Free Z-Risen (Book 2): Outcasts by Timothy W. Long Page B

his body. Topping that off was an assault rifle bigger than anything I’d seen since this whole shit-fest started a few weeks ago.
    “Yeah. We can use ya.” His buddy spoke up from behind the other door, then chuckled.
    “State your intentions.” I deepened my voice.
    Joel shrugged. Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence, pal.
    “Name’s McQuinn, Frank McQuinn, and we intend to take that HUMVEE and go.”
    “Do you see that big gun on the HUMVEE?”
    “Yep, sure do, and no one’s behind it. Run out of ammo?”
    “You don’t want to find out.”
    “Look, man. There’s, what, two or three of you? And one’s a chick. We scouted you earlier at the shopping center. Good moves back there.”
    “Yeah, thanks. I got all my Christmas shopping done in one day.”
    McQuinn chuckled.
    “Just give it up. We don’t want to have to do things the hard way. Right Roscoe?”
    “Goddamn right,” his companion said.
    “Just go away and no one gets hurt,” I said.
    “You said that already.” McQuinn sighed. “Have it your way.”
    He motioned and a couple of guys moved up behind his pickup.
    A shot rang out and the side mirror, right next to the man, exploded. He fell away from the door, hand up to shield his face. He was back on his feet in a split-second and behind the pickup just as fast.
    “Hey, man! I thought we were having a friendly conversation here.” McQuinn yelled as he rubbed his cheek.
    More men moved in toward our position. I counted nine and relayed the information to Joel. He nodded and made some hand gestures of his own in the direction of the hotel. That made me feel better. At least they had a plan of some kind.
    “The next round is through your fucking head. Now turn around and go.”
    Donny stopped hiding and popped up in the gun turret. He yanked back on the release and then fired five rounds at the pickup truck. The sound of the huge machine gun thundering in the mid-morning sent shivers up and down my spine.
    So much for my shitty attempt at diplomacy.
    This was bound to happen. The zombie fucking apocalypse was going to bring out the worst in people; it was inevitable. The same thing would happen during any catastrophe. You’d get your share of people helping out, of course. We saw that when the bombs exploded in Boston. We saw it when tornado after tornado leveled parts of Moore, Oklahoma. A lot of people helped out.
    Then there were the other guys. Those who only gave a shit about themselves or how they could fuck others over. That’s who we were facing now.
    I lifted the shotgun, held it over the top of the fence, and blasted. I wasn’t aiming for anything in particular, since I couldn’t see a damn thing. I just wanted them to know that we were all armed and ready.
    I peeked back through my little hole and saw guys scrambling. They dropped to the ground in shock. Some thought to drag out weapons, but they’d just have a wall to shoot at. Or Donny, and no one seemed interested in taking on the HUMVEE.
    Donny let loose with another short burst. The booming gun scared the shit out of me, and I couldn’t imagine how bad it would be out there, in the path of those huge rounds.
    The lead asshole’s truck took all of the damage. Bullets punched into the hood and steam erupted through the grill.
    Joel Kelly slipped to the gate, took a breath, then popped out and laid down a few rounds. He aimed low and hit a tire. Just like that, he was back behind the wall.
    Donny stopped firing and all was quiet—except for the sounds of glass falling to the ground and guys calling back and forth in fear and confusion.
    McQuinn ran to the choppers. He didn’t even look back.
    “Get the fuck out of here or we’ll kill every one of you!” I yelled.
    He jumped on the back of a motorcycle. The driver spun the bike around and roared off. A second truck backed up and attempted a half-donut that ended with the driver planting the ass of his pickup into a telephone pole. It fell over with a crash and crushed