Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus by Simpson, A. (e ink manga reader .txt) 📗

desert to the west, the ocean to the east. He’s had months to clear out the place, it’s probably mostly zombie free and more won’t be coming. The nearest town of any size is a good hundred and fifty miles away.”

“All right,” Griz said, stroking his beard. “How we gonna kill that many people? You got a plan?”

“Yeah,” Gunny said. “I got a plan. Head of the snake, I think. The rest should scatter.”

12

Jessie

The first known outpost on his list was some four hundred miles north-west from the Hutterites, up in Colorado. It was cold at night, but with Bob snuggled up next to him, the back seat of the car was warm enough. He’d gotten used to the taste of coffee, actually liked it now, and was brewing up a cup in the early morning haze somewhere outside of Medicine Lodge, Kansas. He could see a herd of cattle grazing on the tall prairie grass across the street from the driveway he’d parked in last night. He’d have to remember to pull some of the fences down, let them run free before he took off. The little single burner camp stove was sitting on a bracket he’d welded onto the brush guard, especially for that purpose. No use cooking in the dirt if he didn’t have to. Bob was off sniffing after rabbits or whistle pigs or something, occasionally woofing or chuffing at something burrowed in the ground.

Jessie opened the basket Dozer gave him yesterday to see if there was anything he wanted for breakfast in it. He nibbled on a chunk of dark bread and peeled back the aluminum foil to see what was wrapped inside. Fried chicken. He smiled. That would be good heated up, so he raised the hood and placed it on the intake manifold, making sure it was positioned so it wouldn’t bounce off. It would make an excellent lunch, but he still wanted breakfast. He rummaged through the basket again, hoping for a slice of cake or something besides apples and pears. He wanted a chocolate fudge pop-tart. Nothing but healthy stuff inside. He closed the lid and looked at the house as he sipped his coffee.

Swing set in the backyard.

Bicycle leaning against the garage.

He might get lucky.

Bob was half a field away, tail wagging and nose to the ground. The cattle were eyeing him suspiciously, one of the bulls occasionally stamping his hoof, but the German Shepherd was on the trail of something else, and he ignored them. The house looked deserted, no boarded-up windows, no broken-down doors, no cars in the driveway. Jessie hit the quick release and grabbed his shotgun from the rack bolted in the car. Out of habit, he slung it and his hands dropped to the guns at his side, the front part of his brain not quite fully aware he was checking them. His subconscious knew and it would have screamed out a warning if one of them wasn’t there, wasn’t sitting right, or didn’t feel like two pounds of fully loaded Glock sitting on each hip. He had both magazines filled with nine-millimeter shotshells. With the snake shot ammo, he didn’t have to be deadly accurate, there were a hundred little pellets in each round and it was easy to destroy the brains of the undead. A single bb would do it.

He pulled his bandanna up over the bottom part of his face, warding off the chill, and went up to the front door. Locked. He walked around back instead of kicking it in, he’d got into the habit of not smashing things unless he had to. It made unnecessary noise and hurried the rot and decay of places if you left them open to the elements. You never knew when or where you might need a safe haven. The yard wasn’t fenced, but there was a kennel beyond the swing set, its gate standing open. The back door was locked, too, and they must have had a big dog, the pet flap was huge. Jessie hollered through it and when nothing answered, he wriggled his way in, then flipped the locks open. He stood and listened, sniffed the air. There was an old moldy smell and it stank like a cat box, but it didn’t have the odor of the undead. It didn’t have that rank zombie smell. He made his way to the kitchen and started opening cupboards, looking for the good stuff. They had kids, so they had to have something sugary to eat. If not pop-tarts, maybe some Ding Dongs or something.

Jessie caught movement in the corner of his eye and swung, dropping the jar of peanut butter and bringing both Glocks up instantly. His heart was trip-hammering as he darted his eyes across the breakfast bar and into the gloomy living room. The curtains were drawn, but he knew he saw something. Something stealthy, like a rat. But bigger. Much bigger. He heard the quietest whisper of movement, then saw a pair of big golden eyes staring at him from the back of a couch. Something huge was flicking its tail back and forth, its eyes boring into his. It looked like a small mountain lion, but the coloring was wrong. It was long haired and gray, not a sleek tawny brown. It was a cat. A big ass cat, to be sure but still, just a cat.

“Hey kitty,” Jessie said, and holstered his guns. “You been catching all those rabbits Bob is chasing around? Bet you’d like some cat chow for a change.”

He started going through the bottom cupboards then, looking for a bag of Purina or whatever it was they fed a cat of that size. He’d never seen one so big in real life, but he’d seen pictures of Maine Coon cats online. That thing had to be one of them, it looked like it weighed a good fifteen or twenty pounds. That explained the oversized doggie door, he thought, rummaging