Science Fiction Multi-Feature Picture Show

Zombie Dinosaurs from Outer Space

Trawley eyed the statue with suspicion. The elements had long worn down the angel's stone features to a grainy after image, hidden behind pock marked hands. He was actually surprised the figure was still recognizable as an angel at all. The bouts of acidic rain in recent months nibbled and gnawed at most man made structures, eating away at the remnants of human civilization.

There was a thump and shuffle sound behind him, tempting him to turn, but at the string of inventive cussing, the tension in his shoulders came down a notch.

"Diaz," he said, without turning around. He kept his eyes peeled on that stone figure, would serve them right if that particular imaginary monster turned out to be true as well. Why not? The apocalypse seemed to shake everything else loose.

A growl answered him in creating as Diaz settled herself in next to him. The five foot brunette was one of those things, crawling out of the wood work when the world went to shit. He still couldn't believe the tiny woman could go from zero to furry in sixty seconds flat.

"What the hell you looking at Trawley?" Her Texan drawl made him flinch, tightening his grip on the gun.

"I don't trust it. Like one of them Doctor Who monsters," he said. He chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye, catching Diaz looking at him like he lost his damn mind.

"You know that was a fictional television show, right Trawls?" Diaz rolled her gaze in the direction of the stone angel, scrunching up her face. "I promise you, it won't come alive to suck your face off. That's Mace's job."

Trawley's shoulders slumped. He felt a bit silly, but honestly, that stature gave him the heebie jeebies. No matter what Diaz said, he felt as if the crumbling figure watched him, expectant. A  part of him longed for the days when monsters were purely fictional.

Forcing himself to turn away, he looked at his partner. "Any word from the front?"

"Be ready to rumble, Trawls. They are kicking a target our way in t-minus fifteen," said Diaz, filing her claws along her Bowie knife.

All the tension came flooding back into Trawls, perking his ears at the distant roar carried in on the breeze. A whiff of decay and burnt metal teased his tear ducts, but he'd grown accustomed to those scents.

"You sure it's a good idea luring one of them here?"

It seemed sacrilegious somehow, creating a killing field in a graveyard. Not like the dead would protest.

"Franz has a theory," was the cryptic reply.

Trawley scowled. Right of course that pale freak had a 'theory'. All he had were theories, not like he actually fought on the front line with the rest of them. Even Mace managed to drag his ass out of the ground to help take down a target or two.

"Care to enlighten your lone human what the Necromancer has planned?"

Diaz raised her thick eyebrows at him. "Necromeister, Trawls. How many times do I have to correct you?"

"Like it matters," he grumbled, shifting the grip on his gun. It was a modified piece, originally built to bring down the big game predators that once stalked the world. Without that pasty Necromeister's alterations, it wouldn't have done more than tickle their incoming target. Now, however...

The ground shook beneath their feet.

Diaz slid her knife in its holster, rolling her neck with an audible crack. "Find a perch," she said, widening her stance as her muscles rippled. Trawley had the good sense to look away before the shift took her, searching for a relatively high vantage point to take aim. Most of the mausoleums dotting the cemetery were too far gone, their integrity compromised by the rain. He'd rather not plunge through any roofs today. To his great disdain, the sturdiest looking perch happened to be the freaky angel statue, rising above the rest of the stone structures on its base. With a put upon sigh, he swung a leg up, crawling up to settle on its shoulders as the tremors intensified.