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.”

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)