Free Degeneration by David Pardo Page B

abandoned and left in fate's hands, I couldn't let the opportunity to have it pass me by. Without wasting any more time, I tapped on the glass window that separated me from the Browning with my knuckles to test its strength. I then walked to the counter where the decorative pieces were stored and picked up a very heavy, medieval club made of metal whose tip had an ornamental, diamond shape.  I used it to shatter the case that held the imported weapons to pieces. Next, I carefully loosened the shotgun from its supports and looked at it up close.  It had even greater beauty in my hands. Having possession of that beast, capable of splitting an average-sized man in half with a single shot, made me feel like one of Harrelson's men.
    "Finally..." I whispered excitedly, still mindful that nobody could hear me. I slid my hand down to my inner thigh and realized just how excited I had become. Later, I put the shotgun in my 4x4 and loaded the vehicle with super magnum cartridge boxes for my new acquisition. I took advantage of the fact that I had smashed the imported arms case to smithereens and I grabbed a sniper rifle with a scope and, of course, the medieval club – it would be good for hand-to-hand combat.
    I got in my 4x4 and turned the key. That's when I had my first moral dilemma.  Had I become a thief? No, I was doing this to protect my family. The world was changing and I was just adapting to those changes, that's all. Plus, Mr. Bonifacio had left his store in fate's hands and I supposed that he wouldn't mind. I skidded away from the gun shop with a clean conscience.
    That's when I ran into Salvador and Manuel, two brothers who lived a few streets below my house. Salvador was my age and sometimes we played football together.  Manuel was a bit older. The brothers parked their truck next to the gun shop and got out of the vehicle. Both were gripping hunting rifles and walking carefully. I backed up and stopped my 4x4 at their side.
    "You guys staying?" I asked, sticking my head out of the window.
    "Of course," nodded Manuel.  "We aren't going to abandon our home."
    "Shit!" I shouted, as I saw an elderly zombie walking slowly towards us. A shiver went up my spine: it was the first living dead that I had seen up close and I must say, it was one of the most repulsive and terrifying experiences of my life. The zombie seemed to be stunned and didn’t appear as violent as the ones that I had seen at the protest, maybe because of its age. It was well-dressed –with a black suit and tie– but its pants had mud stains on them and were torn at the bottom, probably from dragging its feet up the hill. It had a bluish face and regurgitated blood from its mouth. 
    "That... that's.... Shit!" muttered Salvador as he shook his head.  "It's Uncle Severino.  He died a day before the epidemic fell on the capital. His body mysteriously disappeared during the viewing at his house. Aunt Enriqueta swore that organ traffickers had stolen it.  She blamed some foreigners she had seen prowling around their house. Poor woman, I don't know what type of crazy bastard would want to rob an old man's body."
    "Well, it seems to me that he left to take a morning stroll," I commented with irony. "Poor man, he doesn't seem violent and he must just be disoriented. Will you guys take care of it? I don't have any damn idea what to do."
    "Of course," said Salvador. He immediately picked up his shotgun and blew off the zombie's head with one shot.  His brain matter scattered on the sidewalk. My stomach was used to the lingering smell of pig feces, but when I saw Uncle Severino's brain in lumps on the ground, it turned inside out and I thought I was going to barf. The old man was lying motionless on the ground, dead.
    "Holy shit," I stuttered, as pre-vomit saliva filled my mouth.
    "Problem solved, neighbor," Manuel said, smiling.  "It's the second one that we've blown to bits so far today. You have to shoot at their heads to kill them.  Don't forget: always