Free Dry Rot: A Zombie Novel by H.E. Goodhue Page B

enough to stay. I hoped that Jared had been smart enough to seal the bunker and stay put.
    The driver of the Hummer waited for the husks to stumble up the stairs before he opened the door and leapt out of the stupidly oversized vehicle. He wore a cheap respirator – the type used for painting, and carried a rifle. It looked like a deer rifle or something of that nature.
    At first, I worried that these guys were cut from the paramilitary psycho cloth. The kind that spent their entire lives hoping and preparing for a disaster like this. Granted, I spent my time preparing, but I wasn’t happy to be right. I wanted nothing more than to be wrong. These guys were the type that saw a disaster as a chance to lose their humanity and prey upon other people. That wasn’t me. I just wanted to keep my family safe. And now, these assholes were preventing me from helping Danni and going to see Lisa and Kara. That was something I couldn’t allow.
    The driver shouldered his rifle and shot the first husk in the back of the head. Chunky splotches of black, red and gray splattered across the front of my house and trickled to the porch. The other husks, having heard the shot, turned towards a closer meal. The driver chambered another round and shot a second husk and then a third. He may have had a stupid car and cheap respirator, but he was good shot. I would need to be careful.
    The last husk tripped from two steps above and crashed to the sidewalk below my porch. I could hear the muffled laughs of the driver from beneath his mask. He pulled the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and knelt on husk’s back. Pulling a large hunting knife from the sheath on his belt, the driver began carving long lines into the husk’s face. After a few more lines, the driver used the tip of his knife to peel back the hardened skin. The husk thrashed beneath him, not because it was in pain, but because it was hungry.
    I’m not sure why, but watching this guy abuse the husk filled me with rage. I hated the husks. I hated what they were, but I was still sad that they had lost who they once were. Killing a husk was something I would never lose sleep over, but I did it because I had to, not because I thought it was fun.
    The driver was busy skinning the husk and blind to the fact that I had crept up behind him. I whistled.
    The driver turned, a stunned look in his eyes. I smashed the butt end of my shotgun into his face. His nose exploded beneath his respirator. Blood dribbled out the chin of his mask. I grabbed the side of his head and pushed him forward.
    The husk beneath the driver’s knees lunged forward and buried its teeth into the nearest soft target – the driver’s crotch. He let out a muffled scream and tried to stand, but the husk had clamped onto his crotch and shook its leathery neck like I had seen alligators do on a nature show I used to watch in prison. The driver dropped his hunting knife and beat at the husk with his fists. It held strong.
    Arms flailed and tried to grab the rifle on his back, but the driver couldn’t reach it. I let the husk tear a wet chunk free and begin chewing. It thudded back to ground in a cloud of ash and blood. The driver was too stunned to scream. His eyes, wild with pain, alternated from staring at his ruined crotch, the chewing husk and the stranger standing behind him.
    I picked up the driver’s hunting knife. He stumbled towards me, his hands cradling the ruined remains of his crotch. Blood spurted from between his fingers and dotted the ashy ground below. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head sideways. The hair slid off his scalp in a greasy tangle. I gagged and tossed it aside. Whatever masks these guys were wearing, it only appeared to be slowing down their deaths. I plunged the hunting knife into the driver’s neck, twisted it and pulled it sideways.
    Pulling the hunting knife free, I let the driver’s body fall to the ground. The husk scuttled through the ash and buried its face in the