MZS: D. C. (Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Book 4) by K. D. McAdams Page A
Authors: K. D. McAdams
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emotion. I don’t want that.
I don’t even have my stick; I left it in the car. That’s not a habit I want to develop, so I better remember it next time.
My mind drifts back to that first zombie I knocked over in the alley. He was lying there on his back and I thought that I should kill him just to learn what it was like. I didn’t and later regretted not taking advantage of the perfect learning environment.
Right now I can learn to shoot a gun and take care of the undead guy in our ride.
Steadying myself to prepare for the recoil, I aim at our former friend’s head. My finger moves to the trigger and I brace my shoulders for a kick.
“Might want to cover your ears,” I say down to the others on the sidewalk.
Squeezing on the trigger with all my might yields nothing. It won’t budge. Apparently I broke the gun when I was pressing things and looking for the magazine.
I find the button to release the magazine again—it’s easier to find when you’re holding the gun like you’re going to use it—and it pops out the bottom.
Everything looks fine when I look closely, but it’s still foreign. Seeing no obvious problem, I slam the magazine back into the handle like an action star in a summer blockbuster.
Before moving my finger to the trigger, I check the safety and casually flip it off and then take aim.
BANG
The noise happens quickly and the recoil is far smaller than I expected. Unfortunately, I missed.
This time, more carefully, I aim right at Todd’s nose and pull the trigger.
BANG
The teeth stop chomping and the eyes roll backwards. Our zombie passenger is no more. Sadly neither is a solid guy who was going far beyond simply contributing.
After hopping off the hood of the Humvee, my friends surround me. There are no words to exchange, but we share looks.
We need to get his body out of the turret and get underway. The way things stand right now, I don’t want to find another group or follow another lead. I want to get to a farm or a campground and just hide out. Maybe after a long rest I’ll want to go fight zombies or join forces with another group, but for now I want to lay low.
The buzzing arrives first. From in front of the Humvee and to our left, the start of a horde appears. It flows like water and there are more bodies in the front row than I can count.
“Get in the rig!” I yell.
Our small group scrambles around the Humvee and climbs in hastily. My friends have been kind enough to leave the driver’s spot for me.
The engine rumbles to life before all the doors are even closed. Forward momentum swings my door and slams it shut.
It is entirely possible that the horde will get across the street and cut off our path before we can get past them. The engine strains at its maximum revolutions and I worry it will explode.
I let the truck drift to the right of the street and pray that we clear the horde.
As we draw parallel to the side street they came out of, the front fender clips the outstretched arm of an undead and sends it flying. There is blood and tissue covering my side window, but we got around them.
Ahead of me the street is clogged with more tanks, Humvees, and what look like armored cars. We can’t keep going this direction.
I’m able to navigate to a cross street and take a left at the National Mall, directly onto the grass.
McLean
Chapter 8
Patrick panics well. It’s not probably a skill I would have looked for on Match.com, but it is serving the group nicely.
The Humvee is moving fast but not recklessly. We just turned onto the National Mall and the ride got a whole lot bumpier. With each jolt from the sidewalk curb or dips in the Earth, more blood rains down from the turret.
I was one of the last to scramble into the rig and that has earned me an actual seat. With the easy view out the window and support of my back, this is a far better mode of travel than the rear cargo area.
Thinking that Washington D.C. was free of zombies was pretty naïve.
I don’t even have my stick; I left it in the car. That’s not a habit I want to develop, so I better remember it next time.
My mind drifts back to that first zombie I knocked over in the alley. He was lying there on his back and I thought that I should kill him just to learn what it was like. I didn’t and later regretted not taking advantage of the perfect learning environment.
Right now I can learn to shoot a gun and take care of the undead guy in our ride.
Steadying myself to prepare for the recoil, I aim at our former friend’s head. My finger moves to the trigger and I brace my shoulders for a kick.
“Might want to cover your ears,” I say down to the others on the sidewalk.
Squeezing on the trigger with all my might yields nothing. It won’t budge. Apparently I broke the gun when I was pressing things and looking for the magazine.
I find the button to release the magazine again—it’s easier to find when you’re holding the gun like you’re going to use it—and it pops out the bottom.
Everything looks fine when I look closely, but it’s still foreign. Seeing no obvious problem, I slam the magazine back into the handle like an action star in a summer blockbuster.
Before moving my finger to the trigger, I check the safety and casually flip it off and then take aim.
BANG
The noise happens quickly and the recoil is far smaller than I expected. Unfortunately, I missed.
This time, more carefully, I aim right at Todd’s nose and pull the trigger.
BANG
The teeth stop chomping and the eyes roll backwards. Our zombie passenger is no more. Sadly neither is a solid guy who was going far beyond simply contributing.
After hopping off the hood of the Humvee, my friends surround me. There are no words to exchange, but we share looks.
We need to get his body out of the turret and get underway. The way things stand right now, I don’t want to find another group or follow another lead. I want to get to a farm or a campground and just hide out. Maybe after a long rest I’ll want to go fight zombies or join forces with another group, but for now I want to lay low.
The buzzing arrives first. From in front of the Humvee and to our left, the start of a horde appears. It flows like water and there are more bodies in the front row than I can count.
“Get in the rig!” I yell.
Our small group scrambles around the Humvee and climbs in hastily. My friends have been kind enough to leave the driver’s spot for me.
The engine rumbles to life before all the doors are even closed. Forward momentum swings my door and slams it shut.
It is entirely possible that the horde will get across the street and cut off our path before we can get past them. The engine strains at its maximum revolutions and I worry it will explode.
I let the truck drift to the right of the street and pray that we clear the horde.
As we draw parallel to the side street they came out of, the front fender clips the outstretched arm of an undead and sends it flying. There is blood and tissue covering my side window, but we got around them.
Ahead of me the street is clogged with more tanks, Humvees, and what look like armored cars. We can’t keep going this direction.
I’m able to navigate to a cross street and take a left at the National Mall, directly onto the grass.
McLean
Chapter 8
Patrick panics well. It’s not probably a skill I would have looked for on Match.com, but it is serving the group nicely.
The Humvee is moving fast but not recklessly. We just turned onto the National Mall and the ride got a whole lot bumpier. With each jolt from the sidewalk curb or dips in the Earth, more blood rains down from the turret.
I was one of the last to scramble into the rig and that has earned me an actual seat. With the easy view out the window and support of my back, this is a far better mode of travel than the rear cargo area.
Thinking that Washington D.C. was free of zombies was pretty naïve.
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