Free Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) by S.P. Durnin Page B

a Star Wars reference? Amai kami, Anata wa kono yona a hodesu!”
    “Huh? I don't speak Japanese, Kat.”
    “Sweet gods, you are such a dork!” she
translated, stifling a giggle.
    Jake gave her a level gaze. “Are you
finished?”
    “Maybe.” Cho grinned unrepentantly.
    “Let's double back to the next street.” By
now, Jake was resigned to the fact that he was the
Rodney-fucking-Dangerfield of the inevitable zombie apocalypse.
    Moving as quietly as he could, O'Connor
followed Cho as she crept along the bottom of the easement on the
other side of the road. Even though it hadn't rained in days, there
was still a good amount of water running through the roadside
ditch. Enough to bring Jake fond memories of a certain drainage
ditch at a water treatment plant. He sighed mentally and counted
his blessings.
    At least there's no sewage in this
one , Jake thought dryly.
    Kat scurried from the ditch and into the
sparse underbrush beneath charred trees at the side of the road and
Jake followed. The pair trekked for ten full minutes through the
blackened woods before turning east to circle the trailer park.
During that time, Jake didn't see a single sign of life. No deer,
no squirrels, not even a single bird. While the zombies didn't pay
much attention to nonhuman forms of life, the survivors had seen
them devour the unlucky cat, dog, even cows if the group of
infected were large and fast enough. While it was possible for them
to deplete the indigenous species of a given area, the dead forest
was different. As terrible as it was, that seemingly endless
devastation caused by a naturally occurring phenomena was almost
comforting in the face of extinction by zombies. It was an event
they could understand, however unfortunate. There hadn't been an
explanation as of yet of as to why the dead rose to consume the
living, even from governmental sources, and it didn't seem likely
one would be forthcoming any time in near future.
    Perhaps that explained Jake's desperate need
to get his friends to the safety of the Rockies. Unlike most of his
group, he'd long accepted the world as they'd known it had come to
an end months ago and there was no way to resuscitate the
once-mighty civilization. Whatever followed, if anything did, would
be something new. Maybe this time, they'd figure out a way to
create a system of government without boat-loads of self-serving,
mealy-mouthed politicians.
    They'd just passed burned zone's border and
moved through a small ravine onto a dirt path behind the town's
high school, when O'Connor heard the distinctive sound of an
engine. He and Kat shared a look, then ran for a nearby hill
covered with young pine trees to the north. Upon reaching the
evergreens, Jake doffed his pack, tossed it into the sloping
evergreens, then he and Kat hurled themselves into the foliage
after it.
    “Up the road in front of the school?” Kat lay
on one hip, carefully attaching her Glock's suppressor, taking care
not to cross-thread the slim can over the weapon's barrel.
    Jake readied his Hammer automatic. The
massive handgun was George Foster’s own creation. Hammer stood for:
a high impact, multi-caliber, repeater. ‘Hammer’ for short. The
weapon fired .45 slugs or any 12 gauge ammo, and the upper barrel
was adaptable to take a suppressor. You didn’t want to try to use
any shot with it on though, or you’d get hit by some blow-back. It
was only accurate at up to fifty yards, but Jake didn't want to
attempt shooting farther than that without a rifle anyway. Vents
along the pistol's slides directed the combustion force of the
round up at a forty-five, so the barrel didn’t jump. It was double
action too, so recoil was almost zero. Basically, if what you were
shooting at bled, the Hammer could kill it.
    Either that or make it hurt so bad, it’d wish
it was dead.
    “I think so,” he replied, racking back the
Hammer's slide to insure the weapon had one round waiting in the
chamber.
    As they lay there on the scratchy,