The Survivor Kind

She was moving towards me but at a speed that created no sense of urgency in me. I looked back at the stairs. The gap to the bottom stair was low enough that I was confident that I could jump it. I could now see why it would prove an insurmountable obstacle to Robert’s sweetheart.

I scanned the rest of the basement. There were a few wooden shelves filled with the normal detritus that collects in basements: rusty tools, empty paint cans, that kind of thing. A stained mattress rested in one corner, and there was indeed a functioning deep freezer. In the far reaches of the light cast by my flashlight I thought I could see some bones. I was almost certainly not the first visitor to the basement.

The zombie, though slow, had finally closed the distance between us. I backhanded her across the face with the flashlight to give myself a moment, then reached in and zipped the mouth hole on her mask closed. Dancing away from her, I lifted the back of my jacket, and pulled the Colt from its holster. I was just sighting in on the Z’s forehead when I heard the distinctive clack-clack of a shotgun being cocked. I glanced up the stairs and saw Robert pointing my own fucking shotgun at me.

“Put down the gun, Tim!”

I ducked to the side, out of his line of fire.

“Damn it, Robert! It’s Tom! Now get my fucking name right, or I’m going to kill your girlfriend.”





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