First line Flash Fiction - Manchester Underground

Jackson recognized the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. Licking his lips he threw the corpse of the Labrador against the sewer wall, smiling through gritted teeth at the delicious sound of the exsanguinated corpse plopping into the shallow water that drained through the abandoned tunnels underneath the rubble-strewn city. The Victorian sewer system under Manchester was extensive; it’s long red brick tunnels burrowing for miles around the underbelly of the sprawling northern mill town that was once the glory of the cotton industry. But that was now long gone.

Jackson’s smile faded as quickly as it had risen, as his face contorted into a mad glare, rabid with rage filled frustration and he bared his teeth as his eyes were blinded by the torchlight of oncoming walkers.

Thin lines of drool dripped sporadically from his chin pooling in a crevice of his top that was torn and tattered. He groaned long and low, the sound emitting deep within his throat possessing a guttural primal cry of pain and despair. He moved forward faster towards the walkers, his moans becoming more frequent, louder, more desperate and eager. His halting steps made him stagger as he moved faster, his flaccid limbs flopping against his body. The rancid sewer strewn water splashed against his calves but he was powerless to respond, just as he was powerless to stop himself from chasing after the living in the depths of the sewer. The implant on the back of his neck, embedded into his nervous system forced him forward. Raising his now rigid arms, his sweaty palms locked their grip around the trigger of the gun. His clear mind protested but his vocal chords had been severed, once more he would kill against his will.