Free Not Everything Brainless is Dead by Joshua Price Page B

Freight. With the bunny leading everyone into danger, he had free reign to be the gun-toting zombie blower-upper without a care in the world. While this was fine and dandy with him, there appeared to be an issue here. Freight squinted; Charlie’s suit had a rather unwanted effect on the zombies—making them flee for their unlives. Even so, he would make do. Worst-case scenario: Freight may have to plunge head first into poor decisions to quench his blood thirst. Actually, that was best-case scenario too.
    While lost in these and many other fascinating thoughts about death and slaughter, Freight slammed into Charlie; the bunny had come to abrupt halt. Over his shoulder, a zombie loitered on the sidewalk, back to the survivors. Freight slid his shotgun from underneath his belt, ready to jump into action if the need arose. Charlie picked up a pebble from the ground and tossed it at the zombie. As the small rock bounced off the creature’s head, it shuffled around and emitted a ghastly moan. The zombie’s head slowly rose, and its eyes soon locked with Charlie, at which point its moan quieted before reaching any sort of finale. The zombie began to shake violently, and then it simply collapsed and rolled into the street.
    “Well,” Charlie said looking at the lifeless corpse, “that was easy.”
    With an enormous zombie repellent like Charlie, the group was able to traverse the city streets quickly with any obstacles scared away. As another zombie collapsed before the wrath of the bunny rabbit, Captain Rescue called Stubbs out. “Hey zombie, I’ll race you to the end of the block.”
    “Race?” the zombie replied. “I can barely walk.”
    The hero laughed. “Oh, so you’re gonna chicken out on me then, are ya?”
    Stubbs pointed to a golf cart, which someone conveniently left running on the side of the road when the shit hit the fan. “My chariot awaits.”
    The original owner, once zombified, probably went off in search of food on foot, since zombies did not likely retain the knowledge of operating a golf cart. Not that they should have been expected to. Most zombies had a hard enough time retaining the knowledge of distinguishing between food and hazards, let alone the operation of any sort of vehicle. 
    Captain Rescue backed up. “Wait a second, I’m not going to race a golf cart on foot.”
    “Oh, who’s scared now?” the zombie taunted as he rested a hand on the vehicle.
    The hero pointed at him. “You worthless corpse, you’re on!”
    Stubbs climbed into the golf cart pulled it to side of the road where Captain Rescue stood. The hero walked to the front of the tiny vehicle and aligned his feet with its front wheels, giving himself an inch or so head start. As Stubbs revved the golf cart’s engine, Captain Rescue scoffed at the zombie and then made a revving noise of his own. Charlie, Freight, and Dr. Malevolent all stood back, curious to see just how badly this went.
    “I’ll do the countdown,” Captain Rescue said.
    “All right,” the zombie replied, fully aware that he would probably try to pull some funny business and cheat.
    Captain Rescue bent over, stretching his legs and then his back as a string of pops followed suit. He let out a quick, sharp exhale and threw an arm into the air before beginning his countdown.
    “On one! Three! Two!” The hero sprinted off before finishing. He looked back laughing and then shouted to the golf cart, “One!”
    Stubbs gunned the vehicle just as Captain Rescue swung his head around. He was seconds too late to notice the subtle ridge where two slabs of sidewalk had ended their close relationship, leaving one heartbroken and sticking into the air. Captain Rescue crashed into this hunk of concrete and flew into the air. He stared down at the sidewalk that betrayed his trust—to make matters even worse, now it came back to smack him in the face. The golf cart rolled past Captain Rescue as he picked himself up from the ground. The hero limped for a moment,