The Survivor Kind

“Mistress!” A deafening blast filled the room as he fired. Buckshot clattered against the cinder-block walls, but didn’t come anywhere near me.

“Okay Robert, maybe I spoke hastily. You just put the shotgun down and let me come upstairs and we’ll discuss it like two rational people.”

“Robert, sweetie, maybe you should listen to—“

“No! My mistress needs new toys or she gets bored.”

“Then she ought to find this fun,” I said and shot a hole in the zombie’s leg. This proved to be a mistake. A thin stream of putrid yellowish fluid started spurting out of the hole. The stink in the basement got exponentially worse.

“You leave her alone!” Robert fired another blast down the stairs. Laurie was screaming at him, but I couldn’t make out what. I pulled out my walkie-talkie.





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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. :)