By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 514
Thaddeus, who was the boss, was dressed as if he was playing a role in a 1930 movie. Double-breasted striped suit, big brimmed Stetson and a huge stick pin in his necktie. When Carlos walked into the office and he said, “Good job, you done good. Now, goodbye, we don’t need you no more...”
He reached for his gun on the table, and cocked it. Carlos blanched and reached for his own pistol, tucked snugly under his left arm. Before Carlos could draw his Glock, Thaddeus shot him in the neck, killing him instantly.
“There you are,” Thaddeus said as Carlos opened his eyes. “I was wondering how long it would take you to reanimate. Most of your colleagues came round in only a matter of minutes. You seemed to fight it, taking almost an hour.”
Carlos slowly turned his head to follow Thaddeus’ voice. His vision was cloudy and slightly out of focus, but he definitely remembered the man sitting next to him. Carlos tried to sit up. Tight, leather harnesses prevented him from moving.
“Not yet, Carlos,” Thaddeus said. “I need to make sure the restraining collar works before you can go running around.”
Thaddeus took a small remote control out of his coat pocket, selected the right frequency, and pressed a button. Carlos felt a jolt of electricity run through his neck and he lost control of his muscles. He jerked and shook until his head collapsed back onto the cold, hard stainless steel bench. Carlos could not see anything, but his sense of smell seemed unaffected. The aroma of Thaddeus’ flesh wafted into Carlos’ nostrils, activating some feeding frenzy. He could not act on his instinct to feed and lay motionless, frustrated.
“Righto then,” Thaddeus said. “That seems to be working just fine."
Thaddeus released the bonds and allowed Carlos to slowly stand up. Carlos turned slowly to look at Thaddeus, then the doorway. Thaddeus nodded.
“That’s right,” Thaddeus said. “You can go and join your friends on the work floor again now.”
Carlos walked slowly to the door, his limbs still numb and tingling from the shock. Down the staircase, hundreds of zombies worked on a large array of machinery of all kinds and purposes. They looked up, not at Carlos, but at the scent of the living flesh of their master, Thaddeus.
“Go to that flashing red light,” Thaddeus said. “That will be your work station now.”
Carlos felt the urge to bite Thaddeus, he smelt so good. Thaddeus seemed to read his mind and held up the remote control, shaking his head at Carlos.
“I’d think twice about that, Carlos,” Thaddeus said. “After your collar has been activated three times, it detonates. You only have three chances in my workshop, and the first one is already gone.”
Carlos headed down the stairs. He thought Thaddeus was a bad boss when Carlos was alive. Now it seemed, things had taken a turn for the worse.
The Fringe is open to submissions of poetry, flash fiction and short stories of any genre. Stories accepted will be published online in our Ezine and also in the monthly pdf magazine.
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We are open to unpublished and previously published stories up to 40,000 words in length.
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Here at The Fringe Magazine we publish Short Stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry in all genres and reviews of books, roleplay games, music and movies.
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With over 350 readers visiting our site each day, we listen to the voice of the masses and try and procure books in all genres to review. To date, we have reviewed over 600 books, including; non-fiction reference, music, art, photography, gardening, cooking, Self Help, architecture, design, biographies and roleplay games.
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