Last Stand on Zombie Island by Christopher L. Eger Page B

nothing but unlocked self-driven carnal desire. The ultimate psychopaths. They killed, raped, maimed, and ate every living thing they could get their hands on. They were relentless dead flesh with occasional synaptic flash to kill, to break, to fuck, to burn.
    In short, they are the anti-human. They are everything that had ever been thought of to be human— but in reverse.
    “Next thing you know they’ll wind up making a movie out of this,” said Durham.
    “I want Charlie Sheen to play me in the movie,” Spud yelled from his chair propped next to the Community Center door. The heavy metal chair had actually saved his life during the massacre in the town green. He had fallen on his back and used the chair as a shield to keep the infected attackers off him.
    “You know, Spud, you may very well be the last living inmate in the Gulf Shores jail right now,” Durham said over his shoulder.
    “And I’m still suing the piss out of all of you!” Spud yelled.
    “Get in line. The only line I have longer than people trying to kill me lately is people trying to sue me,” Durham said.
    “So can I at least get unlocked from this damned chair?” Spud whined.
    “I’ll see what I can do, Spud, just sit tight,” Durham said and laughed.
    Stone gestured at the police department, “Isn’t that the police chief over there by the wall? The one with the shotgun lying next to him?”
    “Yes, that’s him. Dead as a doornail. And the deputy chief is inside the station with his throat ripped out,” Durham said.
    “So who does that leave next in the chain of command for the department, Sergeant? You?” asked Stone.
    “Not me, I’m just the senior guy that they can reach,” Durham said.
    A small Nissan pickup truck careened down the road in front of the Community Center and came to a halt about five feet from the group. A brick-shaped older man in his fifties with the illusion of close-cropped hair on the sides of his head stepped out. He wore the same camouflaged uniform as the Captain with the exception of a set of six black sergeant stripes, three up, and three down with a black diamond in the center on his chest rank tab.
    “Glad of you to finally join us, Top,” Stone said to the newly arrived older man who walked up to the group in two smooth strides before putting on his camouflaged cap and saluting.
    “Decided to stop for coffee and pie, sir,” the newly arrived soldier stated. His voice had the quality of gravel ground in an industrial blender full of sand. He ran his words together in some sort of mashed grumble as if he was projecting his voice through clenched teeth.
    “This here is First Sergeant Reid, the Road Dog’s senior NCO. Top, this is Sergeant Durham of what’s left of the Gulf Shores PD and Mr. Harris, a local firefighter turned fisherman and recent gunslinger.”
    Everyone nodded at one another.
    “How is Daphne, Top?” Stone asked.
    “It’s a madhouse; crowds of people trying to get out of Mobile coming in from the west, crowds of people leaving Pensacola coming in from the east. I loaded Jenny in the truck as soon as I could get away from the prison and left this morning for here. It took me the past six hours to get the 40-miles down 59 to here. I just dropped her at the armory and they said you were here, so now I am too, sir.”
    “We are glad to have you, Top. As you can see it’s gone a little pear-shaped around here,” Stone said.
    “What’s the plan, sir?” Reid asked. A good two-inch wad of tobacco snuff was plugged in his bottom lip like worm dirt. Billy noticed that he had not seen the man spit yet.
    “Did you see any infected along the highway from Daphne to here?” Stone asked.
    “Yes, sir, we had to divert around them. Seen some pretty fucked up stuff but just kept driving. Didn’t look like anything I could handle myself, especially with Jenny in the car. We’re in for a world of hurt when and if they decide to come down the highway.”
    “That’s what I was afraid