Zombie Fighter Jango #1 The Road to Hell Is Paved With Zombies Read Online Free PDF

Montezuma Street, Jango looked around at the crowded structures and abandoned vehicles. His heart lightened a little bit as he realized that it wasn’t just good and decent people who had died, and become shambling corpses. No, the Zompoc disease had taken the twists, the abusers, the rapists and freaks as well!
    “Whooo-hoooo,” he shouted at the empty sky. Even though he believed the whole world was out to get him, he tried to stay positive and find the good in any bad situation. 
    Jango immediately shut-up and looked all around to make sure his outburst hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention. In his mind, any attention was unwanted, so he clammed up, and kept walking.
    He suddenly stopped in mid-stride as he spotted a welcome sight … G&J Gun House! A huge warehouse style building that was renowned for having the largest inventory of firearms in the entire state of Arizona, and in Arizona, that was a bold statement! Jango broke into a trot, and then a run, joy pumping through his veins at his discovery.
    In his exuberance, he didn’t notice the crowd of zombies on his left that were milling around aimlessly in the loading bay of the local feed store. There were at least fifty zombies, meandering around in ragged circles and bumping into each other.
    Almost as one, the hungry undead horde turned their milky eyes toward Jango, and sniffed at the air as he ran past them. Then, almost as one, the zombies let loose their soul freezing hunting-cry, “Ghhhreeeeeeee-Daaaaaahhhheeeee-Aaaaaaaeeeee,” and charged toward him.
    Jango didn’t even look in the direction the cry came from . He simply poured on the speed, legs churning like the pistons on a steam engine, body leaned forward to balance his weight, stick blurring as his arms pumped madly, headed for the entrance of G&J.
    He leapt over the four steps that lead up to the entrance of the gun store, and crashed through the partially opened steel door, then slammed it shut with his back. He drove his body hard against the door in anticipation of the moaning goobers that had been hot on his heels. Jango held the door shut with the weight of his body, and shot the deadbolt, effectively turning the building into a vault.
    He leaned against the heavy steel door, panting and trembling from fatigue, hunger, and fear when the zombies suddenly slammed into the door. The thumps, though, were muted, as were their moans and screams. The sounds and impacts seemed like they were far away, or under water.
    Jango slid slowly to the thinly carpeted floor, utterly exhausted, hungry, and depressed. He felt wetness on his face, and realized he was crying. He swiped his hands at the tears as if they were his enemies, and stood back up. He squared his shoulders, and picked up his stick from where it had fallen on the floor.
    He looked around the vast room, lit only by an emergency lighting system that gave the place an almost romantic feel. Almost. The place didn’t look looted, pillaged, or even mildly disarrayed. It looked like the employees had just gone out for a moment and would be right back.
    C autiously, he approached the gun case that lined three sides of the room. He took his time, and watched for any signs of movement. He crept closer to the guns and the security that they promised him. That was one of the important truths of Jango; all he really wanted was safety, solace, and peace. He didn’t know it, but that was what all of his efforts really boiled down to, a desire to feel safe.
    He had spent most of his life avoiding people, so the new world he found himself plunged into did not really change his outlook or affect his life in any big way. Jango had ALWAYS believed that every human was out to get him, and that it was up to him to protect himself. The Zombie Apocalypse just turned his paranoid delusions into facts.
    There were hundreds of long-guns, rifles and shotguns, adorning the walls behind the hand-gun-filled glass cases. He glanced at them as he approached. Making his