away. Pain radiated out of my temple, spreading down to my jaw, my teeth, even my neck. “What the hell did you hit me with?”
“Revolver. Your teeth won’t feel loose after a couple of days. Just don’t chew anything hard.” The figures blurred together, then eventually solidified into three people in black staring down at me. “You killed our guard dogs,” the figure nearest me said.
I didn’t feel any new hurts around the rest of my body, but I wasn’t about to try sitting up yet. I’d gone my entire life without a concussion, and now I’d wound up with two in the span of a few months. Viva la endtimes.
“Guard dogs?” I asked. I was pretty sure I hadn’t shot any actual canines.
“Ethel, Ricky, and Lucy,” another figure said. “Your snarky friend took out poor Harold before we got to him.”
“Will you have to kill him in retribution?” I couldn’t keep the note of hope out of my voice.
Tony apparently heard it, too. “You are miss flowers and sunshine when you wake up, aren’t you? I told you not to take them out.”
“No, you told me to do it quietly .”
The people around us laughed, and I groaned and closed my eyes. Just pretend it’s the hangover from hell...you aren’t sitting in an abandoned store guarded by revenants...
Wait. A store guarded by the undead?
My eyes snapped open. “You named your zombies?”
There was more laughter, and the three people backed away to give me some space. Tony crouched down next to me. “I thought this place was too pristine. Guess they keep some shamblers around to scare the locals off.”
“Shit, man, it’s cheap labor,” the one who had chided me said. I figured he was the ringleader. “They’re easy enough to control, and you don’t have to pay them.”
I turned my head carefully in the direction of the speaker. “You can control them?”
My vision hadn’t exactly restored itself, but I could make out a graying beard and old-school green camouflage on the ringleader. “Nah, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re just slow enough to evade, provided we don’t let them corner us. They tend to stick to the back of the store, and when people come in for food…” He shrugged and mimed a jaw snapping with his fist. “Crunch.” He grinned down at me. “Never saw someone take out a goober with booze. That was inventive. Think you should’ve used rotgut, though, not the good stuff.”
Goober ? I liked that nickname. It made them seem less like flesh-eating monsters and more like unfortunate bodily excretions.
I sat up gingerly, trying to ignore what felt like a hot brick in my head. I’m sure people have taken worse hits in the long history of violence, but there’s really nothing like your first pistol-whipping. “You couldn’t just tell me you liked how I handled them?” I asked.
“You took out our guards,” one of his companions said. They all had some form of spiderweb tattoo along their hands or necks; some kind of gang sign, maybe? Holy crap, had we found an actual biker gang?
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't know.”
And now I was apologizing for killing some zombies. What the hell?
The youngest of the three scowled at me. “Now we’ll have to get new ones. They clump together, y’know. Hard to just find them wandering alone.”
“They’re social creatures,” Tony said. “It’s very charming. Now are you going to boil us alive or what?”
“Tony, don’t be a dick.”
“Hey!” Dax’s voice sounded muffled. “Can I come in? Or are you still working out your differences?”
Tony scratched the back of his neck. “Can the Boy Scout come in?”
Graybeard nodded, and his companions hauled the doors open. Dax and Evie strolled in, the former hauling his backpack, the latter licking her chops.
Dax stopped and gaped at me. “What the hell’d you do to her? You said she just needed to use the bathroom!”
I figured that meant I looked pretty bad. Even Evie
“Revolver. Your teeth won’t feel loose after a couple of days. Just don’t chew anything hard.” The figures blurred together, then eventually solidified into three people in black staring down at me. “You killed our guard dogs,” the figure nearest me said.
I didn’t feel any new hurts around the rest of my body, but I wasn’t about to try sitting up yet. I’d gone my entire life without a concussion, and now I’d wound up with two in the span of a few months. Viva la endtimes.
“Guard dogs?” I asked. I was pretty sure I hadn’t shot any actual canines.
“Ethel, Ricky, and Lucy,” another figure said. “Your snarky friend took out poor Harold before we got to him.”
“Will you have to kill him in retribution?” I couldn’t keep the note of hope out of my voice.
Tony apparently heard it, too. “You are miss flowers and sunshine when you wake up, aren’t you? I told you not to take them out.”
“No, you told me to do it quietly .”
The people around us laughed, and I groaned and closed my eyes. Just pretend it’s the hangover from hell...you aren’t sitting in an abandoned store guarded by revenants...
Wait. A store guarded by the undead?
My eyes snapped open. “You named your zombies?”
There was more laughter, and the three people backed away to give me some space. Tony crouched down next to me. “I thought this place was too pristine. Guess they keep some shamblers around to scare the locals off.”
“Shit, man, it’s cheap labor,” the one who had chided me said. I figured he was the ringleader. “They’re easy enough to control, and you don’t have to pay them.”
I turned my head carefully in the direction of the speaker. “You can control them?”
My vision hadn’t exactly restored itself, but I could make out a graying beard and old-school green camouflage on the ringleader. “Nah, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re just slow enough to evade, provided we don’t let them corner us. They tend to stick to the back of the store, and when people come in for food…” He shrugged and mimed a jaw snapping with his fist. “Crunch.” He grinned down at me. “Never saw someone take out a goober with booze. That was inventive. Think you should’ve used rotgut, though, not the good stuff.”
Goober ? I liked that nickname. It made them seem less like flesh-eating monsters and more like unfortunate bodily excretions.
I sat up gingerly, trying to ignore what felt like a hot brick in my head. I’m sure people have taken worse hits in the long history of violence, but there’s really nothing like your first pistol-whipping. “You couldn’t just tell me you liked how I handled them?” I asked.
“You took out our guards,” one of his companions said. They all had some form of spiderweb tattoo along their hands or necks; some kind of gang sign, maybe? Holy crap, had we found an actual biker gang?
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't know.”
And now I was apologizing for killing some zombies. What the hell?
The youngest of the three scowled at me. “Now we’ll have to get new ones. They clump together, y’know. Hard to just find them wandering alone.”
“They’re social creatures,” Tony said. “It’s very charming. Now are you going to boil us alive or what?”
“Tony, don’t be a dick.”
“Hey!” Dax’s voice sounded muffled. “Can I come in? Or are you still working out your differences?”
Tony scratched the back of his neck. “Can the Boy Scout come in?”
Graybeard nodded, and his companions hauled the doors open. Dax and Evie strolled in, the former hauling his backpack, the latter licking her chops.
Dax stopped and gaped at me. “What the hell’d you do to her? You said she just needed to use the bathroom!”
I figured that meant I looked pretty bad. Even Evie
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