Monica O'Rourke: Suffer the Flesh

Pressure on her body woke her, and she panicked, believing for one horrible moment that the escape had been part of an elaborate dream, that she was still underground in the torture chamber.

She shook her head and blinked, tried to focus her eyes in a room lit only by the streetlight outside the bedroom window.

Zack was sitting on her stomach.

She threw her hands up to protect herself and push him away.

He punched her in the face.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, hitting her again. “Do you know who you fucked with? Do you?” His hands wrapped around her neck.

She tried to pry his fingers away, punched at his arms, kicked her legs up. Reached forward until her fingers found his face and dug them into his eyes.

He yelled, released her, clutched his wound. “You cunt!”

She knocked him off and scrambled away, but he caught her leg.

She looked up, caught the glint of metal just before he plunged it into her side. The pain was excruciating, filled her body with razored claws of heat.

He pulled out the knife. She dragged herself toward the pillow. Felt the knife stab her thigh. Screamed in agony.

“Die, you fucking bitch!” He tried to pull her toward him but she kicked free. He struck again but missed, tearing open the mattress instead.

Finally she reached the pillow, groped beneath it, wrapped her fingers around Claudia’s gift.

He flipped her onto her back, straddled her, and with the knife in both hands he raised his arms overhead. Just as he drove it into her stomach she pulled the trigger, blowing away most of Zack’s stunned expression.

Blood bubbled out of her mouth, gushing from gashes on her body. Sobbing, reached for the phone. So weak… barely able to reach it. Picked up the receiver and listened. No dial tone.

“God…” she groaned, vomiting blood. Fell to her hands and knees on the floor, crawled toward the living room. Cell phone on the coffee table. Thick gore trailed her across the room.

She’d gotten him. Knew she’d probably saved Jess, Claudia, and Marie from the maniac. Knew they would have been next. She smiled, suddenly feeling no pain, feeling instead a comfortable warmth, like being immersed in a soothing bath.

Punched 911 on the cell phone keypad. “Need… help…” she muttered, leaning against the sofa, life’s blood escaping through fingers pressed against her stomach.

Couldn’t talk anymore, even when the dispatcher asked her questions. “Don’t hang up the phone. Help is on the way. Can you hear me?”

Zoey dropped the phone. Closed her eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She was finally free.

Suffer the Flesh copyright by Monica J. O’Rourke

This digital edition copyright 2011 by Biting Dog Press

Published in the United States by

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