J. Knoll - Zoe, Undead

Sergeant Morris summoned over her radio, "Hey, Princess."

She absently raised the radio to her mouth, her gaze fixed on the motor home as she answered, "Yes, Sir?"

"Where you be?" he asked.

"I'm outside on the other side of the mall," she replied. "It's weird quiet out here."

"Did you finish your sweep of the inside?" he asked."

"No sir," she answered. "There's one of those R.V.'s out here with the windows boarded up and it's parked right at the curb. That's a fire zone."

"Sure is," he confirmed. "Stay put and keep an eye on it. I'm going to come down and we can have a look."

"Okay," she complied. As she waited and watched the motor home, it rocked ever so slightly as if someone had walked from one side of it to the other. The slit in the plywood that covered the back window had a shadow fall over it and she felt that creeping in her stomach. Someone was looking at her from in there and she found her grip on the gun tightening. Swallowing hard, she walked toward it a few steps, stopping when she was about twenty feet away.

Something growled near the building and she looked that way. The landscaping was a little neglected and the shrubs and bushes were starting to grow out of their manicured forms. Her eyes panned back and forth, then her spine went rigid as something in there growled again. Turning fully toward the landscaping, which was only a few feet from the brick veneered wall of the mall, she approached a couple of steps, holding her revolver ready as she scanned the bushes for whatever was in there. With the gun in her hand, she felt like she had an advantage over anything that would try to get her, but a little fear still crept into her, and that nervous crawl began in her stomach again.

When the breeze shifted, she got a whiff of that familiar carrion odor, then a breath shrieked into her as one of the shrubs moved.

Something shuffled in the dead leaves and twigs behind the shrubs.

Zoe backed away, her wide eyes searching for the terror that she felt was stalking her.

It exploded from the bushes with an animalistic roar and sprang at her with speed that she did not expect and a ferocity that was worthy of her nightmares. Dressed in a tattered red tee shirt and black running shorts, its black hair was a ratty mess, its hands dirty and its skin a lighter gray than the others. Its eyes were black pools surrounded by a little white and its teeth were stained black and brown and yellow. Something dark stained its shirt, something that could only be blood and it moved too fast for Zoe to react.

She backpedaled and raised her weapon, only managing two shots before it was upon her. Both bullets hit it in the chest and did not even slow it.

It knocked her hand aside and the gun from her grip as its other hand found the nape of her neck and clamped on with the grip of a hawk.

Zoe screamed as they fell, pushing back against its chest as it bore down on her, its teeth snapping at her face and throat. Its breath stank of death and growls and snarls erupted from it as it pressed her to the concrete, pressed its attack on her. One of her legs was pinned beneath one of the zombie's and she kicked at it with the other. It tried to lift her toward it with the grip it had around her neck, but she had it at bay, though barely. Its other hand clawed at her, catching her shirt at the neckline and it tore her new shirt away from her neck and shoulder.

Another scream exploded from her as she fought back as best she could, trying in vain to push it off of her. She knew she was no match for it and found herself starting to cry, and finally she screamed, "Help! Please help me!"

It got its hand and arm around her back, the other around her neck, and slowly she began to lose the battle to push it away.

"Hey!" an unfamiliar man's voice shouted from the motor home.

The zombie stopped its attack and looked that way, its lips sliding away from its teeth as it found a new target.

Zoe also looked, seeing a young man dressed in jungle camouflage, combat boots and a camouflage hat with a white skull and crossbones in the middle of it. He walked on big black combat boots and finally stopped about ten feet away from them. In his hands was a huge shotgun with black pistol grips front and back, a flashlight mounted beneath the barrel. The butt stock was black metal and folded over the receiver. Tearing her eyes away from his weapon, she saw in his face an intensity that she had seen on the faces of the soldiers. He was clean shaven, rather young and had long black hair and rather dark eyebrows. Icy blue eyes bored into the zombie and that dark brow was held low over his eyes.

Stopping only seven or eight feet away, he glared away at the zombie and snarled, "You just get off that girl and do it now." His accent was something she had heard in the movies, someone who lived in the country in the South, and it reminded her a little of how Tex spoke, and his voice was rather young.

The zombie quickly lost interest in Zoe and stood from her, crouching down as he squared off against this new target.

"Good boy," the young man drawled. He backed away a few steps, and predictably the zombie followed step for step. Without looking at her, the young man ordered, "Miss, I need you to move out of the way now and give me a clean shot."

Still on her back, Zoe clumsily scrambled away, off the curb and into the road.

The zombie held his arms out, swung his mouth open and roared a horrible, gurgling roar. The young man responded with his shotgun, firing his first shot right into the zombie's chest. Staggering back a couple of steps, the zombie recovered quickly and charged, only to be shot in the chest again, sending him backward again.

"The head!" Zoe shouted.

Chambering another round as he watched the zombie recover again, the young man barked back, "I know what I'm doing." He fired another round into the zombie's chest and advanced as it staggered backward again.

Zoe huffed a breath and looked around her, finding her revolver a few feet away. Turning herself over, she reached for it and had it in her hand as she rose up on her knees and turned toward the zombie as the young man shot it again. Holding the revolver with both hands, she took careful aim and fired, hitting the zombie right in the temple, and it fell forward and slammed flat onto the concrete.

Turning her eyes to the young man, she raised her brow and repeated, "In the head."

He glared back at her and crooked his jaw.

The motor home door slammed shut and another man strode toward them. He was also dressed in jungle camouflage and combat boots and brandishing a longer shotgun with a wooden stock and grip, and it also had a flashlight mounted on it. He walked with a limp, had a long black and silver beard and bushy black eyebrows. He was also rather plump and had rough looking features beneath the brim of his tattered leather cowboy hat.

With his eyes on the fallen zombie, he stopped beside the young man and shook his head, saying in a southern drawl and a gravelly voice, "Fourth one of those mad-dogs we've come across. Just keep your eyes open for more, boy." His eyes shifted to Zoe as she stood and he took the brim of his hat and greeted, "Ma'am." Looking her up and down, his eyes narrowed and he raised his chin. "Hang on a second."

"She shot it in the head," the young man informed.

Training his shotgun on her, the fat fellow added, "She's also a zombie, boy!"

Zoe raised her palms to them and cried, "Wait! Don't shoot me!"

The young man took the barrel of the older fellow's shotgun and forced the muzzle down. "Zombie's don't talk, Pop, and they don't shoot other zombies."

Pulling his shotgun from the younger man's grip, the larger one trained his weapon on her again as he corrected, "You'd better take a hard look at that one. I know a zombie when I see one."