Zomblog: The Final Entry Read Online Free PDF Page A

horizon was turning a lovely shade of pink. The appearance of a few bobbing shadows had me drawing my scimitars. (Did I mention that I’d taken time practicing using them in both hands simultaneously? I’m still a bit awkward, but steadily improving.) Eric drew this really sweet looking saber he found at a museum. Just like that, we were ready.
    He moved to the left side of the bridge and I took the right. Fighting close has its uses at times, but outside like this, it is often better to have some space between yourself and your companions. Sam stayed glued to my side—good doggy!—and I readied myself for the fight. I counted an even dozen coming just for little old me. Eric looked like he would be facing double that.
    The first one closed to within range, a black kid in what looked to have been his early teens. He was wearing a Portland basketball jersey with the number twenty-two. My blade caught him in the temple. Ah yes…the stinging buzz…how I’ve missed it so. I snapped my wrist back to keep the blade from catching in the skull as the zombie dropped at my feet.
    Ducking beneath the outstretched arms of the next one, I popped up and simultaneously brought my blade under the chin of one zombie and straight up into the brain while kicking back at the one I’d ducked, sending it over the rail and to the river below.
    It took me a few seconds to realize that Sam was facing back the way we’d come. He was hunched over and snarling something fierce. I glanced, and had to do a double-take. They were rail-to-rail, and coming for us. So much for them being scattered to the Four Winds after two years. I gave a warning whistle to Eric and he responded with an acknowledging hoot; Eric can’t whistle.
    I transformed into a dervish. That was a mistake. I have not been out in a while and forgot that, in situations like the one we were facing, you need to remain methodical and even. Not only did I have to spend energy on hitting a zombie for a second or even third time because I wasn’t aiming, but I wore down from the constancy of the fight.
    The ground became so slick that I started having difficulty with my footing. Then there was the creeper that I totally missed. It grabbed my left wrist—the little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old when she’d been pulled apart—and yanked me off balance as I was trying to recover from one of the times when I’d slipped. I drove one of my blades into the top of her skull and rolled away as two more zombies sorta belly flopped right where I’d just been sprawled.
    Getting to my knees, I felt something grab my left hand. My scimitar clattered to the pavement and I screamed as I felt teeth grinding down on my bones. Thank God for the mesh lining in the gloves. I made eye contact with Eric, and even from this far across the bridge, I could see the concern clearly etched in his face. I shook my head and went back to fighting. I started by punching the zombie gnashing on my hand square in the nose. Next, I shoved my other blade into his face. It fell…taking my glove with it. I absolutely did not have the time to retrieve it.
    I was now surrounded.
    That was when I considered the rail. By now, Sam was going berserk. He was growling, nipping, and tugging at the hems of these things that had me surrounded. I quickly realized that if I jumped, my chance of survival was zero. It wasn’t just how high up we were, but that combined with the ice chunks made for a bad situation. I sought the thinnest point in their little line, and burst through the shrinking circle of undead. I still get the heebie-jeebies thinking about all those dead hands brushing my skin.
    Ewww!
    When I popped out the other side, I discovered Sam bounding around in a tizzy. He was giving this lady bus driver a real problem. I planted my blade in the back of her skull on the way past. Eric had fared much better. A pile of corpses were strewn about him.
    We jogged the rest of the way across the bridge and