Free Zomburbia by Adam Gallardo Page B

aware of a rustling from the bushes behind me. Great, the expectant shuffler brought friends, probably her baby-daddy.
    My hand wrapped around the pistol’s grip—just as I felt the zombie’s hand fall on my shoulder.
    I heard a loud thud and felt a jolt travel up the zombie’s arm. Her grip dropped away from my shoulder and she fell to the ground beside me. A couple of guys in camo and face paint stood there with homemade weapons.
    â€œPhil?” I yelled as I stood and backed away from the quivering zombie. I kept the pistol trained on her, even though my hands shook. My mind refused to accept this. Phil was the troll who lived in the back of the Bully Burger and washed dishes; he wasn’t the guy who came to my rescue.
    Phil looked at me for a moment, like he was considering whether or not he should have saved me. Then, very swiftly, he raised his weapon—a baseball bat with nails driven through it—and brought it down on the shuffler’s face. She stopped quivering.
    â€œHey, Courtney,” he said as he straightened. “What are you doing out here?”
    â€œMe?” I nearly screamed. “What the hell are you and Junior G.I. Joe doing out here?”
    He shrugged. “Saving your ass, I guess.”
    Fair enough.
    â€œWho’s your buddy?” I asked.
    Phil pointed with his bat. The end of which was covered in black zombie-brain-stuff. Nice.
    â€œCody,” he said. “Cody, Courtney. We work together.”
    Cody gave me a chin nod. “Hey,” he said.
    â€œHey,” I said back.
    â€œSo, you know it’s not a good idea to be out joyriding by yourself after dark, right?” Phil asked.
    Joyriding? “Jesus, am I going to have to take crap from you tonight, too?”
    â€œWell, you have to admit it was a pretty bad idea,” Phil said.
    â€œHey, guys?” Cody started to say. I cut him off.
    â€œFor your information, douche,” I snapped at Phil, “I was doing fine!” I brandished the pistol.
    Phil looked unimpressed. “Yeah,” he said, “from the looks of things, that undead bitch was about to take that thing away and shove it up your butt. Then she was set to chow down.”
    â€œGo to hell, Phil,” I said, not really having an answer to what was basically the truth. “I didn’t need—”
    â€œHey, guys,” Cody said again, this time urgently.
    Out of his black face paint, Cody’s eyes were huge and too-white.
    â€œWhat is it?” Phil asked. But Cody didn’t say anything, he just pointed down at the for-real-dead zombie.
    All I noticed was the place where her face used to be. Thank God her matted hair covered the worst of it. I couldn’t see what freaked out Cody. I was ready to ask him what his beef was, but then I caught Phil’s expression. His face contorted into this horrified mask, his mouth open in a kind of disgusted grimace.
    â€œYou have to be shitting me,” he said in a husky voice.
    The zombie’s swollen belly was moving. It looked like a puppy playing under a blanket. Of course, that’s not what it was. I couldn’t process what I saw. My mind felt blank—a long, silent scream filled it. The baby. It was still inside her and it wanted to get out and get at us. I could imagine its empty eyes and its gaping toothless mouth. I thought I was going to puke.
    I looked back at the boys. They were right there with me.
    â€œThis is too much,” I said, and my voice croaked out of my throat. Cody nodded.
    â€œWe have to kill it,” Phil said.
    I started to back away slowly. I wanted to back out of this whole stupid night.
    â€œWe can’t leave it,” he said. “It’s going to get out soon.” I looked at the zombie’s belly. A tiny hand pushed against the skin, its little fingers very distinct. He was right, the mother’s desiccated flesh wouldn’t hold up for long.
    â€œCall the police,” I