Bizarre
2007-02-24

 A Fate Worse Than Death - Chapter 2
 Before my first reanimation I managed to kill two hundred and twenty-three Red staters, all but fourteen were male. In a sense I'd let them catch me and then after they had their fun, I had mine. This approach, although quite successful, caused significant wear and tear on certain portions of my anatomy, requiring me to hide so I could reconstitute the damaged parts. Those good old boys certainly had a fixation with my 39DD breasts that defied gravity, not to mention my bubble butt that appeared to be mounted on ball bearings. However my utter and absolute best feature, the ultimate honey trap, was my vagina, or as they so crudely described it, my cunt, twat, snatch, pussy, slit, slot, clam, fuckbox, . . . . . . . . . you get the picture.
 If there was anything magical about me, it was that my vagina could conform to the penis that was captured within it. This was probably the most brilliant idea my creators came up with during the design of the Mariah class zombie.

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   Now I'm not bragging, but I don't know of any women who could take on gangs of sex crazed males numbering upwards of fifty for periods extending to three days and still be ready to go as if number three hundred and forty-one was the first one inside.
 Unfortunately for those rape gangs it was play for pay and my bill was usually fatal. Once it was my turn to play, I had a high old time snapping necks, tearing out throats and generally sending the survivors screaming into the woods to spread the word about this horrible monster with the magic pussy that turned into a killing machine. I have never understood that part of my program that forced me to allow survivors, but I have been told that this caused significant morale problems for the Red state folk to hear first hand just what we zombies were capable of doing to them.
 To this day it puzzles me about the attraction my breasts have for these people. The reason I refer to them as squeezies is due to the fact that my sex or is it rape partners seem to have a fascination for squeezing or fondling them while we are engaged in fucking. Of course my external genitals take plenty of rough handling as well, but it's merely part of the hunting process, and of little or no consequence to me.
 Now to some little known facts about zombies and how they reconstitute themselves. The head is the key to reconstitution; separate it from the main protoplasm body by a distance greater than one hundred and ten meters (no one seems to know why this particular distance is vital), and there can be no reconstitution and subsequent reanimation of the body, no matter what the condition. Here's the hard part to believe, protoplasm that has once been animated cannot be destroyed. This is the other key to how we can reconstitute, no matter what as happened previously to the protoplasm. This may sound like heresy to the Red state believers, but you might as well say that the protoplasm animated in the Lightning Chamber is eternal. How do those apples taste?
 Unlike humans, what we start with is all we'll ever have. In combat it is inevitable that small amounts of protoplasm are lost from the body through one reason or another. Usually they are too small to recover due to the nature of our assignment which has us constantly moving and seeking out the enemy.

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   Where the protoplasm goes is moot as far as a combat zombie is concerned. However when we reconstitute, our bodies are made whole, it's just that they are minimally smaller. For this reason it will take something well out of the ordinary for a zombie to leave a limb behind. It does however happen. I once met a Mariah class zombie who was less than 1. 2 meters in height due to some horrendous damage in combat. Even at that reduced size she was quite effective, especially in ambush and reconnaissance situations, not to mention those Red staters into pedophilia.
 Up until recently I'm not sure that the Red state folks had figured this one out completely. I had heard through the network that on rare occasins a zombie had fallen into Red state hands. More about our zombie communication system at a later date once I'm free of all these little issues that always seem to demand my full attention. Some of the more sadistic Red state types just liked to mutilate a captured zombie to the point that there was little if anything left to reconstitute or reanimate, and then keep the head for a trophy, thus unknowingly leaving the protoplasm in a permanent neutralized condition. Those unfortunates and the other few combat zombies that managed to get sucked down into quicksand bogs, of which there were many in this part of the country, made up the total casualties to date.
 The first time I got into serious trouble was almost the last, and considering what I'm facing for the rest of my unnatural life, perhaps that might have worked out just fine for me. I was making my way through the woods after having sent a group of Red state folks to the hereafter of their choice, when I encountered a local deadfall that put me out of commission long enough for this band of inbreeds to take control of my body. I distinctly remember tripping the wire, but I looked the wrong way and was struck head-on by this massive log that had come swinging out of the trees and knocked me cold.

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   A zombie can take all sorts of hits without accruing too much damage, but the end of a two hundred kilo log moving at perhaps thirty kilometers per hour is another story altogether.
 By the time what passes for my brain unscrambled itself, I found myself being carried deeper into the woods. These good old boys sure knew something about knots, so I just took it easy and let them do all the work. I sincerely expected to find myself pulling a train of inbreeds for many long days before someone made a slip and I killed them all. Was I in for a surprise! This gang consisted of eight decidedly scruffy individuals who said little and proved to be rather strong. I was hanging from a fair sized tree limb and I'm not exactly a feather when it comes to weight. Every hour or so, two more of these characters would take up the burden of transporting me toward their encampment. After three changes of carriers we arrived at a clearing surrounded by huge trees. I could hear the sound of water running nearby, and filed this away for future reference once I killed them and made my escape.
 The first thing I discovered was these swamp people knew a hell of a lot more about zombies than anyone else I had previously encountered. On the other hand those other folks were either fucking me or dying, so I never did get a good feeling for what they did or did not know about my kind. Well one thing these folk knew was a method of putting me out of order temporarilly. When I came around I discovered that in my absence they had taken me off the tree limb and refastened me to a large log similar to the one that did me in originally. I also realized that there was a substantial dent in my head such as might have been formed by being struck with a stone axe  very much like the one that was on the ground beside me. Since it was partly covered with some of my tresses, I assumed that it had been the item that put me away for a time.

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 The way I was fastened to the log also gave me pause. There was some kind of a metal collar around my neck that was attached to the log by what seemed to be steel spikes, the very same kind that were holding my arms outstretched across the log. I could see that pairs had been driven through what passes for bones in my upper arms, elbows, forearms and wrists. A pattern of three spikes had also been driven through the palms of my hands. In this position it was very difficult for me to get any leverage, especially since my wide spread legs were teethered to the ground in like fashion. These folks knew their anatomy, I had to give them that. What troubled me more than the way I was restrained was the fact that it made it very difficult for them to get at my vagina, which kind of took the wind out of my sails. What happened to my animal magnetism and good looks on the way to the camp?
 It didn't take long for me to get an answer to this question. I heard a commotion going on at the edge of the camp site. At first it looked as if two of the inbreeds had gotten into a fight over something. They were both half naked and rolling around in the dirt. What was so strange about this was no one else paid them the slightest attention. Then it became apparent that they were weren't fighting, they were fucking. . .

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  . each other! Case closed, as far as my ability to seduce this gang of alien beings was concerned. If all the Red staters had been like this little band, we zombies would have become an endangered species by now. Immediately it became apparent that they had taken me to their camp not for sex, but something more basic, food! I was the catch of the day, and from the looks of things, they planned starting on me just as soon as the big kettle of water came to a boil.
 One of the band approached me with a weird almost childish look on his deformed face. I just sensed what he was up to and unfortunately he didn't disappoint me. Out came this big pig sticker of a knife and the next thing I knew he was carving away at my squeezies, cutting thin slices of protoplasm from my teethered body. The fact that I made no outcry or effort to escape that very sharp inplement he was using kind of spooked him. He stopped what he was doing and hollered a few unintelligible words to his brethren. Soon I was surrounded by the entire gang who started pointing and jabbering among themselves concerning what was not happening where part of my breasts used to be. Not only do we not feel pain, we do not bleed, which can be very helpful in hand-to-hand combat where you don't want to be distracted by a fountain of blood spurting from where your arm used to be.
 One thing we can do, but it is not known to the average Red state folk, is speak. I have a fairly decent vocabulary and thanks to another little addition to my body, I am also capable of emitting some of the scariest shrieks, moans, howls, screams and banshee wails that anyone has ever heard.

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When properly used, it can be a show stopper. You can imagine the type of reaction you get from an opponent  who has just cut off maybe a hand or an ear and you let out with one of these sonic blasts.

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   It sort of stops them in their tracks for a moment, just long enough for me to dispatch them to whatever lies beyond this life. I was already preparing for that moment when some noise would give me the edge I needed to get rid of these weird folk and go on my merry way, spreading fear and terror into the hearts and minds of my enemy. For the moment however, I remained silent and let them have their fun, such as it was.
 Another of the inbreeds decided to check me out a bit further, and urged on by the peculiar grunts and whistles that passed for language from his peers, he proceeded to pull out an even bigger pig sticker. Without even asking, he rammed it into my vagina with one swift motion and then opened me up from vulva to my solar plexus, quite an impressive strength move on his part. I was tempted to reward him with one of my sonic blasts, but refrained. Still the foolish grin that was plastered all over his face indicated that he and I were bonding quite nicely. At this point he didn't know how to react to a woman who did not bleed or make any sound when cut. Undaunted he made some grunts and whistles of his own and a couple of the band took off into the woods, leaving me to heal myself as inobtrusively as possible under the circumstances.
 The one carving off portions of my squeezies resumed his activity, making small whistles and even an occasional sneeze as he worked away on my rapidly depleted breasts. By the time the other two returned with armloads of leaves from the local trees and bushes, the gash the other one had opened up was already starting to close, which caused more grunts, whistles and sneezes, plus plenty of fingerpointing. I'm opened once again,and none too gently. The gang starts stuffing me with leaves as well as the slices of breast "meat"  they've carved from my squeezies. As near as I can figure, this has something to do with their plan for cooking and eating me. I'm not at all familiar with this process, but there is enough in my memory background to make it appear that this is what they are planning for me.

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   I have no choice but to bide my time and wait for some kind of an opening that will allow me to dispatch this bunch and be about my business.
 The head inbreed didn't make things easy for me and I began to understand that he was a moron leading a pack of imbeciles. Without any warning he hacked off my right hand, leaving it nailed to the log. Then he did the same to my remaining hand. As soon as he hacked off one of my feet, I got the picture. His plan was to incapacitate me to the point that I coud be handled for cooking. Not a bad plan for a moron, but it has one little flaw. I'm almost as dangerous with stumps since I am a dedicated killing machine with tremendous strength and speed, despite some lack of agility due to the temporary loss of my limbs.
 He made things a little more difficult on his next pass, which resulted in me losing more of my arms and legs, up past the elbows and knees as near as I could tell. Now I began to worry about this little game that he was playing. If it went any further, matters would have taken a decided turn for the worse. I might still be able to take half of them out with just my jaws and teeth, not to mention a few well placed head butts, but mobility would have become a serious handicap and likely prevent me from killing all of them.
 With the second round of amputations, the moron made a fatal mistake and I immediately capitalized on it. There was only one set of spikes holding what was left of my arms and legs to the log and the earth. The moron should have cut below the spikes, not above them! However that was the kind of error that a moron will make, it's no crime.

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   However in his case it made life very easy for me and most difficult for him and his little band. I flexed and popped the remaining spikes from the log. My follow through caught the moron's throat between my stumps, instantly breaking his neck. I rolled and got up on my leg stumps and took out a pair of bug-eyed inbreeds, tearing open one's throat and fracturing the other's skull with a head butt. I'd finish him off at my leisure after taking out the remaining five who had no clue as to how to handle me.
 I derived no enjoyment from killing this group, it was just something that I was trained to do and so I did it. Then I rested in this isolated glade and waited for my body to reconstitute and reanimate itself totally, minus perhaps a few millimeters or so off my height. Once that was accomplished, I began to follow the stream that I'd noticed when the now dead band of inbreeds had brought me to this place. Sooner or later the stream would lead to more Red state people who would succumb to my wiles and lethality.
   ( To be continued - rolf palsy)
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