What are Little Zombies Made of?

By William Young

Published at Smashwords by William Young

Copyright 2011 by William Young

Enterprise, Alabama - Day 596

Trace Brewer squinted at the three runners as they skip-hopped toward him, a weird gallop he’d never quite gotten used to. Why they just didn’t outright run made no sense to him, but, then, neither did the fact that they were living corpses. These wretches had been alive humans at some point, capable of actual running, but death had transformed that aspect of them, too. He took a few steps back, spat out some tobacco juice in a nice, looping arc, and felt the reassurance of the stock of his Mossberg 500 shotgun against his shoulder.

Trace retreated a few more steps as the undead closed on him. He brought his shotgun up, sighted down it and picked off the middle-aged black lunch-lady-looking woman with a blast to the skull from fifteen yards, her head shattering into a thousand pieces of flesh and bone. He dropped to a knee, swiveled to the other side of the zombie group and pumped a round into the chamber. He raised the shotgun and put the sight on the teen-age skate-rat’s mid-section and blew a hole through him, collapsing him in a heap. And then he chambered another round and watched down the length of the barrel at the fifty-ish fat dude still hop-skipping toward him. Trace waited for the zombie to take three more steps and fall through the camouflaged net that hid the tiger pit, spat out a dollop of tobacco juice and stood up.

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