The Elbow Room

Not an undead muscle moved as the strem of fire coursed through the air with it's gruff, angry whisper. Eyes grey with the plague that had killed her bored into Vito like icy daggers. They tore chunks of his fat, spoiled human flesh away and left it in gobs on the floor for Valkyries to spit on. The lowest creatures of Hell would laugh at him one day when this metaphoric murder would be echoed in a more materially malevolent manner. Her gaze staggered him back a step. Zombie muscles flexed beneath her skin, her bony rotting skeleton shifted and her quick step closed the distance between them. If the Zombie Mistress had been breathing, her infected putrid yellow breath would have made don Vitos eyes tear up as though it were mustard gas. Zombie Mistress's lip lifted ever so slightly at one corner. The sneer threatened to break the cracked skin betraying decayed bone or facemeat beneath. The gun appeared in her hand almost before the thin scabbed arm flashed out to it like a bolt of lightning. She smacked him across the face with it. She tore it from it's hose gasoline pouring onto Vito and the floor like blood from a jugular vein she wasn't going to separate from his body just yet. She threw the gunpiece end over end at Leon's face. She walked to the barricaded doors and smashed them open with a zombie crocodile. She looked at Melody. The four ferals outside their clothing in tatters their faces halfeaten away their bones exposed to the air shuffled painstakingly slow to the doorway groaning loud. Zombie mistress put a pianofingered pale hand under one half of a dead sexy breast and licked what remained of her nipple. She walked away again.