The Hungry Read Online Free PDF Page B

reached down to Wells and grabbed him by the shoulder. Wells brought the muzzle of his pump-action shotgun under the zombie's chin and fired. The BOOM was deafening. The zombie's head exploded and the escaping shot shattered the window above. Glass fragments, splinters and vaporized brains showered down on Wells. On the edge of sanity, he giggled. His broad-rimmed hat protected his face from the fallout, but his uniform was red and soaking wet. Wells pushed the zombie out the window, out of sight.
    Needles suddenly shifted. "Behind you, Sheriff!"
    In one smooth movement, Miller drew her pistol and stuck it in the mouth of a child zombie coming in through the window. She winced but pulled the trigger, and the dead boy—one she didn't know, thankfully—slid below the windowsill with a hole in his brainstem.
    Wells resumed his first position, firing madly to keep up with the ground he had lost.
    "There are still more coming," said Scratch, peering out his little cell window. His voice was high and tight with panic.
    "We aren't going to make it, are we?" Needles looked ready to piss in his pants. A crashing sound erupted from Sheriff Miller's office. "What the fuck was that?"
    Miller didn't know if she should keep firing through the window or shift to deal with the new threat. Torn, the Sheriff tried to keep her eye on the window and her office simultaneously. "Fuck a duck," she mumbled under her breath.
    Suddenly the door to Miller's office burst open. A zombie in full football gear emerged through the door, cleats clacking on the tile. The foul smell of decomposition flooded the room. Wells swung around and blasted at it, but only took off one shoulder pad. The shot came close enough to Needles to cause him to jump. He was still handcuffed to the chair, and went over backwards. The zombie wore the number twelve and looked like a quarterback. It turned to Needles. It was just shy of two yards away and moving closer. It fell on Needles, biting off large chunks of the small man's face. Needles shrieked like a girl. Blood spouted and pooled around him.
    Miller struggled to get a clean shot. Before she could fire, Wells made his own decision. He shot the quarterback, exploding his helmet and shearing off the top of the boy's head. Sadly, half of Needles's face vanished as well.
    Needles lay still, mouth gaping wide. Blood pooled red around him.
    "Needles!" Scratch stood at the cell door, gripping the bars. "Wells, you miserable bastard. You killed him."
    Wells shrugged. "Sucker was toast anyway."
    Another zombie in a filthy business suit emerged from the office. Miller fired, hitting the thing in the right arm to no effect. She shot it through the face and it dropped like something made of sticks and rags.
    "Fall back!" Miller grabbed a box of ammo as she retreated. Wells scooped up two boxes of shells and followed the sheriff.
    Miller dashed into the old cinderblock jailhouse, motioned Wells in and closed the door after him. She turned the key in the lock, and stepped back from the barred door. "At least that will keep them out for a while."
    "A while?" Scratch's voice cracked. "That's your master plan?"
    Miller turned to confront Scratch, but she was cut off by a blast from Wells' shotgun. The new zombie went down, but several of the shot ricocheted off the iron bars, some fragments narrowly missing Miller's head.
    "Knock that shit off," Miller said. "They can't get in here. And, yes, that's my plan. Find a way to stay alive."
    "How are we supposed to get out?" whined Scratch. He seemed afraid, alone in his own little cell.
    "Why don't you shut your God-damned mouth and let the lady think?" Wells raised his shotgun to his hip, aimed at Scratch.
    Miller put her hand on the hot barrel, shoved it down, hard. "Bob, we've got enough to worry about as it is. Besides, he's my responsibility."
    "Give me two reasons not to blow his ass to hamburger," snapped Wells, jerking the weapon out of her grasp.
    Miller ignored Wells'