Jason Z. Christie by Zombie Killa

Author:Zombie Killa
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-06-01T13:08:47+00:00

Chapter 9 – Bad Mother Truckers

The second gun battle occurred near Beaumont. A semi truck with a canvas tarp over the back pushed its way into the convoy.

“Fuckin’ truckers,” Bbear said.

It was a normal enough occurrence that they let their collective guard down, and were taken by surprise when the tarp flew off. Four zombies began firing on them.

Bbear and Betty Rebel reacted quickly, firing back with automatic weapons, but not before Ultraklystron caught a slug through his left hand.

“I’m hit!” he yelled. Nursie grabbed the wheel as he fainted, narrowly avoiding an accident.

Three of the four attackers went down. The fourth leapt onto the hood of Shamus’s Toyota Camry, gun in hand. No one could safely shoot without endangering Magitek, who were without guns of their own.

“I’m tryin’ to code back here!” Thugmasta said.

When the zombie shot through the windshield and missed, Quartz Relic used the staff to shove it off of the hood, where Beefy, now driving the caddy, ran it over.

“I always wanted to do that,” he said.

Nursehella called Zealous1.

“Beau, Karl’s hurt. Plus we need gas.”

“A couple of us need gas. How bad is he?”

Nursie had pulled him to the passenger side so Bbear could drive.

“Hold on,” she said.

“Karl. Karl!” she said, slapping his face.

He opened his eyes.

“How are you?” she asked him.

“I’m fucking shot!”

“Let me see,” Nursie said.

He held up his hand, which was still bleeding a lot.

“Fucking fuck,” he said. “I’m fucking shot.”

“Relax,” she said. “You’re right-handed.”

Karl was sobbing. “I’m half a man! How can you ever love me?”

“Oh, suck it up,” she said. “Can you move your fingers?”

He wiggled them, then moved them individually.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Flesh wound. No hospital visit necessary. No broken bones or cut tendons.”

“It fucking hurts!” he said.

Everyone pulled into a Stuckey’s that was large enough to still be safe, and began refueling. Nursie left Karl moaning in the backseat and went in for medical supplies.

She got handkerchiefs, peroxide, alcohol, Tylenol, and a small Styrofoam cup, paying cash for the gas and other items, at the last minute grabbing a roll of duct tape as well.

High-C was fueling up and smoking a cigarette.

“I need a little of that coke,” she told him.

“Ho, you want a hit, you gotta get yo’ knees dirty,” he said.

“Fuck you, High-C,” she said. “You’re such a wigger. It’s for Karl’s hand. He caught a bad one.”

“Aw, I was just kidding. Of course. What’s mine is yours, Danielle.”

She handed him the empty cup, which he threw away.

“That’s no good,” he said. He peeled the cellophane from a pack of reds and dumped some coke in it, in full view of anyone who cared to look.

“A little extra for you, too. Stay up. Times about to get ill when we hit Dallas.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Give my love to Karl,” he told her.

Ultraklystron screamed when she dumped the peroxide and alcohol on his bullet wound. Once she had cleaned it, she dumped cocaine on it, and wrapped it in the handkerchief, sealing it with duct tape.

“Wow,” he said.

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