind him at the head of the table, with her Catholic schoolgirl uniform unbuttoned down to her navel.
Beyond the girl, the room begins to appear differently to him. The walls are no longer grey cement, but rather ochre sandstone ornately carved with ancient imagery. Stylized figures with human bodies and animal heads stand in formation at the base of a gigantic worm-like creature surrounded by a radiating halo and obscure hieroglyphic type markings. The pagan beasts submit, almost as if they were worshiping the slug.
“Whaaat?” The man blinks incessantly, not trusting his eyes. Has the room always been like this, only too dark to notice? Is the blow messing with his mind?
Two twisted branch torches mounted to the wall warm the scene and the outer edges of the room. Their rising heat causes the ceiling to flutter, which is now draped in sheer Moroccan style fabrics. His eyes follow the swags of fabric to the center of the room and are blinded by the single fluorescent bulb.
Blind spots dissolve and he sees that the rubber clad dominatrix is holding a dagger above his chest, adorned with the same worm, writhing around its hilt.
“What’re you going to do with that, bitch?”
No emotion escapes the black mask. Its blank inhuman stare and eternal silence triggers nervous spasms in the biker’s back muscles. He instinctively jerks to get up, but the restraints hold him tight and he feels the painful prick of the ridged wood table on his back full on. The dom moves the knife closer to his sternum. Salty sweat stings his eyes as he strains to hold every muscle clenched.
She slowly twists the dagger between her two gloved hands to taunt him. A glint of light off the blade startles the lolli-girl out of her shock. She breathes again, but doesn’t move.
Behind her, a small group of damaged girls in strappy leather slutware stare on. They face the table in formation, as if gathered to be taught some secret lesson. But they too are immobile, unsure of what is about to happen, their minds racing with doubts about their commitment to the group and its mistress.
The twenty something girl, so powerfully playing the role of innocent vixen just moments ago, is now locked in foreboding hesitation. She thought they were only going to tease him, make him suffer a little. This is getting too real. But she can’t show her alarm, it would certainly be construed as dissension. So she pushes down her mind, like she’s done so many times before. And she doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink.
Her cheek cringes, almost imperceptibly, at the first plunge of the knife and the agonizing scream of their unsuspecting victim. Blood splashes her face, and still she holds perfectly still. She’s trained herself not to flinch when bodily fluids spray her face. Blood is no different. She holds it together. Barely.
In the dim light, the blood turns black as it runs down her face, like mascara in tears. But there are no tears, no emotions; only denial as she keeps her mind from comprehending what’s happening.
The dom stabs faster and faster, until the last gasp of air gurgles up from his blood filled mouth. She raises her shrouded visage towards her girls, as if to inspect their reaction to the slaughter.
Lolli-girl remains expressionless. Numb. All she wanted was a place to belong, to feel safe. She never dreamed that the group would trick her into doing something like this, even if they did trap her into joining.
A hard chick with thick black eyeliner steps forward from behind lolli-girl carrying a tarnished brass tray. A rattling accompanies her as a large canopic jar jitters with each step. She bows her head and raises the tray in offering to her mistress. The dom caresses the stone vessel with bloodied gloves and the gloss highlights the sculpted form of a veiny pod, reminiscent of both a life-giving egg and a deadly carnivorous plant. She removes the lid, and grips the knife standing erect in his chest.
More blood overflows from the biker’s engorged cavity as she slices through his abdomen, exposing muscle and gut. One rubber glove reaches in and pulls out a handful of intestines while the other cuts it loose. The harvester lets the guts slip gingerly through her fingers into the canopic jar, and replaces the lid.
The lolli-girl tastes candy and bile as the act churns her stomach. She swallows hard to keep from retching.
The wall mounted torches extinguish, bringing darkness to the corners of the room once again as the onlookers inch closer together to keep from collapsing to the floor.
An odor of damp earth enters the room. Her gut tightens, but she manages to hide her nausea as the dom takes the tray, turns from the pile of meat, and follows the acrid air towards a grand exit, barely visible in the darkness.
Dead wisteria vines, emerging from beneath the stone floor, climb up two giant sculptures of lions with bearded human heads to form an archway of brittle interwoven branches that wraps around a monolithic stone crossbeam.
A moonlit mist glows beyond, providing just enough light for lolli-girl to make out three figures silhouetted in the door frame. They stand hip to hip, merging their outlines into a monstrosity of limbs and metal as their jagged garb, bulky jewelry, and bizarrely shaped helmets fuse into one.
The dominatrix bows her head and hands the offering to the amorphous shadow as the mist swirls away and they fade into blackness.
The room is silent, except for the sound of water from the rusty pipes above, dripping onto the meat pile, mixing wet with wet.
Lolli-girl stays tensed, unsure if it is safe to move yet. Her sweat soaked clothes cling uncomfortably. She waits. Several minutes. Thinking about her last lollipop and how badly she wants to suck on it to calm her nerves. It was in her mouth a moment ago. Holding her head still, she looks down with only her eyes. It’s on the table; entangled in strands of hair; sticky with sugar, saliva, and blood.
A cold hand grabs her shoulder from behind and she jumps.
A rough female voice says, “I told you the pig would cream himself over the Catholic schoolgirl thing. Men are so easy.
“This prick got what he deserved. Don’t you agree?”
She nods, obediently.
“You did well, this night of your one year cycle. You’re ready for more.”
The woman presses tight and puts her chin on Lolli-girl’s shoulder. A raking light reveals dark, piercing eyes with crow’s feet beneath inch-wide, cat-eye liner. She takes lolli-girl’s hand, places a knife in her palm, and closes her fingers around the grip.
“Go get us another. But this time, just bring us his spleen.”
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