The Complex by Brian Keene Read Free Book Online Page A

his head. “He wouldn’t do that.”
    “Shaggy, please. Don’t go out there.”
    “I’m fucking going. The question is, are you coming, too, or you gonna stay here and wait to get shot?”
    He opens the door. Instead of responding, Turo lurches to his feet and hurries after him. The two creep out of the apartment and glance around. Shaggy eases the door shut behind him, and doesn’t bother to lock it. The yard is still empty, but three figures emerge from the nearby woods. All of them are nude. One of them is covered in blood. Another carries a hunting rifle. Spying Shaggy and Turo, the naked gunman raises the stock to his shoulder and aims at them.
    “Go!” Shaggy pushes Turo, who is still trying to come to terms with their nudity.
    They run around the side of the apartment building as the shot echoes behind them. Too late, they realize they are now running directly toward the sounds of the original chaos. They round the corner and skid to a stop. The parking lot is filled with more naked people, many of whom are armed with a variety of weapons—everything from guns and knives to a frying pan and a weed whacker. There are several dead bodies lying on the pavement. All but one of them is nude. Another naked person is slumped over the hood of a car, bleeding out onto the metal from a gunshot wound to his face. More dead nudists are sprawled in a pile in front of apartment 2-D. That apartment’s front windows are busted out and shards of broken glass sparkle on the ground.
    Shaggy and Turo’s neighbors are also armed. Sam the writer and the old lady that lives three doors down from him both have handguns. As the two would-be stick-up men watch in disbelief, the old lady shoots a naked person in the stomach. The naked person staggers and his mouth curls into a grimace as blood spurts from the wound, but he doesn’t drop the axe he’s holding until the old lady shoots him a second time.
    The tranny who lives in the apartment between Sam and the old lady is standing outside, watching all this go down. She has a butcher knife in one hand, and judging by the blood on the blade, she’s recently used it. Shaggy still occasionally gives Turo shit, because Turo once remarked while high that he thought the tranny was “kind of pretty, but not in a gay way.” Next to her are a young red-headed woman and a kid, both of whom look like they’re in shock. The kid has his hands pressed tight over his ears. His eyes are wide as half dollars. His mother has bitten through her lip, and blood dribbles down her chin, but she seems oblivious to it.
    More naked people are converging on the apartment complex, wandering out of the surrounding woods and alleys and backstreets. The other neighbors don’t seem to notice, because they’re too preoccupied with the closer opponents. They also don’t seem to notice as a naked little girl, probably eight or nine years old, charges toward Sam. She’s grinning and snarling, and clutches a butcher knife in her hand.
    “Look out,” Turo yells.
    Shaggy is yelling, too—nonsensical words, the language of panic. He raises the .45 and shoots the little girl in the leg. The hollow point round shreds flesh and shatters bone. She spins and falls, crying out in both pain and rage. Her grin is gone, replaced with an indignant expression, as if she can’t believe Shaggy just shot her. Shaggy can’t believe it himself. His legs are shaking and his mouth has gone dry. When the little girl starts crawling toward Sam, dragging her injured, half-severed leg behind her, his stomach roils at the trail of blood in her wake.
    “Inside my apartment,” Sam shouts. “All of you…run, goddamn it! Run!”
    The redhead and her kid glance around in confusion, and the tranny guides them toward Sam’s open door. Sam and the old lady follow, keeping their guns trained on the advancing horde. Shaggy and Turo hurry along after them. The little girl is almost upon Sam now, and Shaggy points at her, unable to speak.