Free MZS: Boston: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella by K. D. McAdams

something to use as leverage. With two strong steps , I drive the zombie backward until it thuds into the side of the military transport. A final push with my arms and my stick tickles grey matter one more time.
    The head next to me splits in two with a crunch. I watch it fall and notice that the edges of the skull are not smooth and clean like you would expect. Both halves are rough and jagged with pieces missing and a deep red mound of Jell-O pooling between them.
    Tucker gets another one before I’m back in the fight.
    My “let it bite your stick” tactic doesn’t work twice. Trying to attack is my only other option. I thrust and miss. Did he just dodge me? If these things are intelligent, life is about to get even worse.
    Another thrust catches him on the bridge of the nose. He didn’t evade me ; I’m getting tired and I missed. With nothing but cartilage, the nose buckles easily. Hockey stick finds zombie brain and then there are three left to deal with.
    Make that two. Thanks , Tucker.
    Poke -and-pray isn’t a long-term strategy for relationships or zombie-slaying. I need a tactic. Should have figured shit out with that first one in the alley. It was just lying there on its back, struggling to get up. I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass, so to speak.
    The proverbial light bulb goes off. With my soon -to-be-patented stick twirl, I choke up and assume a baseball stance. Swinging for the fences, I send the shaft of my hockey stick smacking into the undead just below the knees. The backlash sends the hockey stick flying out of my hands and clattering across the road.
    Did I really think that I could knock his legs out from under him with a hockey stick? It would have hurt like a motherfucker if I did that to a regular guy on the street, but the zombie didn’t flinch.
    A little squat helps me reach my steak knife and I slide it out of the wine armor. The other remaining monster has been separated from its head and Tucker is walking over to finish the job.
    It would be so cool if I could throw my knife and finish the last one. That’s not reality though. I would probably miss and it would just leave me unarmed.
    This thing seems locked onto me, too. The nose isn’t twitching and the head isn’t jerking from side to side. It’s not trying to triangulate me based on sound and smell; it fucking knows where I am.
    I exhale and decide that after the next step backwards I’ll hold my ground and plunge my knife through its eye once it’s close enough.
    Okay, maybe after the next backward step.
    CRRRUNCH!
    Tucker ’s blade smashes through the skull of my biggest fan. It collapses to the ground and Tucker withdraws his blade and flashes me a smile.
    “Viva!” Tucker greets Cupcake with their co-opted version of the “Viva la Stool” slogan from Barstool Sports.
    “Viva brotha! Tucker, man that was some sick shit.” Cupcake grabs him and pulls him into a bear hug.
    “Cupcake , what the fuck!” I scream at him. “You’re the one who’s cut out for all of this. You just stood there screaming like a fucking pussy!”
    “Pat-O , I’m sorry, man. I panicked.”
    “I panicked too , but I still fought for my life!” I yell.
    “Pat , we left our weapons in the rig. I had nothing to fight with. When we boosted the Hummer, we planned and executed. It was fucking brutal man. Trust me, we trashed enough skulls to earn our keep. This was a surprise attack.”
    “Pat-O , are you using your signed Bergeron stick to kill zombies?” Tucker asks. He walked over and picked up my weapon from where it fell on the street.
    Cupcake, Todd, and I all break out in hearty laughter .
    Tucker brings my stick back and hands it to me, a little confused at what we all find so funny. A signed Bergeron stick has no value anymore. A weapon I can use to mangle brains from a safe distance, however, is priceless.
    “Is there any food in there?” Cupcake nods at the creperia where he must have noticed Tucker coming out