Invasion of the Dead (Book 2): A Fistful of Zombies by Murphy H.L

Author:Murphy, H.L. [Murphy, H.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Zombies
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-11-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I can't remember leaving Silky’s hallucinogenic inspired Lincoln, but I must have at some point because I found myself standing in a tastefully decorated living room that had seen better days. Now it looked more like a bad Saturday night in Beirut. Without a light source, aside from the moonlight weakly pouring through the windows, details were difficult to impossible to make out, but it very much appeared that the floor was covered in spent brass. In the far corner, behind an overturned table, sat a dead Maxwell Wyse. A massive stain on his chest told the end of his story, though not the sporty parts leading up to it.

“Aw, Max, what happened?”’I said as I knelt next to my late friend. It had obviously been a while since he died, but he still clutched an artillery piece of a revolver. Given how much Maxwell had loved making things go bang, I guessed it was something up in the fifty calibre range. I shifted to come closer and felt my knee brush against something. Glancing down what should I spy, but another fucking Glock wonder nine. This one, however, was sporting a thirty-three round magazine. Not that it mattered since the slide was locked to the rear. I would have tossed the polymer POS, but I caught the engraving down the side.

Glock 18.

My hand shook as I warred internally. I was holding a Glock, the symbol of all I despised in the wonder nine movement, but I was holding a Glock 18, fully automatic pistol guaranteed to give the user a singular shooting experience. Oh, pernicious Fate, why are torturing me this way?

At length, I released the slide and shoved the pistol into my waist and at the small of my back. If I was lucky, there would be more ammunition in the house.

“Fucking hell, Max,” I whispered, my voice now completely bereft of slurring. “What have you been up to?”

I turned to face the front door and the picture shaped up. Behind the overturned table I could see where a rifle had been cast aside amongst a stack of empty magazines, mounds of spent rifle casings spoke volumes, and the bullet holes at head height along the drywall suggested zombies at the very least. Except that Maxwell had bee shot, not devoured, and zombies didn't carry guns.

As far as you know, they don't. You have been out of action for a while.

Shut up. I don't need that picture in my head.

Just playing devils advocate. No need to get your panties in a bunch.

Devil’s advocate? My friend is dead, goddamn it.

A lot of people are dead. Crying about it won't change anything.

You coldblooded son of a bitch…

If you ever want to see your wife and daughter again, you need to compartmentalize your feelings and push on. Yeah, just like that.

“Alright, that's it,” I said aloud, my voice hard and dangerous. “What the fuck are you? And don't give me any of that I'm you bullshit, ‘cause I'm not buying any of it.

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