Free Z-Risen (Book 1): Outbreak by Timothy W. Long Page B

Z’s arms. Part of the arm disappeared, leaving shreds of clothing and flesh.
    They advanced on her.
    She backed up, pumping the shot gun over and over again, but she must have been empty. When she cleared the garage with the three Z’s nearly on her, I broke from cover. I slid my handgun back into its holster and hefted my wrench. The last Z stumbled out of the garage and I was horrified to see it was one of the kids. She staggered and moaned but didn't have a lot of momentum. Then I saw why. She was dragging one of her feet at an angle that was impossible for a normal person. It was definitely broken, a gruesome fracture with the bone sticking out, but little Miss Sunshine didn't care.
    I moved behind her in a couple of steps and brought the wrench around in an arc that ended with her head. She dropped like a rock and I was rewarded with a pile of brain matter on the end of wrench head.
    Then I hit something on the ground, a rock or broken piece of crap from the house, and stumbled. My ankle twisted under me and I almost went down.
    One of the Z’s turned on me and it was all I could do to fend him off. The guy was almost as big as me and dressed in khaki shorts with the remains of a black t-shirt clinging to his body. I took his attack and tried to turn him away by using his own momentum to toss him aside, but my foot screamed in agony and I ended up in a heap.
    Fucker was fresh dead. He wasn't like the slower corpses that had been hanging out for a few days. This guy was quick and his teeth gnashed in toward my shoulder like a viper. I got the wrench in the way and smacked him aside. I managed to get an elbow in and hit him hard enough to roll the fucker off me. Jesus Christ! He smelled horrible – and I've worked around sailors for most of my life, so that should tell you something.
    I swung the wrench again, but I panicked and it crashed into his chest. Any normal man would have been crushed. It barely fazed this dead fuck.
    The girl must have figured out how to get her shot gun functioning because it boomed again. I swore, hoping she didn't mistake me for one of the dead. I rolled to my side and almost got my hands on the ground to pick myself up. Then I felt a claw on my shirt as the guy pulled me back down. I rolled and got a boot up. I lifted it high in the air and hit the Z again, but just in the chest, and all that did was knock him flat.
    Where the hell was Joel?
    “Get out of the fucking way!” Joel kept his voice low.
    “About time!” I tried to echo his tone but panic rode my voice and I may have sounded like a scared six-year-old girl.
    The Z grabbed my leg but I kicked free and rolled again. Joel’s boots came into view and then the AR-15 fired . The Z was blown onto his back. One more shot to the head and the guy didn't move again.
    I got to my feet and limped after Joel, ankle aching with every step.
    “Are they dead?” The girl with the shotgun approached. She didn't even look us in the face; she just studied the corpses on the ground.
    “Yeah , all dead - need to clear this area before more arrive.” Joel said.
    “I’ll stay here and hold them back. Thanks for the assist.” She said. Her voice had a slight Latino accent.
    “Come with us,” I said impulsively. Or was it impulsive? Were we just supposed to leave another survivor behind while we made an escape?
    Joel grabbed my shirt sleeve and tugged.
    “We can’t leave her.”
    “If she wants to stay , let her,” he said near my ear, but she was probably able to hear him.
    “We can’t leave someone behind like that.”
    “Since when did you grow a fucking sense of morality? We ain't got the supplies for another survivor.”
    “Just go ,” the girl said. “That’s my dad on the lawn. The eaters in the garage killed everyone. There’s nothing left.”
    “Oh , for fucks sake.” Joel said and stared at both of us.
    The sound of something shuffling down the street sent a chill down my neck. I looked for shapes.
    I grabbed the