son.”
“Oh. And you’re mister-smooth, right?”
“Well, maybe not as smooth as Steve over there, but I do alright, yeah.”
“Doo, you bang blind women.”
“Bro, Sonya is a MILF. No two ways about it.”
“She’s a cougar, doo.”
“That too, no doubt.”
“And she’s blind, doo. Not to mention she’s got like fourteen fuckin’ kids.”
“Three, bro. Three .”
“Whatever.”
“Mo, don’t let Eva hear you talkin’ that way about her sister. She’ll kick both our asses.”
Another moan came from behind them. They turned to see a zombie break from the tree line and stumble towards them and the road. Of the thousands and thousands of zombies they had seen in the months since the outbreak this one looked especially putrescent. It had been a man. Its long, once-blonde hair was matted to its skull and neck. It wore a plaid green and red and black shirt-jacket over cargo pants and combat boots, the tongues of which flapped around.
It saw the two men and groaned.
Eva motioned to them from the jeep.
“Let’s go,” said Maurice.
“Nah, wait a second. I got something for Kurt Cobain over there.”
Damar handed his AKS to Maurice and drew two throwing daggers he wore at his waist.
“You know, throwing a knife at a motherfucker isn’t as easy as it looks.” Damar took three steps towards the zombie trudging their way and stopped. He closed one eye, squinted the other, and bit down on his tongue. Maurice thought he looked very funny, concentrating like that.
“Doo, you look like you studying for your SATs.”
Damar ignored him, drew the dagger back past his ear, and whipped his wrist forward. The dagger flew end over end past the zombie’s head to land in the grass beyond it.
“See what I mean?” Damar said. “ Motherfucker .”
“He’s coming over here to do the Seattle stomp on your poor black ass.” Maurice laid down Damar’s AKS and his own Mini-14 then drew the machete from the sheath on his hip.
“One more. One more.” Damar waved him away. “I can do this.”
The zombie was about fifteen feet from them.
Damar squinted, sighted, drew his arm back and launched the second blade, which buried itself in the thing’s chest. The zombie stopped in its tracks, looked down at the handle jutting from its solar plexus, looked up at the two men, growled and took another step.
“Damn.”
“Doo, you just pissed the fuckin’ thing off.”
Maurice walked up to the beast and, before its rotting hands could grasp him, decapitated it with a swing of the machete. The headless torso keeled over into the grass as its head rolled several yards away.
Damar retrieved his daggers, keeping one eye on the trees in case any more zombies emerged from that direction, and then he and Maurice returned to the jeep.
“How’s that fifty suit you shorty?” he asked nine-year-old Nelson.
“I want to shoot it,” admitted the boy.
“You fire it and it’ll bring out all the zombies for miles,” said his Aunt Eva.
From behind the wheel, and his mirrored aviator glasses, Steve nodded to Damar. “Your aim sucks, D.”
“Your mother sucks—” Damar started to shoot back, noted Eva’s hostile glare indicating little Nelson, and caught himself, finishing his sentence with, “Lemons. And I got big motherfuckin’ lemons, Steve.”
Steve wore a blue t-shirt with Cookie Monster’s face on the front of it.
“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Eva. “Let’s head back. They’ll be making camp.”
“This road looks pretty good,” noted Maurice.
“Yeah,” agreed Steve. “I wonder what the Greeks found?”
Steve started the jeep and made a three-point turn on the road. The sun was out of the sky but the heat and humidity lingered. They all enjoyed the breeze whipping against their faces as they doubled back on the path they had
“Oh. And you’re mister-smooth, right?”
“Well, maybe not as smooth as Steve over there, but I do alright, yeah.”
“Doo, you bang blind women.”
“Bro, Sonya is a MILF. No two ways about it.”
“She’s a cougar, doo.”
“That too, no doubt.”
“And she’s blind, doo. Not to mention she’s got like fourteen fuckin’ kids.”
“Three, bro. Three .”
“Whatever.”
“Mo, don’t let Eva hear you talkin’ that way about her sister. She’ll kick both our asses.”
Another moan came from behind them. They turned to see a zombie break from the tree line and stumble towards them and the road. Of the thousands and thousands of zombies they had seen in the months since the outbreak this one looked especially putrescent. It had been a man. Its long, once-blonde hair was matted to its skull and neck. It wore a plaid green and red and black shirt-jacket over cargo pants and combat boots, the tongues of which flapped around.
It saw the two men and groaned.
Eva motioned to them from the jeep.
“Let’s go,” said Maurice.
“Nah, wait a second. I got something for Kurt Cobain over there.”
Damar handed his AKS to Maurice and drew two throwing daggers he wore at his waist.
“You know, throwing a knife at a motherfucker isn’t as easy as it looks.” Damar took three steps towards the zombie trudging their way and stopped. He closed one eye, squinted the other, and bit down on his tongue. Maurice thought he looked very funny, concentrating like that.
“Doo, you look like you studying for your SATs.”
Damar ignored him, drew the dagger back past his ear, and whipped his wrist forward. The dagger flew end over end past the zombie’s head to land in the grass beyond it.
“See what I mean?” Damar said. “ Motherfucker .”
“He’s coming over here to do the Seattle stomp on your poor black ass.” Maurice laid down Damar’s AKS and his own Mini-14 then drew the machete from the sheath on his hip.
“One more. One more.” Damar waved him away. “I can do this.”
The zombie was about fifteen feet from them.
Damar squinted, sighted, drew his arm back and launched the second blade, which buried itself in the thing’s chest. The zombie stopped in its tracks, looked down at the handle jutting from its solar plexus, looked up at the two men, growled and took another step.
“Damn.”
“Doo, you just pissed the fuckin’ thing off.”
Maurice walked up to the beast and, before its rotting hands could grasp him, decapitated it with a swing of the machete. The headless torso keeled over into the grass as its head rolled several yards away.
Damar retrieved his daggers, keeping one eye on the trees in case any more zombies emerged from that direction, and then he and Maurice returned to the jeep.
“How’s that fifty suit you shorty?” he asked nine-year-old Nelson.
“I want to shoot it,” admitted the boy.
“You fire it and it’ll bring out all the zombies for miles,” said his Aunt Eva.
From behind the wheel, and his mirrored aviator glasses, Steve nodded to Damar. “Your aim sucks, D.”
“Your mother sucks—” Damar started to shoot back, noted Eva’s hostile glare indicating little Nelson, and caught himself, finishing his sentence with, “Lemons. And I got big motherfuckin’ lemons, Steve.”
Steve wore a blue t-shirt with Cookie Monster’s face on the front of it.
“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Eva. “Let’s head back. They’ll be making camp.”
“This road looks pretty good,” noted Maurice.
“Yeah,” agreed Steve. “I wonder what the Greeks found?”
Steve started the jeep and made a three-point turn on the road. The sun was out of the sky but the heat and humidity lingered. They all enjoyed the breeze whipping against their faces as they doubled back on the path they had
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