That Wicked Apple: A Scary Tale of Snow White and Even More Zombies

Chapter Two

Grouchy

THE VIEW OUT THE upstairs loft’s window almost knocks the dwarf Grouchy on his chubby butt. Yet he can’t pull his eyes away from the grotesque scene.

Below, hundreds of infected Horrors fill the street. A pantsless old man, his shriveled nethers swinging between his legs, flails in various directions as if on fire. Slobber drools from his lips. A pregnant woman runs in wide ovals, her exposed breasts flopping like dead fish against her chest. Like any expectant mother, she holds her belly, except her hands scratch and slap it as if it were a terrible itch. Others, such as a young girl missing most of one hand, simply stand, their harsh panting rocking their entire bodies. All of their eyes burn as red as hot coals. Across the street, a massive banner proclaims:

VILLAGE OF ABUNDANCE

APPLE BUTTER FESTIVAL

Grouchy spies a few undead Horrors, as well. These ghouls plod through the mud with weary, relentless desperation. Flies and gnats swarm around the shambling corpses and crawl over their vacant faces.

How could Snow’s curse have spread to Abundance so quickly?

He shudders, not just because of what’s below but because seven humans stand behind him –– two soldiers he’d reluctantly call companions, four others they just discovered hiding in the loft of this doctor’s office, and one deceitful bitch of a queen. Until a moment ago, Grouchy thought the Queen was a peasant woman who’d lost her way in the woods surrounding Abundance. She came with them here to Abundance, where Devere, the giant man who serves as her Head Huntsman, outed her as the Queen. Grouchy wants nothing more than to lop off her pretty head, but the horde of Horrors below hungers for all their flesh.

“All is not lost,” Devere whispers, edging between Grouchy and the Queen. “The monsters heard something, but they don’t know we’re in here.” The Head Huntsman seems to know what he’s talking about, though Grouchy can’t imagine he’s had much experience hunting Horrors like this. Devere places a finger to his bushy mustache. “If we’re quiet, they’ll go away.”

Good. Let them go. Then Grouchy can get on with the happy business of killing her royal ass-ness.

Finally, the mob begins to disperse. Grouchy sheathes his ornate blue sword, which he’s named Honey-Stick. Until yesterday, the sword belonged to Prince Mikael, the dandy asshole who woke Grouchy’s beloved Snowflake with a kiss. Snow woke up, but she didn’t wake up right.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Downstairs, heavy steps stomp across the wooden floor. Grouchy winces with each step.

Snoozy, the only other surviving dwarf from the Collective, yells upward, “Everything okay up there? Did someone sneeze?”

“Balls,” Grouchy whispers. That idiot.

In the street, the mob transforms into a tidal wave of bloody flesh splashing against the building. Grouchy hops down the stairs on his good leg and finds Snoozy rummaging through jars of herbs. The fool must have been searching for raylee root.

Snoozy stares up at him, his bloodshot eyes heavy with guilt. The Horrors pound on the door and break the front window. Thankfully, it’s high enough that they can’t simply storm inside. Instead, they have to hoist themselves through the shattered frames. This buys Grouchy enough time to pull Snoozy to his feet. The weary dwarf clutches multiple jars to his chest.

Grouchy shoves Snoozy up the stairs as the first Horrors dash across the floor. The two soldiers, Battson and Hays, pull the dwarfs upward.

Grouchy tries retracting the stairs, but the hissing villagers have reached the bottom steps. Three thick hinges connect the folding stairs to the loft’s floor, and the soldiers now hack at the hinges with their swords. Hays’ dog, Yanky, barks frantically. Grouchy grabs a jar from Snoozy and hurls it down the stairs.