ZOMBIES: "Chronicles of the Dead": A Zombie Novel by Will Lemen Page B
Authors: Will Lemen
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seemingly panicked flailing, some of them were actually making their way closer to the Morphadite.
As we floated under the middle of the bridge, the zombies that were still jumping into the water had no chance of getting to us. Our main concern now were the zombies that were already beside the boat, and the ones still on the bridge that may leap into our boat, or maybe even onto us when we pass under the other side.
"Shoot that one!" I yelled, pointing to a zombie that was close enough to us that we could hear its fingernails scraping the side of the boat.
Those words had hardly left my mouth when Jacob, being the closest one to the zombie, spun around quickly and with one smooth fluid motion, pulled his 9mm pistol from his side holster, leveled the gun at his hip, and fired two shots into the zombie's face, effectively extinguishing the seemingly artificial life from the hungry brute.
"Nice shooting son," I said, as I turned the ignition key and started the boat's motor.
Slamming the throttle forward, the bow of the boat lifted as the boat lurched forward, almost knocking Jacob and Billy off their feet. They both sat down quickly as we began to pick up speed.
Zombies were now dropping off the far side of the bridge in large numbers, apparently unable to see through the night's veil of darkness that we were no longer below them, and unaware that their fall would ultimately land them in the middle of millions of gallons of the liquid that they feared and despised. Or, maybe their diseased brains were making them act like lemmings, and they were just following the zombie in front of them off the side of the bridge, ignorant of their final destination.
Whatever the reason for their leaps of faith, they were dropping like proverbial flies off that bridge with no chance of landing on their prey.
I turned the boat to the left, and headed toward the riverbank several yards away at a rate of speed that was somewhat unsettling to my wife.
"What are you doing?" Gin screamed.
"I'm going to turn around," I yelled back at her.
"Turn around, are you crazy?" Billy snapped, looking back at all of the zombies thrashing in the water and still jumping off the bridge.
Once more, I turned the boat to the left and we began to go back up stream toward the relentless pack of hungry zombies treading water and doing belly flops from a height that would put an Olympic diver to shame.
"Everybody hold on, we might hit some eaters," I shouted, as I again turned the boat to the left.
"One more turn, and we'll get out from under this bridge," I said, as the boat now roared close to its top speed.
Making one last left turn, a zombie's head bounced off the deep V-keel of the Morphadite, cutting a large gash into its skull and killing it instantly.
"I hope that eater's head didn't damage the boat," Gin shouted over the roar of our boat motor.
"That's doubtful, we split its skull like a ripe watermelon hitting a brick wall," I shouted back.
Looking back and seeing chunks of that zombie's blood gushing brain floating in the choppy river water.
"Kind of looks like pieces of a watermelon too," Jacob said, seemingly unaffected by our ongoing harrowing experience.
Now at top speed, our small craft hydroplaned atop the choppy waters induced by the floundering and flailing of the undead in the river, along with the splashes of their high diving cohorts.
Closing fast on the intermittent curtain of zombies now dropping from the backside of the bridge, I yelled. "Everyone get down as low as you can."
As our small boat breached the curtain of the undead, one of the falling zombies hit the point of the bow about half way down its chest and was ripped apart, spraying a fine mist of blood onto the windshield of the boat, along with one lung, and a body part that was unrecognizable after impact.
A second zombie hit face first on the top and back of the boat's outboard power plant, embedding its top row of brownish-yellow teeth into the hard plastic cover
As we floated under the middle of the bridge, the zombies that were still jumping into the water had no chance of getting to us. Our main concern now were the zombies that were already beside the boat, and the ones still on the bridge that may leap into our boat, or maybe even onto us when we pass under the other side.
"Shoot that one!" I yelled, pointing to a zombie that was close enough to us that we could hear its fingernails scraping the side of the boat.
Those words had hardly left my mouth when Jacob, being the closest one to the zombie, spun around quickly and with one smooth fluid motion, pulled his 9mm pistol from his side holster, leveled the gun at his hip, and fired two shots into the zombie's face, effectively extinguishing the seemingly artificial life from the hungry brute.
"Nice shooting son," I said, as I turned the ignition key and started the boat's motor.
Slamming the throttle forward, the bow of the boat lifted as the boat lurched forward, almost knocking Jacob and Billy off their feet. They both sat down quickly as we began to pick up speed.
Zombies were now dropping off the far side of the bridge in large numbers, apparently unable to see through the night's veil of darkness that we were no longer below them, and unaware that their fall would ultimately land them in the middle of millions of gallons of the liquid that they feared and despised. Or, maybe their diseased brains were making them act like lemmings, and they were just following the zombie in front of them off the side of the bridge, ignorant of their final destination.
Whatever the reason for their leaps of faith, they were dropping like proverbial flies off that bridge with no chance of landing on their prey.
I turned the boat to the left, and headed toward the riverbank several yards away at a rate of speed that was somewhat unsettling to my wife.
"What are you doing?" Gin screamed.
"I'm going to turn around," I yelled back at her.
"Turn around, are you crazy?" Billy snapped, looking back at all of the zombies thrashing in the water and still jumping off the bridge.
Once more, I turned the boat to the left and we began to go back up stream toward the relentless pack of hungry zombies treading water and doing belly flops from a height that would put an Olympic diver to shame.
"Everybody hold on, we might hit some eaters," I shouted, as I again turned the boat to the left.
"One more turn, and we'll get out from under this bridge," I said, as the boat now roared close to its top speed.
Making one last left turn, a zombie's head bounced off the deep V-keel of the Morphadite, cutting a large gash into its skull and killing it instantly.
"I hope that eater's head didn't damage the boat," Gin shouted over the roar of our boat motor.
"That's doubtful, we split its skull like a ripe watermelon hitting a brick wall," I shouted back.
Looking back and seeing chunks of that zombie's blood gushing brain floating in the choppy river water.
"Kind of looks like pieces of a watermelon too," Jacob said, seemingly unaffected by our ongoing harrowing experience.
Now at top speed, our small craft hydroplaned atop the choppy waters induced by the floundering and flailing of the undead in the river, along with the splashes of their high diving cohorts.
Closing fast on the intermittent curtain of zombies now dropping from the backside of the bridge, I yelled. "Everyone get down as low as you can."
As our small boat breached the curtain of the undead, one of the falling zombies hit the point of the bow about half way down its chest and was ripped apart, spraying a fine mist of blood onto the windshield of the boat, along with one lung, and a body part that was unrecognizable after impact.
A second zombie hit face first on the top and back of the boat's outboard power plant, embedding its top row of brownish-yellow teeth into the hard plastic cover
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