Not Everything Brainless is Dead by Joshua Price Page B

try to eat her.
    With the next step in their journey decided, the survivors embarked for The Bank, a bastion that sat but a few blocks away. The survivors unanimously decided that their best bet was to hoof it, a method of transportation that just so happened to be their only option thanks to the car-littered street. At the onset of the apocalypse, motorists just abandoned their vehicles in the middle of the road, while others tried to defend themselves from within. The flesh-eating vermin ate them all.
    Clearing the streets would take more effort than any of the superheroes would be capable of managing; if only Captain Rescue remembered his hovercraft. Actually, a real superhero could clear the roads quite easily. In fact, a real superhero could just walk around and destroy legions of zombies by simply flicking them with his or her pinky.
    “CHARLIE!” Boris yelled. He had suddenly become hysterical. “I forgot all about him, we have to save him! He’s still in the van!”
    Dr. Malevolent began to twitch with rage. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, rediscovered her Zen, and then let out a labored sigh. The super villain regretted not torching that damned costume the many times the opportunity presented itself in the past. She knew all too well of Cecil DeWitt’s unhealthy obsession with his alter ego, Charlie. Dr. Malevolent overlooked his eccentrics when they spent their time doing productive things like robbing banks and taking over worlds, but if that giant rabbit were to be the harbinger of their deaths, she would be less than thrilled.
    Captain Rescue chuckled. “And who is Charlie?”
    She spoke slowly, the anger seeping from her ears, “You’ll see.”
    The big baby stomped his feet. “But… but… but, I’m impatient!”
    “Excellent, this will be a good exercise in patience for you,” the super villain said with a smile.
    Captain Rescue looked appalled. “What?! I don’t like to exercise!”
    Dr. Malevolent poked his belly. “I can see that, but this isn’t that kind of exercise.”
    He swatted her hand away and rubbed his stomach. “What other kind of exercise is there?”
    “Shut up!” Boris bellowed with an abandoned Russian accent. “We have to go save him! We have to save Charlie!”
     “Go ahead. We’ll be right here waiting for you,” Dr. Malevolent said to her panicked sidekick.
    “Sit tight, I’ll be right back,” his voice trailed off as he sprinted down the side of the police station.
    “Whoa now, we can’t really let him do that on his own, what if he gets eaten? ” Captain Rescue asked.
    Dr. Malevolent glared at her right hand man as he ran off towards the getaway van. “Believe me when I say that a henchman with an identity crisis is a burden to all.”
    Like a sports car slamming its breaks at a red light, Boris screeched to a halt just before reaching the corner of the police station. Once he balanced himself, he placed his hands on the edge and peered around. To no one’s surprise, the van had not gotten up and walked away during their time in the police station, but zombies now gravitated to it as ants gravitate to yummy morsels left on the ground. If all of these zombies suddenly decided they wanted to, they could have easily lifted the van and carried it off to their nest as a prize for their queen. Luckily, zombies were not as smart as ants, nor did their queen have an interest in getaway vans.
    “All we have are these pistols,” the ever-astute Captain Rescue said as he pointed repeatedly at the undead and then to his puny little sidearm, which he had pried from the dead hands of a police officer on his way out. “I think we may need bigger guns.”
    Freight gripped his shotgun tightly; he had no plans to let these cretins get their hands on his beloved—the only real weapon. Unless you consider Dr. Malevolent’s inanimate carbon rod a weapon. It wasn’t. If anyone could lead these rag-tag zombie slayers to an arsenal of weaponry, it would be