Free The Most Uncommon Cold I - Life in the Time of Zombies by Jeffrey Littorno Page A

the wedding ring was the one tangible thing I had to show that the world had once been a more reliable place.
         This was the discussion occurring somewhere inside of me, but right then I heard none of it.  I was acting without considering my actions. I held the hand down on the hood and tugged on the ring as hard as possible, but it would still not move over the knuckle.  With the same consideration one would give to picking up a twig and breaking it, I grabbed the finger and pulled it back as far as it would go.  Other than making a satisfying cracking sound and leaving the ring finger pointed up in an obscene manner, my effort yielded no useful results.  I stared without moving for a moment.  I started to reach toward the finger once more, but then stopped and trotted to the back of the Jeep. 
         I lifted the door and looked at the old newspapers, fast-food wrappers, and coffee-stained paper cups.  I cleared them, pulled up the plastic hook to lift the carpet, and revealed the spare tire and tire tool.  The black metal tire tool had a lug nut socket on one end and a sharp edge for prying tires off the hub at the other end.  It was this sharp edge that brought a twisted smile to my face. 
          I carried the tool back to the front of the car and to the smashed body of the disgusting imposter.   I set the tool down next to the car and looked again at the wedding ring. The finger was still bent back at a strange angle but stayed down after pushing it with all my might. I picked up the tire tool, put the sharp end at the base of the finger where it met the palm, and moved it until the tool was perpendicular to the hand.  I took a deep breath and threw all of my weight on to the tool forcing it downward.  There was a sort of fart sound and then a scratching noise as the tool contacted the metal of the hood.  I moved the tool to the side in order to look at the results of the effort.
         The skin looked pinched nearly all the way through.  In the next moment, I raised the tire tool directly over the same area of the finger and brought it down quickly and forcefully. 
         At the same instant the tire tool made contact with the finger, the eyes on the Bonnie-thing sprang open.  I saw this and dropped the tool. It clattered loudly on the concrete floor of the garage, but I hardly noticed as I stumbled back from the Jeep.  My mouth was open in an expression of absolute horror.
         The dead eyes stared fixedly ahead.  Just when I almost had myself convinced that the eyes opening was just some reflex, the eyes shifted toward me. The mouth opened and then closed.  A few seconds later, the mouth opened again.  The lips quivered, a sort of groan came out, and then a string of sounds that was gibberish.  The mouth moved continuously and then with clear effort words were formed. 
         “She nee...needed a r-r-r-ide to the dru-u-u-u-g-store.”  The words came out slurred and flat.  After the words stopped, the mouth continued to open and close, open and close, open and close.
         I watched as long as I could stand it.  Finally, I grabbed the metal tire tool from the floor and moved close to the Jeep with the black metal bar raised above my head.  With surprising ease and little sound, the sharp-edged end of the rod slipped through the skull and inside the head of the Bonnie-thing.  The eyes opened wider, and the mouth flew open but nothing else on the face moved. 
         My hands instantly came off the tool as if it had become unbearably hot.  Stumbling back from the car, I regarded what I had done.  The notion that I had just plunged a metal rod into the head of someone was too much for me to comprehend.  The things on the hood instantly became Bonnie.  It was no “Bonnie-thing” or impersonator.  I had plunged a metal rod into my wife’s head.  It took some time, but eventually I managed to tear my eyes away from what I had done. 
         I saw