"Sonnabitch!" and the gun went off. Anna's body went head-over-heels backward, crashing into the stairs. Joey turned away, tasting bile in his throat. He shut his eyes as the headless body thumped to the lower landing.
The dog leapt at his throat--Joey's momentary revulsion nearly cost his life. He swung the machete reflexively, cleaving the pooch in two. The upper half snapped and snarled, clawing with forepaws, still trying to get at the fresh meat.
Joey brought the machete down, hewing the mutt's head off. The jaws continued snapping, slowing to a stop. He turned in time to put a round in the face of a pajama-clad woman on the doorstep.
"Dana! Last call, baby!"
BANG! BANG!
Two more zombies fell on the front porch, spraying skull on the rails and steps.
Right next to the door, Joey spotted a set of keys hanging on a decorated rack.
Please be car keys! Joey grabbed them--one was stamped 'Ford'--and he stepped outside. A single-car garage attached to the house was closed. Joey pounded down the steps and hopped the fence. He emptied the clip, mowing down a knot of zombies gathered on the sidewalk, and reloaded.
One of the keys fit the garage door; he flung it open. A beat-up pickup, bed piled full of junk, sat inside. He opened the door and got in.
It wanted to start but choked out at the last second.
"Unfuckinbelievable!" He smacked the steering wheel. "Go ahead, soon-to-be-a-zombie lady, get in this perfectly driveable car and wait for help!" He turned the key again, getting the same result. "You couldn't get in the car yourself, could ya Joe? Nah, that would've made sense!" On the third try, the engine roared to life.
An obese face, both chins dribbling blood and meat, bumped into the driver-side window. Joey jumped sideways, swearing, and managed to lock the door.
The sliding window, giving view to the truck bed, was ajar. Joey was in perfect position after scuttling away from the fat zombie: a gray-haired, near-toothless zombie climbed onto the back and tore at the window. One arm and half of his head pressed into the cabin, snagging a handful of Joey's hair.
It started chewing on his hair. The fat one was head-butting the window, smearing slime and snot in grotesque shapes. Another one appeared at the passenger side, trying to climb up onto the roof.
Joey yanked his head free, losing a clump of hair, and drove the machete into the zombie head stuck in the rear window. He gave it a shove, ejecting the fiend onto the truck bed. The machete was stuck in its face.
Sliding back behind the wheel, Joey put the truck in gear and blew out of the garage. He crushed a few zombies in his wake. The fat lady jiggled out of the garage, flexing her pudgy fingers and squawking like an overfed pigeon.
Joey popped it in drive and sped off. His machete tumbled out of the bed, still embedded in the zombie that had eaten his hair.
"Think, Joe, think! Where the hellshit could she be?"
He took the phone out, but tossed it on the dashboard. She doesn't have a phone anymore . He ran through the list of mutual friends but couldn't come up with a good reason why she'd be with any of them and not with Kelly.
Maybe she found the house in the same condition I did… maybe she went back home . He pulled the cigarettes out and lit one up.
He cleared the residential neighborhood, heading south towards the west side of Wooneyville. The park passed by on his left. Scattered groups of zombies--kids, adults, and old folks--wandered around at will. He saw zombified cops, firemen, store clerks, and even a couple of gang-bangers complete with colored bandanas.
The grocery store came into view. Joey saw the flash and then heard the shot. Someone was on the roof with a rifle. There was a sizeable horde of zombies pressing in on the two main entrances, but they weren't making any progress.
Someone on the roof flashed a light at him. Shit!
The dog leapt at his throat--Joey's momentary revulsion nearly cost his life. He swung the machete reflexively, cleaving the pooch in two. The upper half snapped and snarled, clawing with forepaws, still trying to get at the fresh meat.
Joey brought the machete down, hewing the mutt's head off. The jaws continued snapping, slowing to a stop. He turned in time to put a round in the face of a pajama-clad woman on the doorstep.
"Dana! Last call, baby!"
BANG! BANG!
Two more zombies fell on the front porch, spraying skull on the rails and steps.
Right next to the door, Joey spotted a set of keys hanging on a decorated rack.
Please be car keys! Joey grabbed them--one was stamped 'Ford'--and he stepped outside. A single-car garage attached to the house was closed. Joey pounded down the steps and hopped the fence. He emptied the clip, mowing down a knot of zombies gathered on the sidewalk, and reloaded.
One of the keys fit the garage door; he flung it open. A beat-up pickup, bed piled full of junk, sat inside. He opened the door and got in.
It wanted to start but choked out at the last second.
"Unfuckinbelievable!" He smacked the steering wheel. "Go ahead, soon-to-be-a-zombie lady, get in this perfectly driveable car and wait for help!" He turned the key again, getting the same result. "You couldn't get in the car yourself, could ya Joe? Nah, that would've made sense!" On the third try, the engine roared to life.
An obese face, both chins dribbling blood and meat, bumped into the driver-side window. Joey jumped sideways, swearing, and managed to lock the door.
The sliding window, giving view to the truck bed, was ajar. Joey was in perfect position after scuttling away from the fat zombie: a gray-haired, near-toothless zombie climbed onto the back and tore at the window. One arm and half of his head pressed into the cabin, snagging a handful of Joey's hair.
It started chewing on his hair. The fat one was head-butting the window, smearing slime and snot in grotesque shapes. Another one appeared at the passenger side, trying to climb up onto the roof.
Joey yanked his head free, losing a clump of hair, and drove the machete into the zombie head stuck in the rear window. He gave it a shove, ejecting the fiend onto the truck bed. The machete was stuck in its face.
Sliding back behind the wheel, Joey put the truck in gear and blew out of the garage. He crushed a few zombies in his wake. The fat lady jiggled out of the garage, flexing her pudgy fingers and squawking like an overfed pigeon.
Joey popped it in drive and sped off. His machete tumbled out of the bed, still embedded in the zombie that had eaten his hair.
"Think, Joe, think! Where the hellshit could she be?"
He took the phone out, but tossed it on the dashboard. She doesn't have a phone anymore . He ran through the list of mutual friends but couldn't come up with a good reason why she'd be with any of them and not with Kelly.
Maybe she found the house in the same condition I did… maybe she went back home . He pulled the cigarettes out and lit one up.
He cleared the residential neighborhood, heading south towards the west side of Wooneyville. The park passed by on his left. Scattered groups of zombies--kids, adults, and old folks--wandered around at will. He saw zombified cops, firemen, store clerks, and even a couple of gang-bangers complete with colored bandanas.
The grocery store came into view. Joey saw the flash and then heard the shot. Someone was on the roof with a rifle. There was a sizeable horde of zombies pressing in on the two main entrances, but they weren't making any progress.
Someone on the roof flashed a light at him. Shit!
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