Guarding Graverun (Gunslingers VS. Zombies) by J.J. Dean

Author:J.J. Dean [Dean, J.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

***

Sweat is dripping off me, and my body aches as I pant for air, having worked hard at ridding the earth of a decent number of Rotters. The others are just as haggard and worn, though a few still seem in good spirits. Some are high fiving over rotting corpses, ignoring the stench that comes off them, and others are kicking those bodies over, checking twice that they’re dead-dead.

That’s exactly what Dutch, Way, Wyatt, and I have been doing the past twenty minutes or so, ensuring each Rotter we’ve taken down won’t be getting back up again. Just as I walk over several bodies to get to the last Rotter left unchecked, Jessup joining me with a tired sigh, he helps me check the body by rolling it over for me to check.

Sadly, we both assume the Rotter would be as still as the others, and we are sorely mistaken the next moment when the son of a bitch grips Jessup’s shirt and yanks him close. Jessup shoves me away at the last moment, eyes wide with panic, all while I stumble away and land hard on the ground, my own gaze filled with sheer horror. I scramble back to my feet with a shout, my heart hammering hard before it breaks, “Jess, no!”

I’m too late to stop it despite my efforts to still reach the man I’ve known since I learned how to ride a horse, a sob crawling up my throat just before my lungs seize painfully, my gaze watching the Rotter bite into Jessup’s neck with a sickening wet sound as a spurt of blood.

With a shout that comes from the depths of my chest, I raise my arm and slam the knife in my hand down into the Rotter’s head. His skull caves easily, gunk and congealed blood dribbling from the wound. The Rotter stills instantly, teeth still buried in Jessup’s shoulder, and I feel hot tears slip from my eyes even as I drag the Rotter away. And then I’m sliding my knife out right before I bury it back in the Rotter.

And again.

And again.

And again.

By the time I’m done, the Rotter’s face has caved in completely, no sign of it ever being a person before he was infected. It doesn’t matter, though. It doesn’t feel like enough, not when the man who taught me how to ride a horse, who helped with the ranch all through my childhood, who snuck me candy with every visit, who continued to look out for me when Mama and Daddy died, has just been infected with no hope of survival.

“Fuck! Son of a fuckin’ bitch!” I shout, kicking the Rotter’s head in that little bit more. Anger and grief bubble inside me, boiling my blood, my tears still streaking my face as I pummel the dead body on the ground.

Hands reach around me the next moment, pulling me away kicking and screaming, all while Jessup smiles sadly at me with a bleeding neck and a grim understanding on his face.

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