Book coming soon

The Black Honey Lost Files: Blackheart.

 

By Wulf F Godgluck

 

"The fuck is happening in the world?" Dale said, slamming the stack of beer on the bar’s countertop. "Bitch almost ran me over!" His face was flushed red, breath coming out in wheezing pants.

 

"Shit, you okay?" Randy’s deep voice rumbled from under the bar. Dale could only see Randy’s freshly shaven scalp shining from the overhead light. The fucker didn’t even look up.

 

"Asshole!"

 

“Dale!” Randy stood. “I’m being a dick, sorry." He reached across the bar, grabbed Dale by the shirt and smashed his lips to his fiancé’s.

 

“You better be,” Dale grunted, a little out of breath. “You’re well on your way to being tied to a Saint Andrews cross tonight.”

The fingers clasping Dale’s shirt tightened their grip.

 

“Ya think, Pappa Bear?” Randy growled.

 

“And earning you a whipping with the bullwhip,” Dale growled right back.

 

The two studied each other for a long moment. Their dynamic of both being dominants always gave rise for this banter. Both knew they needed a submissive soon, or they’d be looking at becoming a switch couple.

 

“You better go get them beers before your ‘barboys’ come in and wiggle their butts,” Randy said, the first to break eye contact. “I saw how you been checking out their asses.You got an eye on one of ‘em?”

 

“Yeah, looking right at the bastard.” Dale couldn't help but chuckle as the colossal Randy blushed. Somehow, over the past twenty-five years, he still had it in him to make the ex-army captain turn blood red in the face.

 

“Get!” Randy thundered, smiling as he ducked under the bar to take stock.

 

 

***

 

Randy had just heard the front door close when the scream came from the back. Jolting him, and smacking his head against the counter. “Fuck!” He rubbed the spot, feeling for blood. Another scream, this one different, and this time more than one. It wasn’t just a shout from the drunk beggar they allowed to sleep in the back alley of the bar. This scream had Randy clenching his jaw, and his spine turning to liquid ice.

 

Randy stepped out from behind the bar, moving to the back doors; he could hear the commotion of a struggle.

 

Slowly he pushed open the door, only accessible from inside. The first thing he saw was the spurt of blood flying through the air from a man’s mouth. The man’s head smacking right into the concrete brick wall with a loud crack.

 

Randy's eyes bulged in their sockets.

 

Black blood seeped from the man’s temple, eyes deranged and milky in appearance, his skin pale like baby powder. The charcoal gray suit ripped and torn like someone had taken a razor blade to him. A cascade of black blood oozed from the gushing wound in his throat where his cricoids cartilage were exposed. Drunkenly the man stood, swaying and pulled back his lips displaying bloodied and black sludge covered teeth. A growl passed the man’s mouth causing more of the black slush to drip like thick sap from the neck wound.  

 

Randy turned running to the bar, leaving the back door to slam shut. He had barely reached the bar’s counter when another yell came. Panicked, adrenaline pumping, he didn’t give a fuck for military training right then. With shaky hands, Randy grabbed the handgun strapped to the underside of the counter. His body trembled as he made his way outside, gun raised and ready.

 

He didn’t shoot, couldn't fucking move from the scene playing out before him. Three of them had Johnny-man on the ground, fingers clawing into his stomach. Another chewed on the man’s left shoulder. Through it all the beggar kept yelling, blood spilling from his mouth, “Help me, somebody, please help me!”

 

Randy just stood there. His mind numb as the fuckers feasted and tore Johnny-man in half. Guts snapping like fragile strings.

 

The snarl in his right ear made him turn, mouth still open from disbelief. One of those things stood inches from him. Randy just reacted, headbutting the sickly looking woman with half a face, pretty sure he pissed himself too.

 

His mind was in panic mode, still trying to rationalize that which shouldn't be fucking happening— human cannibals. The woman-thing had stumbled backward, grunting and growling. Randy's head shot up seeing a pack of them--yeah, that’d be a whole motherfucking pack— running towards him.

 

He’d seen the shows, read some books but this shit was surreal. Zombies were not that fast. But these—

 

It was a lightning flash in his brain and thank the universe it came.

 

Dale.

 

The pack of things were already closing in, and the female one on her feet, when Randy stepped back into the bar and slammed the door shut. He had barely placed the bolt in place when the bang came, rattling  the door and causing him to jump back. His heart was a fucking fiend in his chest.

 

The front door opened, bring with it a chaotic symphony of the world outside, screams, car crashes, gun fires and God knew what else. All that ricocheted through Randy's mind was one of them had made it into the bar. He turned, the glare of sunlight blinding his view, the black shape swaying drunkenly towards him.

 

Randy pulled the trigger.

 

***

 

The shot ripped through Dale’s chest. He felt nothing, and then came a vicious pain. His legs gave out on him, crippling him to the cold, hard floor of the club.

 

Hands were there to catch him. Warm hands, strong hands, familiar hands. Hands that could inflict pain and make love at the same time.

 

Dale shook as Randy held him, something wet dripping on his cheek. Darkness loomed around the corners of his eyes, his breath thin. Weakly he reached up, blindly placing a palm against a scruffy cheek, soaked with tears and mucus.

 

He had to say something, but what did he say to a man that had come to mean the world to him.

 

Dale smiled. Put every ounce of love in that fucking smile.

 

“I will always love you, Randy Blackheart.”

 

The world went black.