The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented by Derek J Thomas Page B

the shoulder strap of the high end military M4 he carried on
his back. “Setup with perfect customizations to boot.”
    Shaking
his head, Hank replied with a grin, “You can stick with that Rambo shit, I’ll
take my precision rifles any day.”
    During
their shopping spree, Tom had noticed nearly every weapon that Hank added to the
arsenal was one form of sniper rifle or another. Hank hadn’t said what his
previous life held; Tom had a guess, but figured it would likely all come out
sooner or later. He figured his life had been kept to himself as well, at
least for now.
    The
trio used the same procedure to load up on medical supplies, food, water,
survival equipment, packs, and anything else they thought they might need for a
zombie apocalypse. None of them were sure what that required, but figured it
would be similar to any survival scenario, just tack on lots of weapons and
ammo.
    Once
they had everything together and felt there was no more room in the Unimog, they
headed back to the security room. They were all happy to see the pile of
undead had not moved.
    Leaning
on the desk Tom said, “Okay…before we go out there we need a plan. I’ll
start.” Sighing heavily he took a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting
to get emotional. “My family is up North of Spokane. We live out in the
country, but they’re alone. I have to get to them. That is my sole plan.”
Looking back up, he finished, “What about you guys?”
    Hank
sat down on one of the chairs. “I never got around to having little ones…or a
wife for that matter. You’re stuck with me, unless I’m unwanted.”
    Tom
simply nodded. Both of them looked to Rachael to see what her thoughts were.
This was the first time Tom really looked at her without fear racing through
him. He guessed she was in her mid-thirties, about his age, but he was really
terrible at guessing. She was not rail thin, having curves in the right
places, and must have worked to keep in shape. With her large brown eyes and
long blonde curls, there was no doubt she was an attractive woman.
    “I’m…I’m
not with anyone or anything like that. No kids. I have distant family in
Montana and back East. I guess I’ve just been running, without thinking of
where I am going. I’m not really sure where I should go.” She was beginning
to tear up, likely thinking about the fate of loved ones.
    Not
wanting to go down this path, Tom asked, “Where are you from…do you need to get
back there?”
    She
wiped her nose with the back of her hand and shook her head. “Chicago…flew out
a few days ago to do some photo contract work. I can’t even imagine what the
city is like now. No, I won’t be going back. I need to…”
    Before
she could finish her sentence, Hank interrupted her. “I don’t mean to bust this
up, but we’re about to have company.”
    All
of them turned to the monitor Hank was focusing on. The view was of the front
plaza, near where they left Rachael’s rental car. Three guys were running
between the cement planters, occasionally turning to fire shots behind them.
Immediately in their wake were dozens of the demented, frantically trying to
reach their prey. In the distance, a gathering of the undead could be seen, drawn
to the sound of gunfire, but too slow to keep up.
    For
a time they were taking turns providing cover fire, while the others would run
ahead, however as they neared the broken out entrance, survival instinct took
over. Two of them dashed through the opening, leaving a man in a white
basketball jersey, baseball cap on backwards, outside. He was about thirty
feet from the entrance, firing rapidly at the oncoming horde. Several
dropped in front of him, holes punched through their chests.
    Tom
watched as he ran out of bullets, and then turned to make his getaway.
Stumbling a bit, he went down on the cement, tried to rise, but without any
cover fire the demented were on him in a heartbeat. They swarmed over him,
taking him to the ground in a pile of