The Survivor Kind

“Okay, give me a second.”

The Z had closed on me again and was trying to gnaw on my shoulder through its zipper. I led it over in front of the stairs, keeping its massive bulk between the door and me.

“Hey, Robert,” I called. “Last chance.”

“Fuck you!”

I put the colt up to the zombie’s forehead and blew its putrefying brains out. Robert gave something between a shout and a sob and started down the stairs. I put four slugs into his chest and he flopped forward, falling on top of the zombie. The impact reminded me of a stuntman hitting one of those giant airbags. It’s a sight I’ll take to my grave.

“Okay, Anton. Take the shot.”





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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. :)