I tried to write a story to be the Freelance Writer for Wyrd Miniatures. Well, some things are not happen. So I share it with a community. Be lenient to grammatical errors. My English, unfortunately, is not perfect.
Mediated acquaintance in the Quarantine zone
Vincent looked out from behind the corner of the tumbledown hovel, appraisingly watching at something slowly moved over the pavement. A long time ago, while been a little boy, Vincent Saint Clair saw Siamese twins in the circus. The creature, wandering over the Quarantine zone, looked like them, hobbling on three legs and wagging the one or the other head by a rotation. The attentive eye of the former Guild exorcist noticed tears in the flesh, where connected two bodies threads dispersed. Some lunatic sewed two corpses, revived the cadaver and sent his creation for a walk through the Reva’s territory.
The bowstring snapped, and cadaver twitched. A piece of his left head fell on the pavement with the crossbow bolt within. Vincent dived for a cover like a black shadow to reload his weapon.
Breathe in. Jump out from the cover and shoot. Breathe out. Step behind the abandoned house.
Disgusting hand, covered with patches of mold, landed on his shoulder. Vincent tumbled forward over his head, acting more instinctively rather than rationally. The two‑headed - well, half‑headed for that moment - creation of necromancy howled and hobbled straight to the man jumped out on the road.
Vincent swore. He had forgotten about ... who was that punk? Henry? Or Charles? No, wrong names. Never mind. Undead corpse asked by Reva for helping Vincent in patrolling the borders of the territory. Like Vincent needed its help. There was nothing but troubles from mindless zombies.
"Damn it!" Vincent growled, charging the crossbow hastily "Numscull!"
Zombie groaned guilty and shuffled across the path of the cadaver. Two corpses exuded the stench of rotting collided at a distance of a couple of steps from the ex‑exorcist. Fingers covered with greenish skin began to dig into the pliable half‑decayed meat. From a side, it was seen like the romantic game of two lovers. Two sadistic cannibal lovers.
Vincent took a step back, squinted, guessing the moment, and fired. Two crossbow bolts, one after another, pierced the back of the head of his uninvited assistant. Three-legged cadaver, splattered with blood and cerebrospinal fluid, slowly began to pull out fingers of the undead who was suddenly freed from unliving.
Exorcist closed his eyes. He mentally traced a few words by shimmering letters on the wall of absolute darkness. Letters sparkled, swirled, and, finally, exploded with a fountain of white flame. Vincent heard embittered, desperate growl and opened his eyes.
A three-legged cadaver fell onto the pavement. The magic fire devoured the meat from its ribs and belly, revealing the liver. There was a crack, and cadaver broke in half when crosslinking thread burst.
The gray ash, former Henry - or was it Charles? maybe, Harry? - began to scatter on the pavement, picked up by the wind.
Vincent fixed his belts, threw the crossbow on his shoulder and continued walking along the route of patrolling.
After resting the undead the former exorcist always felt a kind of elation. He was drawn to philosophizing. Now, for example, he thought about what a crazy man could consider corpses as the material for sewing, like, the teddy bear’s sewing. Some real psycho, no doubts.
New Douglas McMourning’s shelter - house almost in the center of the Quarantine zone - was not a half beautiful as the morgue. His loyal assistant Sebastian had taken away almost all the necessary things before Death Marshals broke into his secret lab, and yap of zombie chihuahua in the tub for a ficus served as the living - or undead, more likely – prove of his success. But without the table, his lovely white table, without the glare of lamps - what kind of creativity can be there?!
McMourning sat in the almost whole chair on the second floor of his shelter. He was annoyed by everything. By a spiral stuck in his buttock. By the yapping dog. By this awfully blue sky. By the invisible dwarf elephant on the first floor. By the lack of the operating table. By his left glove left in the Guild Enclave. By a presence of Sebastian. By a disappearing of Sebastian. By the sound of his scalpels thrown into the window fell onto the pavement near the house. By the fact that there were only two scalpels left. And the last one. And no more.
"Sebastian!" McMourning shouted, staring at the ceiling. "Bring the scalpels back from the street!"
No answer. Douglas frowned. Oh yes. Sebastian was dead, after all.
No, stop, not Sebastian. It was Lord Byron who died, and his assistant was alive, just went somewhere else again. McMourning was irritated by his sudden absences.
And his last work was unsuccessful. It was necessary to go to the end and sew all hands to the hips. He hurried to let his creation go.
Douglas jumped up and slapped himself on the breast pocket with his palm. Something slipped out and flopped to the floor.
Sebastian climbed the ladder, put his saw on the dresser and looked at McMourning sitting on his haunches and poking a finger in a tomato.
"Sebastian, why do I have a tomato in my pocket instead of a scalpel? Who can be cut with a tomato? Hmm. Tomato scalpel. Tomato killer ..."
"Maybe you put it in your pocket during the breakfast?" Sebastian suggested, coming closer.
"I don’t think so" McMourning whispered. "Rather it specifically climbed there by itself. It wanted to wait until I fell asleep and then kill me! Listen to me, Sebastian. Now you'll turn around, and slowly, at ease, go to that wall. The tomato'll rush at you, so I'll be able to smash it!"
Sebastian shrugged and walked away.
"I said to go at ease, Sebastian!"
Sebastian whistled a merry tune, with which he usually dismembered the corpses. An unpleasant sound came from behind.
McMourning wiped his hand on his robe, smearing the pulp and juice tissue.
"Stupid tomato. The instinct of the murderer is not enough to deal with me!"
"Master, I've completed your task" Sebastian reported, thinking it was the right moment.
"A? Did you bring the scalpels back?"
"Another your task, Master. I've been following your latest creation. It was destroyed. By some kind of an exorcist".
"An exorcist? Here?! " McMourning jumped to the window and leaned out almost to the waist. "Is this a raid?"
"No, Master. Unlikely" Sebastian walked over to Douglas and carefully dragged him from the window by the floors of his robe. "He was alone. And kind of strange. No badge, no hat. And with a zombie"
"You said it was destroyed. Concentrate, Sebastian!"
"With another zombie. Not your. An exorcist used him to hold your creation. Then shot him in the head, did something and turned the zombie into a pillar of fire. Your creation also burned down in this fire"
"Some kind of nonsense" summed McMourning. "Why did an exorcist go for a walk with zombies, and why did he burn them? The dead undead must be brought to me; I have given instructions to all newcomers!"
"Perhaps he could not read" Sebastian said cautiously.
"This explains a lot" McMourning snorted.
"An exorcist, being absolutely unsuitable for his duties; and me, sitting without the material for working".
McMourning looked at his feet. Well…
"Bring my scalpels back from the street, feed the elephant and return here".
He carefully poked the flattened tomato with the toe of his boot.
"I have an idea".