Free Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights by Matt Di Spirito Page B

flattened dirt driveway that led to Stumpy's.  In the unlit twilight, everything beyond the narrow circle of headlights was an abyss. 
    He came upon it suddenly, screeching to a halt and backing up.  The undercarriage of the Prius grated on the ground, dragging a swath of uneven dirt in its wake.  He couldn't imagine anyone coming out here without four-wheel drive.
    Illuminated in the halogen beams, Stumpy's brick cottage swam into view.  If there were lights on, they were concealed behind opaque curtains because the place looked deserted.  Matty pulled up within a hundred feet of the front door and killed the engine; he pocketed the keys and stepped out of the car.
    BOOM!  The windshield shattered from the bullet, falling into the front seats and clattering over the dashboard.  Matty had seen the muzzle flash and heard the blast, hitting the dirt right after the glass was destroyed.  He laid in the dirt, listening to the gunshot echo in the distance.  Shit, every muncher in the city must've heard that!
    "Git up and lemme see yer hands!"  Stumpy's hoarse drawl came from an upstairs window, followed by a bolt-action rifle being reloaded. 
    "Okay!  I'm getting up, Stumpy!"  Matty stood up, every move slow and deliberate.  "I just wanna do some business."
    "You armed?"
    "I have a handgun in my belt," Matty said. 
    "Well take it out and put it on the hood of yer car," Stumpy ordered. 
    Matty complied, keeping his left hand up; he slid the pistol across the hood and backed away.  "I'm almost out of bullets, Stumpy.  I need to buy some ammo.  There's some crazy shit goin' on out there."
    "I know it."  There was a pause; Matty thought he heard another voice in the background.  "Do I know ya, kid?"
    "My name is Matthias Josephs, Stumpy.  I come here every weekend in the summer to buy shiners and sometimes I buy a box of 9mm Luger."  Matty ran through his memories of Stumpy, searching for something to anchor the discussion.  "Last time I came by, you told me about the dumbass that believed your man-eating catfish story."
    "Ohhhhh," Stumpy droned.  "I think I remember.  Well, no matter, you ain't gittin' any ammo today."
    "Please, Stumpy, if I don't get more bullets then I'm a dead man—literally, Stumpy."  There was no reply.  "I'll give you everything I have… I'll even give you this car.  It's great on gas."
    "Money and cahs don't mean diddly squat, kid."  There was definitely another voice; it sounded like a young boy.  "What?"  Stumpy said; his voice was muted, as if he were talking away from the window.  "All right, all right."
    "Stumpy, can you at least give me one box?"  Matty asked.  "Please?"
    "Since I don't got any guns what use that caliber, I'll give ya a couple of boxes."
    Matty smiled and, finally, exhaled.  "Thank you, sir!"  He stepped toward the house, and the ground ten feet in front of him exploded, showering dirt and rock into the air.  The deafening blast echoed away and was followed by the shik-click of the bolt.
    "You stay right there, kid.  Ma boy will leave em on the stoop and you can get em when I tells ya, understand?"
    "No problem, Stumpy."  Matty said.  This is fuckin' crazy!   He thought.  There are zombies—motherfuckin' zombies!—and I'm being held at gunpoint by the owner of a bait shop .  He took a few deep breaths. 
    The door opened and a kid of no more than twelve placed two boxes of bullets on the front step; he gave Matty a brief nod and then shut the door. 
    "All right then, go ahead and take them," Stumpy said; "then git gone!" 
     

CHAPTER 8
     
     
    "No fuckin' windshield," Matty grumbled; "he leaves me with no windshield, driving into a shitstorm of zombies… what kind of asinine…" He fumed for a while, putting a healthy distance between Stumpy's and himself. 
    It had been going on for a few minutes before Matty registered the thump-thump-thump of a flat tire.  He pulled to the side and screamed an animalistic roar of fury, beating on