One Way Out: A Zombie Apocalypse Novella by Marmorstein Scott

Author:Marmorstein, Scott [Marmorstein, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2020-03-14T04:00:00+00:00

The old man had sandy brown hair cropped close with streaks of gray along the sides of his head. He wore an old brown leather jacket, a pinstripe button-down white shirt, and dress slacks with shiny Louis Vitton shoes inappropriate for this weather. A cigarette hung on the corner of his lower lip, threatening to drop as he spoke. Over the bridge of his fat nose were 70’s metal frame glasses. Given this man’s age, his overweight stature, and his air of collected calm, I believe he was at the height of fashion around that same era.

A bald man on his right in a tight-fitting leather biker jacket, black jeans and work boots did indeed have a pistol with a silver barrel pointed at me. I didn’t have to be versed in the recognition of real guns. As of 48 hours ago, all guns had to be real. I was out-numbered and out-gunned.

He had dark hair and dark eyes. On his left, there was another man with dark wavy hair, too well dressed in a slate gray pinstripe suit, shiny black shoes, and a shotgun aimed in my direction.

“What do you want?”

“So you’re a brave nigger,” the prominent leader said. He squinted and pointed at my face, “What the fuck is that? You got blood all over your face?”

I touched my fingertips to my cheeks and forehead and felt dried blood there, then nodded solemnly. It could have been remnants of the last zombie I shot.

I was ready to rip his head off then and there, guns or no guns. Why couldn’t we be past the racial bullshit already? Claire and I thought of ourselves as people who had evolved. His one-word cut me deeper than any knife, shot me through cleaner than any bullet.

Speaking of bullets, he had more on his side. I was sure I could take him down, probably out, but any reckless move I made would ensure an early end. I knew my wife was still normal, like me, a person like me, and I didn’t need to let name-calling antics from a deluded old man thwart my quest.

Sighing, I looked down at him, "Why am I brave?" The venom was plainly apparent in my voice, yet he chose to ignore or overlook it.

“You speak when not spoken to. And you don’t sound like any of the brothers I’ve ever met either. You sound white. Why is that, I wonder? I chalk it up to your...generation. You’re an educated ni--”

“Yes, I’m educated. Let’s leave it at that.”

Anything not to hear him speak that detestable word again, and moreover, I was trying to gain my center now. The more we talked, the more I spoke, the more in control I felt. I didn’t need to explain to this asshole that my step-dad was a white guy. I loved him like my own father, but this racist prick in front of me would never get it.

“Fine, educated guy. Whatever your generation is, it’s younger than mine. By a lot.

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