Doomsday Sheriff: Day 1: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Adventure by Ploof Michael James & Ploof Michael James

Author:Ploof, Michael James & Ploof, Michael James [Ploof, Michael James]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Traveling Bard Publishing
Published: 2018-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Undead got Talent

After fifteen minutes of cruising through Lake Placid’s backstreets, Max and Alan came across a screamer wandering around alone. He was a greasy-looking man with thin hair, wearing Carhartt pants and a camouflaged jacket.

“How are we going to capture it?” Alan asked.

Max grinned and hit the gas. “Like this.”

The truck lurched forward, and Max hit the screamer before it could get out of the way. He’d only been going twenty miles an hour, but the screamer must have hit the bumper just right, for it was thrown back through the air and landed on the back of a parked car.

Max threw Alan a length of rope and bolted out the door. “Come on!” he yelled at the portly DJ.

The screamer scrambled onto all fours on the car trunk and sprang at Alan like a cat when he came rushing over. Max charged to intercept the screamer and, swinging the shotgun by the barrel like a baseball bat, he slugged the screamer in the chest as it descended on Alan. But Alan was quicker than he looked and ducked down in time. Max hit the screamer again, this time in the side of the head, and the beast finally went down.

“Tie his feet!” said Max, putting a knee into the screamer’s back and wrestling for control of its flailing arms.

By the time Max got the wrists tied, the screamer was already singing. There was no way to get the beast to shut up short of blowing his head off, so Max endured the ear-piercing cry and carried the screamer to the back of the Bronco. They managed to get it up onto the roof and were tying it off when another cry answered their captive.

“That’s our cue.” Max jumped off the roof and nearly broke his neck on a patch of ice, but he kept his feet.

A small group of screamers were sprinting down the road behind them, and Alan closed his door just in time as one slammed into it. Max hit the throttle and took off down the road, turning left toward Main Street. He drove slow enough to attract attention, like an ice cream truck driver trying to lure the neighborhood kids. Max’s jingle wasn’t a happy tune, however, but the demonic cry of the screamer on the roof. Still, it worked like a charm.

The screamers came out of the woodwork in droves, men, women, and children alike, chasing after the truck with alarming speed. Soon there were hundreds of the Thriller extras, and Max led them up Alan’s road. He pulled ahead a half-mile and stopped at the bottom of Alan’s driveway.

Alan nervously fidgeted as they waited for the screamers to respond to the siren call of the dude on the roof. A few seconds later, the screamers came running, having seemingly forgotten about the mesmerizing fire; either that, or the flames had died down to nothing.

“Alright,” said Alan as Max began down the road once more. “We’ve got a few hundred screamers after us, now what?”

“Now we get them out of town.

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