Free Plague Nation by Dana Fredsti Page B

played a mindless tug-of-war. The woman’s mouth gaped open, a foul smell wafting out of it as she leaned in toward my neck.
    No you don’t, bitch.
    Yanking my arm free from her grip, I shoved my forearm under her chin as she tried to take a chunk out of me, in the process losing my grip on the M4, which clattered to the floor. Mr. Underwear hooked his fingers into the front of my vest and yanked me toward him, knocking my arm loose and giving the female zombie ample surface to bite. Luckily its teeth couldn’t penetrate the armored pads on my forearm. Even if I was immune to infection, I didn’t particularly want to have another chunk of my flesh ripped out.
    I slammed my right forearm into the female zombie’s head, sending it flailing backward into the kitchen. Its feet skidded on a floor coated with an indefinable mix of blood, rotted food, and goo that I didn’t want to think about. Then it slammed head first into one of the kitchen cupboards.
    But the impact wasn’t hard enough to take Ms. Zombie of Wal-Mart out of commission. It slowly and relentlessly managed to find its way back to its feet as I kicked the male zombie in the kneecap, feeling the patella shatter beneath the impact. It didn’t register pain, but the right leg buckled as it still grappled with me, trying to use my vest as leverage to pull me to its gaping, reeking mouth.
    There wasn’t enough Listerine in the world to cure this zombie’s halitosis.
    I kicked its other kneecap, stomping as hard as I could with the heel of my boot. That leg crumpled, as well, but it still clung to my vest with both rotting hands, and the sudden weight sent me toppling forward on top of the suddenly prone zombie. My hands plunged into the thing’s torso with a truly gross popping sound, as if I’d punctured the world’s nastiest balloon. The thing just moaned and gnashed its teeth as it tried to pull my face close enough to bite.
    I’d had enough of this shit.
    Giving a scream of disgust and fury, I pulled my hands out of its viscera, entwined my fingers together and went “Hulk, smash!” on its ass. I slammed both fists into its head with all my not inconsiderable strength. The skull, already weakened by decay, shattered beneath the blow. I followed up with another double-fisted strike, then burrowed one hand into the brain, fingers stiff, until I’d scrambled the sucker in its shell.
    The thing stopped moving and its hands finally gave up their death grip on my vest, flopping to the ground with a meaty thump.
    Meanwhile, Ms. Zombie had regained some traction and pulled herself back toward me across the gore-streaked floor as I struggled to a sitting position, scooting back until I was propped up against a wall. I stared at the thing, hating and pitying it at the same time.
    There was something almost hypnotic in its dead eyes and slow, relentless crawl. It wouldn’t stop. I knew that. I could get up, leave the trailer, and it would try its best to come after me. And that was what freaked me out the most, realizing that “you can run, but you can’t hide” could be the world’s new rule if we didn’t stop this plague in its tracks.
    “Right, then.”
    I stood up, grabbed a cast-iron pan from the counter, pausing to get a solid grip through all of the goo, and slammed it down on Lady Wal-Mart’s head. It only took one blow to drop the zombie in its tracks, but I gave it a second whack for good measure. And then a third because I wanted to punish someone... something... for fucking up my world so completely. The zombie was the closest thing at hand.
    And they wouldn’t let me beat the shit out of Dr. Albert.
    I tossed the pan to the floor, the sound clattering almost unbearably loudly in the small confines of the trailer. Brains and other viscous innards smeared my hands. I staggered over to the sink, hoping to wash up a bit, but stopped short at the sight of scum-crusted water. Bits of ancient food rose up to the surface to tell the tale of a