MZS: D. C. (Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Book 4) by K. D. McAdams Page A
Authors: K. D. McAdams
Ads: Link
fortress.
Based on my foggy recollection of something about D.C., I thought I was supporting Cupcake and his decision to go. Instead it turns out I was the only one in favor of going. My basically false contention that it was “on the way” to wherever the hell we were going miraculously won the argument. Now I’m stuck.
Today marks the fourth day of the zombie apocalypse. While I’ve never really thought through a timeline, I kind of expected the tide to be turning. Services like radio and television should have been restored.
People who heeded the warnings and hid during the initial onslaught of death should be coming out of their holes. It’s not just the American way to fight back—it’s human nature that prevents us from sticking our head in the sand for any extended period of time.
How long does it take for an intellectually superior force to assert its dominance over a larger foe? My experience with the undead shows them to be anything but intelligent. Relentless and overwhelming yes, but in the end they are dumb.
Dumb, but focused. They want to eat and nothing will stand in their way. No pain, no emotion, and no way to be sated. How do you feed something that will never get full?
That hunger is what allowed us to escape from the hotel this morning. The gruesome task of hefting Jaden’s body over the edge of the hotel and dropping it down to the pavement fell to me. The smell and then the sound of a body hitting pavement from eleven stories up attracted the undead horde that had been loosely milling about the Humvee.
Parker, Todd, Cupcake, and McLean cleared the stairwell of zombies and waited for the horde to disburse. By the time I got down the stairs, they were all loaded into the Humvee and Tucker was manning his spot in the turret. Thankfully he didn’t need to expend any ammunition to secure my jaunt to the rig.
Cupcake seemed secretly glad not to be in the driver’s seat anymore. It could be that I am projecting my own opinions onto him, though. One thing is certain: he didn’t realize what it would be like to sit in the back.
“Do you think it’s safe to crack the window? It’s an oven back here,” he says. He has been trying to get comfortable for well over an hour.
I suspect he will finally settle in just as we arrive at the Capitol building.
It feels a little cliché to go to the Capitol in search of survivors. I love the United States, but I have no illusions that our country is too powerful or too benevolent to fall apart.
“You want to talk about the temperature but we can’t debate the plan?” Terri whines. “Going to D.C. is stupid. It is not on the way to Mexico.”
“I don’t know how things work in online communities, but in the real world if you are passed-out drunk when we need to decide what to do, you don’t get a say,” I say, to try and shut her up.
Spending the night alone in the Humvee surrounded by zombies must have been frightening. It doesn’t surprise me that the whole rig smells faintly of piss. Still, I’m not going to forgive her for being blackout drunk while the rest of us were in a battle for our lives.
“Well it’s been a while since I used the hard stuff to get the job done and it just got away from me a bit. What I did yesterday should have no impact on what’s a bad idea today,” Terri says. She’s almost pleading.
If she needed to get obliterated during the day, I wonder what she used to get through the night? I have some vague memories of her texting with Tucker but the conversation was tactical: food, water, comfort.
“Our logic is sound,” I insist, keeping my rational simple. “If D.C. is below the line of quarantine, that’s where we need to get to. After we’re safe, we can adjust our plans, if needed.”
“We could have gotten south of the supposed quarantine line without having to deal with Baltimore and Washington D-period-fucking-C-period,” Terri insists. “It’s a bad idea and I have been against it since you
Based on my foggy recollection of something about D.C., I thought I was supporting Cupcake and his decision to go. Instead it turns out I was the only one in favor of going. My basically false contention that it was “on the way” to wherever the hell we were going miraculously won the argument. Now I’m stuck.
Today marks the fourth day of the zombie apocalypse. While I’ve never really thought through a timeline, I kind of expected the tide to be turning. Services like radio and television should have been restored.
People who heeded the warnings and hid during the initial onslaught of death should be coming out of their holes. It’s not just the American way to fight back—it’s human nature that prevents us from sticking our head in the sand for any extended period of time.
How long does it take for an intellectually superior force to assert its dominance over a larger foe? My experience with the undead shows them to be anything but intelligent. Relentless and overwhelming yes, but in the end they are dumb.
Dumb, but focused. They want to eat and nothing will stand in their way. No pain, no emotion, and no way to be sated. How do you feed something that will never get full?
That hunger is what allowed us to escape from the hotel this morning. The gruesome task of hefting Jaden’s body over the edge of the hotel and dropping it down to the pavement fell to me. The smell and then the sound of a body hitting pavement from eleven stories up attracted the undead horde that had been loosely milling about the Humvee.
Parker, Todd, Cupcake, and McLean cleared the stairwell of zombies and waited for the horde to disburse. By the time I got down the stairs, they were all loaded into the Humvee and Tucker was manning his spot in the turret. Thankfully he didn’t need to expend any ammunition to secure my jaunt to the rig.
Cupcake seemed secretly glad not to be in the driver’s seat anymore. It could be that I am projecting my own opinions onto him, though. One thing is certain: he didn’t realize what it would be like to sit in the back.
“Do you think it’s safe to crack the window? It’s an oven back here,” he says. He has been trying to get comfortable for well over an hour.
I suspect he will finally settle in just as we arrive at the Capitol building.
It feels a little cliché to go to the Capitol in search of survivors. I love the United States, but I have no illusions that our country is too powerful or too benevolent to fall apart.
“You want to talk about the temperature but we can’t debate the plan?” Terri whines. “Going to D.C. is stupid. It is not on the way to Mexico.”
“I don’t know how things work in online communities, but in the real world if you are passed-out drunk when we need to decide what to do, you don’t get a say,” I say, to try and shut her up.
Spending the night alone in the Humvee surrounded by zombies must have been frightening. It doesn’t surprise me that the whole rig smells faintly of piss. Still, I’m not going to forgive her for being blackout drunk while the rest of us were in a battle for our lives.
“Well it’s been a while since I used the hard stuff to get the job done and it just got away from me a bit. What I did yesterday should have no impact on what’s a bad idea today,” Terri says. She’s almost pleading.
If she needed to get obliterated during the day, I wonder what she used to get through the night? I have some vague memories of her texting with Tucker but the conversation was tactical: food, water, comfort.
“Our logic is sound,” I insist, keeping my rational simple. “If D.C. is below the line of quarantine, that’s where we need to get to. After we’re safe, we can adjust our plans, if needed.”
“We could have gotten south of the supposed quarantine line without having to deal with Baltimore and Washington D-period-fucking-C-period,” Terri insists. “It’s a bad idea and I have been against it since you
Similar Books
