MZS: Boston: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella by K. D. McAdams Page B
Authors: K. D. McAdams
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dehydrated and hung-over I am. I need determination, Grit and Balls, if I’m going to get my shirt back.
She’s not that far ahead of me but I’m struggling to keep up , let alone close ground. I hear the door open and realize I have no way to guess which direction she is going to turn. My heart rate quickens and I’ll probably puke as soon as I hit the street.
The sun assaults my sensitive eyes before the door even closes behind me. Whatever liquid I have in my stomach rises quickly and burst s out of my mouth all over the front stoop. At least I won’t have to clean that up.
I squint to the left and see nothing. Squinting to the right I can see the 77 on the back of my shirt; it’s almost at the cross street.
“Wait. I made one mistake , let’s work this out!” I holler after her.
She turns, puts her hands on her hips and throws her head back.
“Zoe,” she yells back at me. “My name is Zoe. Next time you can’t remember who you fucked, maybe you can at least be creative in guessing her name.”
“What’s my name?” I wish I had thought of this inside.
It’s oddly quiet on the street. On a sunny September Saturday afternoon, Beacon Street should be busy. There are no cars and no people, except for this girl who hates me.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” Zoe yells back.
“Hah! You don’t know it, do you? You weren’t looking for coffee. You were looking for my wallet or some mail so you could figure out my name. You’re pissed off ‘cause you’re just like me!” I can’t help but chuckle a little. It looks like my shirt will be safe soon enough.
“Patrick. But your stupid friends call you Pat-O. Do you want me to tell you your middle and last names , too?”
Fuck. She gets better and better the more she hates on me.
The wave of bodies crashes into her in a blur. They aren’t running or walking, they just seem to be flowing, and they don’t stop. Body after body streams out of the alley like no crowd I’ve ever seen before.
Zoe’s body is lifted up on top of the crowd. I can hear her screams but I can’t move . What would I do anyway?
A broad arc of crimson sprays across the blue sky. Her face is suddenly covered in blood. I can see bright patches of red d otting the black and gold of her clothes. They’re ruining my shirt.
“Heeeellllpppp me!” Zoe shrieks.
I watch in horror as her arm is torn from her body and held up in the air. The detached limb is brought down into the crowd and I see greedy mouths attack the flesh.
When Zoe stops making noises , I realize that she must be dead. These people attacked her and ate her alive. I am too shocked and stunned to even take out my phone and dial 911.
A fresh round of vomit rises up and sprays out of my mouth. The retching is loud and I cough violently.
As the water clears from my eyes, I can see that the hungry crowd has noticed me. The bare arm bone that was a part of Zoe’s body a few seconds ago is tossed to the side. A piece of tendon or sinew trails off of it like a wet noodle.
In the same instance that the crowd surges toward me , I turn back toward my building. Obscene amounts of adrenaline propel my body up three steps. The pool of vomit I left earlier is a skating rink, causing me to slip and bang my elbow hard on the concrete.
The angry mob is only yards away when I get back on my feet. My key goes into the lock smoothly and I am in the door just as they get to the foot of the stairs.
I saw them kill someone; they won’t let me live.
My best bet is to get back to my apartment. There is no way they can figure out which one is mine , and I can call the cops anonymously. I’ll say I saw it from my window.
Speeding up the first two stories gets me away from the killers. I don’t hear the glass break or the door open so I may be safer than I thought. On the third floor landing I slow to a walk.
By the time I reach my fifth-floor apartment, I am determined to take a shower and then get drunk. Growing up
She’s not that far ahead of me but I’m struggling to keep up , let alone close ground. I hear the door open and realize I have no way to guess which direction she is going to turn. My heart rate quickens and I’ll probably puke as soon as I hit the street.
The sun assaults my sensitive eyes before the door even closes behind me. Whatever liquid I have in my stomach rises quickly and burst s out of my mouth all over the front stoop. At least I won’t have to clean that up.
I squint to the left and see nothing. Squinting to the right I can see the 77 on the back of my shirt; it’s almost at the cross street.
“Wait. I made one mistake , let’s work this out!” I holler after her.
She turns, puts her hands on her hips and throws her head back.
“Zoe,” she yells back at me. “My name is Zoe. Next time you can’t remember who you fucked, maybe you can at least be creative in guessing her name.”
“What’s my name?” I wish I had thought of this inside.
It’s oddly quiet on the street. On a sunny September Saturday afternoon, Beacon Street should be busy. There are no cars and no people, except for this girl who hates me.
“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” Zoe yells back.
“Hah! You don’t know it, do you? You weren’t looking for coffee. You were looking for my wallet or some mail so you could figure out my name. You’re pissed off ‘cause you’re just like me!” I can’t help but chuckle a little. It looks like my shirt will be safe soon enough.
“Patrick. But your stupid friends call you Pat-O. Do you want me to tell you your middle and last names , too?”
Fuck. She gets better and better the more she hates on me.
The wave of bodies crashes into her in a blur. They aren’t running or walking, they just seem to be flowing, and they don’t stop. Body after body streams out of the alley like no crowd I’ve ever seen before.
Zoe’s body is lifted up on top of the crowd. I can hear her screams but I can’t move . What would I do anyway?
A broad arc of crimson sprays across the blue sky. Her face is suddenly covered in blood. I can see bright patches of red d otting the black and gold of her clothes. They’re ruining my shirt.
“Heeeellllpppp me!” Zoe shrieks.
I watch in horror as her arm is torn from her body and held up in the air. The detached limb is brought down into the crowd and I see greedy mouths attack the flesh.
When Zoe stops making noises , I realize that she must be dead. These people attacked her and ate her alive. I am too shocked and stunned to even take out my phone and dial 911.
A fresh round of vomit rises up and sprays out of my mouth. The retching is loud and I cough violently.
As the water clears from my eyes, I can see that the hungry crowd has noticed me. The bare arm bone that was a part of Zoe’s body a few seconds ago is tossed to the side. A piece of tendon or sinew trails off of it like a wet noodle.
In the same instance that the crowd surges toward me , I turn back toward my building. Obscene amounts of adrenaline propel my body up three steps. The pool of vomit I left earlier is a skating rink, causing me to slip and bang my elbow hard on the concrete.
The angry mob is only yards away when I get back on my feet. My key goes into the lock smoothly and I am in the door just as they get to the foot of the stairs.
I saw them kill someone; they won’t let me live.
My best bet is to get back to my apartment. There is no way they can figure out which one is mine , and I can call the cops anonymously. I’ll say I saw it from my window.
Speeding up the first two stories gets me away from the killers. I don’t hear the glass break or the door open so I may be safer than I thought. On the third floor landing I slow to a walk.
By the time I reach my fifth-floor apartment, I am determined to take a shower and then get drunk. Growing up
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