Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel Read Online Free PDF

aren’t capable of defending ourselves. I’ve been outside the gate more times than I can count , which is the exact same number of times I didn’t want to be outside the gate. To keep myself protected, I have the following: Silver Slugger in my right hand. Strapped to my back are a compound bow and a quiver of twenty arrows (Not barbed! These arrows are razor sharp, but can be easily pulled from a Z). I also have a .45 Smith & Wesson with a suppressor (gotta stay quiet in the apocalypse). Slung across my shoulder is my courier bag with canteens of water, some dried food, and a first aid kit.
    Jon is similarly outfitted, but he’s carrying a steel pipe he’s sharpened at one end. He didn’t name his pipe. He just calls it a sharpened pipe. Looks kind of like a metal bamboo spear. Four feet long and heavy, he uses it to kill Zs, plus to pretty much crack and break anything he wants. Handy. He also has a pistol, but his is a 9mm Berretta with a suppressor (he made both of ours). No bow or arrows. Jon is a horrible shot with a bow. More likely to kill me than a Z. Not that he’s much better with a pistol.
    Stuart is, well, loaded. He has at least three pistols on him, several throwing knives, two huge Bowie knives, a machete strapped to his right leg, a compound bow with arrows, a crow bar with the straight end sharpened to a point, two c ourier bags with supplies, and various other bits and pieces of equipment. It looks beyond heavy, but he hasn’t even broken a sweat as we hustle around a curve in Hwy 251.
    Which brings us face to face with our first set of Zs. We knew it wouldn’t be long. They are everywhere when this close to the urban center.
    Six of them, all crouched and feeding on something. We don’t know if it’s human or animal. In general, about 90% of the time, the Zs won’t eat animals; they prefer us delicious homo sapiens . But their food source has gotten pretty scarce, so we have seen a few feast on whatever poor, unfortunate varmint they can catch.
    As we creep closer -Silver Slugger in my hand, pipe in Jon’s, the machete in Stu art’s- we see that the meal is human. And still struggling. I take a deep breath and try not to gag, as I watch steaming bits of offal get shoved into the ravenous maws of the Zs. They are so busy feasting, they don’t sense us until we are on them.
    Six Zs against the three of us isn’t much of a match. I bring SS down hard on one Z and immediately yank it back, black blood dripping from its spikes, and nail the next Z. Both drop dead as their brains are pierced by SS’s spikes. I flick it to the side like a Samurai sword and the blood splatters across the cracked and weed infested asphalt.
    Jon spears one through the skull and pulls back hard, spinning about and cracking another across the jaw. The thing collapses, but the brain hasn’t been damaged, so it gets back up and comes for Jon. It’s kind of faster than a normal Z and I think about this for exactly 35 seconds before Jon obliterates its head with a mighty swing of the pipe.
    We both look at our handy work , and then at Stuart. The guys is nudging the severed heads of his two Zs. The things are still chomping at him even without bodies. You have to kill the brain. He mumbles something and then splits both heads with his machete. The guy still hasn’t broken a sweat.
    “H-h-h-help m-m-m-me,” the half-eaten victim at our feet whispers. “Pl-pl-pl-pleeeeeeese.”
    Stuart helps him with the tip of the machete through his eye.
    “Hopefully, one of the teams will find these guys before they stink up too much,” Jon says. “Should we go back and let them know at the gate?” Stuart stares at him like he’s lost his mind and his balls. “Just thinking out loud.”
    “Didn’t sound like much thinking going on,” Stuart says. “Let’s move.”
    I shrug at Jon and he just rolls his eyes. We move.
    The shitty part of going into town is that we have to walk past neighborhood after neighborhood of empty