Free Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville by Matt Di Spirito Page A

getting out of here.  At least two of those trees are close enough to hit the cabin.  If a bolt strikes them or hits close to them, we could be in serious shit."
    "You think so?  They've been on the way out for a couple years, Joe."
    "Yeah but the trees are probably weaker now than a couple of years ago.  Not to mention we got a badass storm right over us and a couple trillion zombies looking for a way in."  Joey paced the parlor, stopping by the fireplace.  "I'm going to load up the truck.  Can you cover me from the attic window?"
    "Of course, Joe."  Hank shouldered his shotgun as Joey started carrying the supplies into the attic.  He piled everything next to the window.
    "Ready, Pop?" 
    Hank nodded, shotgun nestled against his right shoulder.  Joey threw open the window and started sliding the supplies down the shingles.  He slid down behind the goods, pushing them into Bad Betty's bed.  Rain poured down, drenching his hair and shirt. 
    A flash erupted, blinding Joey and Hank.  The bolt struck a healthy pine thirty yards from the side of the house.  Thunder rippled through the cabin, cracking several windows. 
    Joey rubbed his eyes; white spots bubbled and floated in his vision. 
    "Joe!"  Hank's voice cut through the rain--the old dad voice, capable of reaching miles when required.  Joey looked up at the window: Hank was pointing to the trees.  The pine that was struck hissed and smoked, flames licking up the bark and popping the needles and cones in firework colors. 
    The tree snapped and wavered back, angling away from the cabin.  Joey tied down the trunks and bags, then clambered up the roof to the window. 
    Another wooden snap resounded through the beating rain: the tree collapsed downward, splintering under its own weight, and shifted directions, falling towards the cabin.
    It bounced off younger trees and collided with the rotted oak.  The ailing old oak held up, but the pine rebounded from the impact and came down on the corner of the cabin. 
    Shingles catapulted upward as the roof buckled; beams and supports crackled and snapped; and the double-sized window in the kitchen shattered.  Driving into the wall, the fallen pine came to rest on the foundation.  It had torn through the roof, wall, and window, opening a four-foot wide gap in the kitchen.
    "Toss me the last two bags, Pop!"  Joey waved, pointing at the black ammo bag and a bulging military duffel bag. 
    Hank leaned his shotgun against the wall and grabbed both bags, one in each hand.  Grunting with the effort, Hank tossed them onto the shingle roof.  Joey caught them in mid-slide and transferred both to the truck.  He tied them down and scampered up the roof to get Hank.
    Zombies poured into the cabin, howling and rampaging through the rooms and up the stairs. 
    Hank slammed the door shut and dragged a cabinet over to barricade it.  He lowered a shoulder and pushed.  The door slammed into the cabinet, shoving it--and Hank--back a foot.  There were too many undead piling up behind the door.
    Joey dove into the attic as the door crashed open and the cabinet was flung aside.  Dozens of zombies stampeded at Hank and Joey, snapping their jaws and clawing with bloodied hands.
    "Pop!" Joey grabbed Hank's collar and yanked him back.  Hank tripped and lost his balance, falling on his ass near the window.  Joey drew his Glock and opened fire.
    BANG! BA-BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
    He let loose, not even really aiming, and emptied a clip into the moaning mob. 
    "Pop, toss me my shotgun!  On the floor to your left!"
    Hank leaned over, grabbed Zeus, and tossed it to Joey.  Joey snagged it in from the air and turned on the zombies--they were almost within arm's reach.
    KA-BOOM! BA-BOOM! BOOM! BOOM-BA-BOOM!
    Zeus lit up the attic, mowing down the zombies with 00-buck ferocity.  The autoloader pumped all ten shots into the gibbering creatures with astounding effect.  Bodies blocked the doorway and landing, but more were coming up the