thing didn’t try to eat us, might be worth keeping it around,” Captain Rescue suggested as he leaned in to take a closer look at the zombie.
The zombie stepped away from Captain Rescue. “Yeah, don’t kill me. I can tell you things.”
Freight held his shotgun to its forehead. “WE’RE WAITING.”
The pressure exerted by his voice caused the zombie’s skin to fill like a balloon. It pressed its hands to its face and pushed the air right back out. “Umm… they made me in a lab,” it replied.
“How on Earth would you know that,” Dr. Malevolent asked as she pointed her handgun to its head.
“I just remember things,” the zombie replied as it pushed her pistol aside.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” she said as she pushed its hand away and put her gun back in its face, “who are they?”
“The people who made me,” it said, annoyed that it had to repeat itself. “If we find the laboratory, we can stop this.”
She pushed the pistol closer to it. “How?”
The zombie stepped away from the gun. “There’s a failsafe in the laboratory.”
“Really? Convenient,” Dr. Malevolent said as she moved the weapon closer.
The zombie moved away from the gun yet again. “Well judging by the carnage so far, I’d say zombies are pretty dangerous, why wouldn’t they want a way to put an end to this.”
“This all seems a little too… convenient. You’re not up to something are you?” Dr. Malevolent said.
The zombie pointed at the gun. “If I were, you’d be able to kill me just as easily as any other zombie.”
A twinkle appeared in Dr. Malevolent’s eyes for a moment, “You have a deal!”
Captain Rescue had spent the entire conversation thinking about one thing and one thing only: “Do you have a name?”
The zombie appeared to be thinking for a few moments, and then said, “No.”
He clapped with glee. “Well then, I dub thee Stubbs.”
The zombie simply shrugged and began picking at his protruding intestines.
“Hey!” Captain Rescue said as he slapped Stubbs’s hand away, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you don’t stop picking at it that it will never heal.”
With their new zombie companion in tow, they made their way to the entrance of the police station.
“You’ll warn us if any zombies are close right?” Captain Rescue said to Stubbs
Stubbs stopped and turned to the hero. “What do you mean?”
Captain Rescue sighed and rephrased the question. “If we get close to any other zombies, you’ll be able to tell us—right?”
“No,” Stubbs said with a hint of exasperation, “what makes you think that?”
“They’re zombies.” Captain Rescue pointed at him. “You’re a zombie.” He threw his hands into the air. “It just makes sense.”
“No it doesn’t. Can you sense when other humans are nearby?” Stubbs asked as he resumed walking.
“I’d rather not answer that,” he replied sheepishly.
Their new zombie companion turned the hallway corner and laughed. “I thought so.”
Chapter 8: Zombies, Guns, & Rabbits
Thus, with a stinky zombie in tow (Stubbs, at some point, decided retaining control of his bowels was no longer of any concern; the others begged to differ), the group waltzed their way through the police station on the very tips of their toes like the most beautiful ballet dancers at the opening of their big night. Heels had not graced the ground in quite some time. Someone, possibly Captain Rescue, decided that tiptoeing through a gore-infested police station was the best way in which to keep a low profile. Regardless of how ridiculous this was, they danced their way to the lobby through gallons of blood and gore.
Once there, they discovered that someone left the front door ajar and a mysterious wind left it swinging back and forth. Captain Rescue, ever heroic, stepped forth and peered into the world outside. He took a step back and closed the door calmly.
“Gentlemen… and you,” he said, glaring at Dr.
The zombie stepped away from Captain Rescue. “Yeah, don’t kill me. I can tell you things.”
Freight held his shotgun to its forehead. “WE’RE WAITING.”
The pressure exerted by his voice caused the zombie’s skin to fill like a balloon. It pressed its hands to its face and pushed the air right back out. “Umm… they made me in a lab,” it replied.
“How on Earth would you know that,” Dr. Malevolent asked as she pointed her handgun to its head.
“I just remember things,” the zombie replied as it pushed her pistol aside.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” she said as she pushed its hand away and put her gun back in its face, “who are they?”
“The people who made me,” it said, annoyed that it had to repeat itself. “If we find the laboratory, we can stop this.”
She pushed the pistol closer to it. “How?”
The zombie stepped away from the gun. “There’s a failsafe in the laboratory.”
“Really? Convenient,” Dr. Malevolent said as she moved the weapon closer.
The zombie moved away from the gun yet again. “Well judging by the carnage so far, I’d say zombies are pretty dangerous, why wouldn’t they want a way to put an end to this.”
“This all seems a little too… convenient. You’re not up to something are you?” Dr. Malevolent said.
The zombie pointed at the gun. “If I were, you’d be able to kill me just as easily as any other zombie.”
A twinkle appeared in Dr. Malevolent’s eyes for a moment, “You have a deal!”
Captain Rescue had spent the entire conversation thinking about one thing and one thing only: “Do you have a name?”
The zombie appeared to be thinking for a few moments, and then said, “No.”
He clapped with glee. “Well then, I dub thee Stubbs.”
The zombie simply shrugged and began picking at his protruding intestines.
“Hey!” Captain Rescue said as he slapped Stubbs’s hand away, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that if you don’t stop picking at it that it will never heal.”
With their new zombie companion in tow, they made their way to the entrance of the police station.
“You’ll warn us if any zombies are close right?” Captain Rescue said to Stubbs
Stubbs stopped and turned to the hero. “What do you mean?”
Captain Rescue sighed and rephrased the question. “If we get close to any other zombies, you’ll be able to tell us—right?”
“No,” Stubbs said with a hint of exasperation, “what makes you think that?”
“They’re zombies.” Captain Rescue pointed at him. “You’re a zombie.” He threw his hands into the air. “It just makes sense.”
“No it doesn’t. Can you sense when other humans are nearby?” Stubbs asked as he resumed walking.
“I’d rather not answer that,” he replied sheepishly.
Their new zombie companion turned the hallway corner and laughed. “I thought so.”
Chapter 8: Zombies, Guns, & Rabbits
Thus, with a stinky zombie in tow (Stubbs, at some point, decided retaining control of his bowels was no longer of any concern; the others begged to differ), the group waltzed their way through the police station on the very tips of their toes like the most beautiful ballet dancers at the opening of their big night. Heels had not graced the ground in quite some time. Someone, possibly Captain Rescue, decided that tiptoeing through a gore-infested police station was the best way in which to keep a low profile. Regardless of how ridiculous this was, they danced their way to the lobby through gallons of blood and gore.
Once there, they discovered that someone left the front door ajar and a mysterious wind left it swinging back and forth. Captain Rescue, ever heroic, stepped forth and peered into the world outside. He took a step back and closed the door calmly.
“Gentlemen… and you,” he said, glaring at Dr.
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