Free Zombies and Chainsaws (Book 2): Dark Roads by Mike Evans

what I'm saying? This is important—this is a warning that will save everyone!”
    “Hey, hello, am I on this here station? Am I live?”
    Helen said, “Hello, caller, you are live with Channel Seven. What question did you have for Joann?”
    “I got me more bullets than God, and I can take them out plenty good. You all had any issues with shooting them in the head? I mean, does that kill them? It always seems to work in the movies and what have you.”
    “Yes, a bullet to the head is effective, but the caliber must be large enough to blow off their heads, and even then there's no guarantee you'll be able to take them out with one shot. We had to use shotguns, and we've still been unable to take them out with any regularity, sir.”
    “You sure y'all ain’t just shitty shots?"
    Chuck, not one for having his manhood questioned, even indirectly, marched onto the set. He said, “Now, God damn it, would you listen here to me, please? These damn things are dangerous. The dead are out walking — they are killing, they are eating — if you ain’t smart enough to listen to this woman, well then, you are a dumb shit. She’s the smartest person around right now who's qualified to give medical advice. We need to keep people safe; you need to listen. My friend Jude over there didn't miss once—it took two or three slugs for each of 'em. Jude took out a whole shit-ton of them, but he used up every shotgun shell he had. You can’t go and have a war when you need to use over half your ammo for every single one of those damn dead things.”
    The caller was quiet. A voice could be heard screaming in the background, and then the phone was dropped. A growl came from the opposite end, and then the only thing that could be heard was the rhythmic squelch of something wet being chewed on.
    Chuck said, “Now, that is why we're saying inside, folks, because they will eat you. Do not go outside at all!”
    When a second caller came through, Helen said nothing. She was too busy pointing in awe at the door to the studio. “Help!" She screamed. "Help, help! What the hell are those—what's wrong with them?"
    In horror, the entire studio followed her pointing finger. A horde of the dead had made their way into the studio. Chuck reached to start his saw, but Jude was already pulling back on his own, giving it all the gas he could. When the dead drew close, he revved it, running and stopping short. He left himself just enough room to bring the saw down low; the sound of bone on blade echoed through the studio as he sliced through their knee caps. The dead lost their footing, falling forward and cracking their heads against the marble floor.
    Helen leaned forward over the news desk. Her Southern twang faltered and went straight to a Brooklyn accent. She screamed, forgetting all about what could and could not be said on air. “Holy, fucking shit—what the hell? Well, at least that isn’t too viol — ”
    Jude walked across, kicking grasping hands away from his feet, and brought the sawblade across, cutting the top halves of the deads' skulls off, leaving their brains to roll out onto the studio floor. He ran to the door, seeing that the dead seemed to have multiplied. Jude turned around, yelling, “You got what you need to say done, Joann?”
    She gave a thumbs up and left Helen sitting there, wild-eyed.
    Helen said, “Wait, what about us?”
    “If I were you," Joann answered, "I'd consider hiding somewhere safe.”
    “Where would that be?”
    “I don’t have any idea. I’m pretty sure they aren’t too good with doorknobs, and they probably can’t climb ladders, but the bitten and the rain-drinkers seem pretty resourceful, so far.”
    “Wait!" Helen screamed. "Wait, can’t I just come with you? I mean, I won’t be any trouble. I have a son I have to get home to.”
    Chuck said, “Yeah, what’s his name?”
    She stumbled, opening her mouth, then closed it. “Well, what I mean is that one day I plan to have a son, that’s what