Making the Best of the Zombie Apocalypse by Alisha Adkins

Author:Alisha Adkins [Adkins, Alisha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rhapsody in Lime Publishing
Published: 2013-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The Winds of Change

LATELY, JACK HAS BEEN MAKING some choices that I consider very questionable. Most notably, he has brought into his operation some jackass thug kids that I suspect are also wrapped up in the sex trade. I’m not sure why he needs middlemen now when he never did before, but it is what it is, I guess.

When I showed up at Jack’s warehouse yesterday, a kid at the front door directed me to see “Bobby” for my assignment. Bobby is apparently handling assigning jobs to runners now; I guess Jack needs more time to count his spoils.

Bobby was maybe nineteen years old, dressed in army fatigues (which ironically did not blend in well at all in our urban environment) and sneakers, and had a fresh buzz cut. When I entered his office, he was drinking from a bowl made out of the top of a human skull. I introduced myself curtly, unconsciously making a face as I watched him drink.

Seeing that I had recoiled, he proudly said “I use everything from what I kill, like the Native Americans.” punctuating his remark with a smugly pleased smirk.

“So did Hitler.” I said, not batting an eye. “There’s a difference between being efficient and being just plain gruesome. It’s not like there’s a shortage of pottery available to loot.”

He ignored me, returning to the job at hand.

My new mission was straight-forward enough. A former client had been reported by one of our delivery people as recently deceased. Bobby didn’t say how the client had died, but she was apparently elderly, so my guess was associated health complications. My job was two-fold. I needed to dispatch her reanimated corpse and to reclaim all goods of value from her apartment. The woman had been a big consumer of black market medical goods and had apparently had a healthy supply of dry goods such as powdered milk with which to trade. There should be quite a bit worth taking in her apartment. This was standard practice when a client perished.

I left with the unfortunate woman’s address. It was still early in the day, and the sky was clear, so I figured that there was no time like the present.

Things wound up being a lot less clear cut after I got to the former client’s residence.

Standard delivery procedure was to knock on an accessible door or window and identify oneself in a loud voice. This procedure was useless under current conditions, of course. The old woman inside was no longer capable of opening a door, and alerting her (it) to my presence wasn’t really advisable. My best course of action was to find the entrance that offered the least resistance and brandish my crowbar at it.

The windows were solidly boarded up, so I settled for the back door; it was equipped with only a flimsy lock. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for some time now, so it didn’t take very long for me to gain entry. Unfortunately, in doing so, I wasn’t exactly quiet.

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