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

mindless, but they had some instinct that prevented them from walking off cliffs if they noticed them. They wouldn’t go into the water unless they were chasing something. They knew just barely enough to try to preserve themselves when they weren’t in a frenzy. When they were, all bets were off. They’d run into a burning building chasing after someone.

Gunny waited, flexing his fists in his shooter’s gloves. He had to make the battle bloody. Had to get them worked up. They had reached the last door and slammed against it, shuddering it in its frame. The broken railings he’d jammed against it were already buckling. A few more bodies piling up and they’d burst through. He reached up with his clean blade and sliced himself on each arm between where the plastic armor joined together. He barely felt the sting, or the warm blood start trickling down his biceps. The undead smelled it, though, and their howls became even more intense. It was so close, so tantalizing to them.

Bridget and Hollywood watched in helpless fascination as Gunny cut himself. The undead in their houses were starting to stream out, to join the keening screams and pounding across the street. They, too, could smell the blood.

The door slammed open and Gunny sprang, slashing at gaping mouths and jabbing blackened eyes. They rushed out, their eagerness causing them to stumble over the fast falling bodies. Long dead skulls were easily punctured with the heavy trench knives. The blades sank all the way to the cross guards, and the knuckle duster grips kept the brain-slicked handles firmly in his grasp. Gunny punched and stabbed, dodging the rotten teeth when he could, smashing them with the pommel or the spiked metal of the knuckles when he couldn’t. He slowly backed up, making them pay for each foot they advanced. The push from behind was reaching a fever pitch, bodies were piling over the dead and trying to leap for him. He’d reached the broken railing and swung down, still slashing as they boiled over the edge after him. He stepped aside, finding his balance on the roof, and continued to taunt them. They were barely recognizable as people anymore, many of them only had tatters of clothing left after months and months in the harsh northern winter, sometimes encased in frozen snow. They screamed at him and he screamed right back. They reached, tumbled and fell, only to be replaced by the next set of snarling faces, half rotting skin sloughing off bones. They were coming fast, some of them crawling toward him on the shingles, reaching hands trying to grab him over the rails. He heard the crack of wood a second before the decades-old railing broke and a tumble of dozens reached for him as they hit the roof and rolled over the edge. Even above the keens, he heard the constant squishing thud of bodies dropping and breaking into the piles of dead below. They kept coming and Gunny kept taunting, never letting them stop and realize the first step was a big one. He was just out of their reach, they could see him, smell him, but they couldn’t grab him.

He was nearly panting, his arms aching from so many stabs and punches, but the horde pouring out the door had slowed to a trickle, most of the ones left hobbling badly or crawling with grim determination. A few still spilled over the edge, but the frenzy had died, the slow ones weren’t forced over. They reached for him, grasped at him, but didn’t move to take the plunge. He stood, hands on knees, trying to get his breath back when he heard the sound of wet thumps coming from inside the house. A glance over at the other roofs told him Griz, Bridget, and Hollywood were off of them. They were mopping up the stragglers, making their way up the stairs.

Gunny chuffed, wiped at a splash of spoiled blood dripping from his beard, and sat down. He was getting too old for this crap.

2

Gunny

Griz was the first through the broken door, tossing a hissing old woman over the railing. Gunny watched as she landed on her shoulder, heard it break, and saw nothing but rage and hunger on her face as she slid over the side to splash into the pile three stories below.

The look of concern on Griz’s face turned to relief when he saw Gunny sitting on his haunches, calmly smoking a hand-rolled.

“You get bit?” he asked, kicking at the last of the crawlers, sending it over the edge.

“Nah. You?”

“We’re all good,” he said as the other two stepped over the remains of the hanging door. They were breathing heavy also, having fought through the crawlers all the way down out of their houses and back up to him.

Gunny absently wiped gore from his hand, only smearing it around on his filthy pants. He was staring at the church. At the still closed and barred doors. The others tried to clean themselves off a little, but arms were stained up to the elbow, legs were splashed to the knees. Killing the dead was a messy business.

“Well,” he said, tossing his smoke. “Let’s go see how bad it is.”

Griz extended a hand, helped him up on the walk and they made their way back down, stepping over or on dozens of still forms, finally laid to rest.

The town was quiet, no more moans or screams of the undead; they had managed to kill them all. They made their way around the church, slogging through the thousands of bodies on the street. There were only a few laying near the front entrance, those having been trampled by the horde. The ground was littered with bits of clothing and an occasional body part. Only a few odd shoes were laying around, most of them had long since been lost in the run from St. Louis. The doors to the church were still firmly in place. There