The Weaving Dead #horrorsnippets

Okay, so I started this on a whim and I’m not exactly sure where this is going. Should I finish?

Check out more Horror Snippets here. And download a copy of my $0.99 zombie tale, The Butterman Cometh (The Zombie Archives).

Officer Teabody climbed his large frame out of his cruiser and casually closed the door. He jabbed both thumbs into his belt, oncing over the big black Buick he’d pulled over. The old car hadn’t been going fast and that was the problem. Had whoever this was simply driven ten miles above the speed limit like everyone else Teabody wouldn’t have noticed him at all.

He’d tried not seeing the car as he’d been thumbing around on his game of Sudoku on his iPhone, but the Buick had crawled across his peripheral vision, several passing cars honking, and thus demanding his attention. Teabody liked Sudoku a lot and he did not like pulling people over, but if he wanted to continue playing while being gainfully employed, he had to occasionally make a traffic stop or two.

And someone making such blatantly poor use of all three southbound lanes on Rochester right in front of him meant that big black Buick had to be one of them.

Teabody took a deep breath and unclipped his Glock. He slid it out and let it hang by his side. He wouldn’t need to use it, these sorts of stops rarely, if ever, had some psychopath behind the wheel. The psychos tended not to stop and wound up starting a high-speed chase and killing some poor unsuspecting motorist. No, the ones who stopped usually were the bluffers; people who were drunk or stoned who thought a breath mint could hide what was on their breath or an air freshener would mask the smell of marijuana.

But he followed the procedure on the off chance this would be the one-out-of-a-thousandth customer who would do something truly stupid like try to shoot him as he came up to the car. Officer Teabody sauntered over, his eyes examining the rear window for passengers in the backseat. All he could make out was darkness. He came up to the bumper of the big black Buick and stared into the side rearview mirror, hoping to get a look at the driver. But it had been turned crazily and the only thing he saw in the mirror was a view of Rochester road, completely useless to him and the driver prior to being pulled over.

His mouth disapproved, forming itself into a grim line. Teabody knew his mouth. He listened to it. It was telling him this one might be a winner. Maybe not a one-in-a-thousandth, but the guy right before him–someone who might demand a gun to be pointed in his face before he complied.

Teabody’s ears perked as he tried to listen for something above the throaty growl of the big black Buick’s old engine. It sounded like there was a geriatric lion under the hood. The car had definitely put its better days in its rear view, but it still could probably get up in speed. The brake lights were off, so the car was in park. If the driver put it in gear, it would take several seconds before he could pull out onto the street. Officer Teabody would be back in his car before he hit twenty miles an hour and would be hawking him before he reached the next stop light. He amended his estimation after he peeked over at the far side of the car and saw the tire was in mud. The big black Buick was rear-wheel drive and would do a significant amount of peeling before finding traction. He could probably make it back into his cruiser and pit the car before it got off the shoulder.

But the driver showed no sign of making a run for it. Matter of fact, he didn’t show any sign of anything. As he sidled up alongside the big black Buick, he hunched his shoulders, letting anything unexpected filter in through his senses. He didn’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary, didn’t even taste anything strange, but his twitching mouth told him there was more here than initially expected.

Finally, Teabody was just shy of the driver’s side door. The Buick was two-door so he was a little farther back than he wanted. The windows weren’t tinted, but it just looked so dark inside. He gradually made out the shoulders and head of the driver who appeared to be just sitting there, waiting. The window was rolled up, which agitated Teabody even further. Typically, people had the window down and were waiting for him, license, registration, and an unsure smile in hand.

This driver appeared to be sitting straight, eyes forward.

It made the corners of Teabody’s mouth nervous. Made him think about just raising his gun and firing until it fell on empty, reload, and begin firing again. Now there was an odd thought. He’d never fired on anyone before and this certainly hadn’t evolved into a situation that deserved it. He had to maintain control of himself.

He didn’t want to release the Glock from his thumbs-forward grip, but realized knocking on the window with the barrel of his gun might come off as a threat. He let go of the gun with one hand and wrapped on the glass.

The driver didn’t move.

 

 

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