wasted a whole clip of ammo and it's still standing. You know the quickest way to bring it down is to blow the head off, not shoot it until there's nothing left." Rogan took aim and eliminated the zombie with a headshot.
Wells grinned. "I know. I was only having a little fun. Just think if it was wearing a grass skirt. It would’ve looked like it was doing the hula dance. That gives me an idea. Let's put a grass skirt on a zombie woman. You can get a video camera and film while I shoot her up, making her dance . Then, we can upload the video on the internet. We can put a music track on and everything."
Rogan shook his head. "Wells, you can come up with the craziest shit."
“Are we’s going to do it or ain't we?"
" We's , need to concentrate on our mission. Search and rescue, remember? Not everyone obeys the evacuation warnings. Some people are probably holed up in their houses, scared out of their minds, wishing they would have left at the first call," Rogan said.
"I doubt that they's had much chance of surviving. Arlington National Cemetery is so close that this neighborhood would have been the first course on the menu," Wells said.
From around the corner, a half block away, an old woman with a nasty limp ran screaming for help.
"Good Lord," Rogan said, seeing the host of undead in hot pursuit. "There must be forty of them after that woman. Call for back-up, now!"
Wells radioed their position and briefly described the situation. He ejected the empty magazine in his rifle and stabbed in a full one.
"Run, lady, run!" Rogan sped off first, shooting as he ran, carefully avoiding the woman. The randomly fired bullets hit the crowd of pursuing zombies, doing little to slow their advance.
The leg injury was too great for the adrenaline surge to overcome, allowing the nearest carnivore to overtake the old woman.
As the two crashed to the street, withered hands from all sides arrived, digging filth-encrusted fingers into her soft flesh, ripping her apart. Blood splattered into the air, flying in all directions.
Rogan stopped, took aim, and shot the zombies where it counted as they feasted on the kill. As soon as one fell to his bullet, another fought its way in to share the prize.
Wells arrived at his side, with the dash of heels pounding the ground from the other members of his platoon following.
In between firing shots, Wells gloated, "Got one . . . and another. Got that one . . . it too. Missed that one. Wait . . . got it. That one's head exploded like a frog sucking on a cherry bomb. I'm up to about eight points. How many d’you get?"
"Wells, this isn't a video game. This is serious stuff, man," Rogan said, squeezing off a carefully aimed shot.
With six more members of the platoon in position and firing, the mass of the undead fell like corn chopped in the field. The smell of the fresh kill was too alluring for the group of zombies to notice the soldiers in the distance.
After a few minutes of combined gunfire, the last of the zombies fell to the street. It took a bullet to the head as it climbed over a pile of its companions, reaching out for a half-eaten piece of thigh. It didn't get the satisfaction of a last meal before returning to the grave.
"I'm glad that's over," Rogan said.
"If this had been the carnival, I would have won one of them stuffed gorillas. You know, big and puffy, with that bright blue fur and a goofy look on its face,” Wells bugged out his eyes and poked his tongue to the corner of his mouth.
Rogan looked at Wells in disgust.
Wells rubbed his chin and scratched his head. “At least we found the best way to kill a whole bunch at once."
"Overwhelming fire power wins every time it's tried. Nothing really special about the way we killed them," Rogan said.
"That ain't it. You and I could've took out these goobers by ourselves."
"How on Earth do you figure that?" Rogan asked.
"Well, Mister I'm so smart , it's as plain as the nose on yer face. You saw how they acted. They had only
Wells grinned. "I know. I was only having a little fun. Just think if it was wearing a grass skirt. It would’ve looked like it was doing the hula dance. That gives me an idea. Let's put a grass skirt on a zombie woman. You can get a video camera and film while I shoot her up, making her dance . Then, we can upload the video on the internet. We can put a music track on and everything."
Rogan shook his head. "Wells, you can come up with the craziest shit."
“Are we’s going to do it or ain't we?"
" We's , need to concentrate on our mission. Search and rescue, remember? Not everyone obeys the evacuation warnings. Some people are probably holed up in their houses, scared out of their minds, wishing they would have left at the first call," Rogan said.
"I doubt that they's had much chance of surviving. Arlington National Cemetery is so close that this neighborhood would have been the first course on the menu," Wells said.
From around the corner, a half block away, an old woman with a nasty limp ran screaming for help.
"Good Lord," Rogan said, seeing the host of undead in hot pursuit. "There must be forty of them after that woman. Call for back-up, now!"
Wells radioed their position and briefly described the situation. He ejected the empty magazine in his rifle and stabbed in a full one.
"Run, lady, run!" Rogan sped off first, shooting as he ran, carefully avoiding the woman. The randomly fired bullets hit the crowd of pursuing zombies, doing little to slow their advance.
The leg injury was too great for the adrenaline surge to overcome, allowing the nearest carnivore to overtake the old woman.
As the two crashed to the street, withered hands from all sides arrived, digging filth-encrusted fingers into her soft flesh, ripping her apart. Blood splattered into the air, flying in all directions.
Rogan stopped, took aim, and shot the zombies where it counted as they feasted on the kill. As soon as one fell to his bullet, another fought its way in to share the prize.
Wells arrived at his side, with the dash of heels pounding the ground from the other members of his platoon following.
In between firing shots, Wells gloated, "Got one . . . and another. Got that one . . . it too. Missed that one. Wait . . . got it. That one's head exploded like a frog sucking on a cherry bomb. I'm up to about eight points. How many d’you get?"
"Wells, this isn't a video game. This is serious stuff, man," Rogan said, squeezing off a carefully aimed shot.
With six more members of the platoon in position and firing, the mass of the undead fell like corn chopped in the field. The smell of the fresh kill was too alluring for the group of zombies to notice the soldiers in the distance.
After a few minutes of combined gunfire, the last of the zombies fell to the street. It took a bullet to the head as it climbed over a pile of its companions, reaching out for a half-eaten piece of thigh. It didn't get the satisfaction of a last meal before returning to the grave.
"I'm glad that's over," Rogan said.
"If this had been the carnival, I would have won one of them stuffed gorillas. You know, big and puffy, with that bright blue fur and a goofy look on its face,” Wells bugged out his eyes and poked his tongue to the corner of his mouth.
Rogan looked at Wells in disgust.
Wells rubbed his chin and scratched his head. “At least we found the best way to kill a whole bunch at once."
"Overwhelming fire power wins every time it's tried. Nothing really special about the way we killed them," Rogan said.
"That ain't it. You and I could've took out these goobers by ourselves."
"How on Earth do you figure that?" Rogan asked.
"Well, Mister I'm so smart , it's as plain as the nose on yer face. You saw how they acted. They had only
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