Free A Very Good Man by P. S. Power Page B

were runners just shambling for fun, he was dead.
  Goody.
  Terror ripped through him, but he didn't stop just because of that.
  He aimed carefully, hands steady as far as that went, and took the first one in the head, missed on the second and had to shoot twice. The next two ran at him, but not that fast, thankfully, he used up four bullets on them, his aim horribly off from the slight swelling of his hands, which was annoying. Not that he'd normally do much better, flailing around in the dark like this. That left two in the clip and two more coming, slowing only a bit when they hit the fallen bodies. Taking the fifth one, smaller than the others, so probably a kid or woman, took two shots.
  Crap.
  That one had been hunched over eating at the time too.
  That meant the last one got to him before he could reload or even get to his backup weapon.
  What saved him then was the noise from the house. That and the stairs. Zombies can take them, but the lack of coordination meant that it takes them time and they basically have to crawl up. A smart one could walk them, but even they didn't take them fast. Jake ran to the right along the wonderful covered porch, trying, fighting really, to stay calm and not wet himself as he got out the forty-five. Which wasn't there. Suddenly he remembered that he'd left it off for dinner, since sitting with it made his butt hurt.
  Brilliant. He was going to die.
  Because of his ass.
  Taking his time, moving in that fast-slow motion that happens when you know you're going to be killed, he tried to reload the nine blind. If he fumbled he'd be dead.
  Or would he?
  Looking around he noticed the porch railing. Ah. With a sudden grin, holding on to the gun in his right hand and the clip in his left, Jake ran to the far right and jumped over the railing of the porch, twisting his ankle as he landed, a sharp ripping sensation running through his groin. It wasn't even high, about a six foot drop. Things like this were always so much easier in video games. He reloaded just as someone poked a head out of the back door. Someone short. Sammi? Whoever it was made only a soft gasping sound.
  “Hey mother fucker, I'm over here!” Jake yelled, trying to attract it away from the girl, praying that there weren't six more coming up from behind. It wasn't backlit now, so he had to guess where it was by the clomping noise it made on the porch. That and the low groaning.
  Whoever it was at the door didn't make another sound, they just pulled back and slammed it firmly. No human sounds at least. The shambler did its thing and came for him then, it took three shots before the noise stopped. That didn't mean dead, just inoperable.
  Possibly.
  Functionally you couldn't kill them at all. He repeated it as a mantra. They'd just get back up if they could. Forget that and you died. Jake waited, just in case he'd only knocked one or two down. It was dark and he could miss. Better to assume he had and be ready than to pretend he had some kind of super-skill with a gun and die for it. Especially now. His right hand ached enough to remind him of the day's work even now, after all the distraction.
  Nothing happened for a minute, then as he sat, crouched and silent, fear and adrenalin still coursing through him, another ten. No one came out either. Whoever had come to the door would have told them about the zombie. That meant it would be safer to wait for daylight now. If it were a human attack they'd have to fight, even in the dark, since humans wouldn't be stopped for long by mere doors or lack of noise. Nothing stirred on the ground, not that could stand at least, so carefully, pain shooting through his right leg, Jake walked around to the steps and then knocked on the door. A complicated “secret” rapping, signally him as an actual person at least. After a minute four raps came back, slowly. Jake copied that pattern, which got the door to open. Before going in he spoke softly.
  “It's Jake.