Zombie Chaos | Book 4 | Scout's Horror by Martone D.L

Author:Martone, D.L. [Martone, D.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NGU Publishing
Published: 2020-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

I swear, if that asshole wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him all over again.

Moans drifted from the road, and despite my sore muscles, fresh bruises, and fatherly concerns, I helped the others transfer the weapons and pack up the van. A few guns had tumbled from the golf cart on my careening ride across the campsite. I scooped up those I spotted in the moonlight, assuming more peppered the zombie-laden road and wooded hillside, but I had no intention of searching for them.

A crash sounded near the road. My companions and I halted in midstride as we listened to the thuds, rustles, and groans headed down the same steep slope I’d just descended.

Lifting one of the shotguns I’d plucked from the ground, I targeted the darkened trees and focused on the sounds of mayhem advancing toward us. Suddenly, I spotted the obese girl somersaulting amid the foliage. Presumably, she’d decided to trail the cart and lost her footing along the way.

Not that her mishap had dulled her appetite any. Every time her head rolled upright, she eyed me with a hungry stare. I targeted her with my weapon, ready to shoot her, but before I pulled the trigger, she smacked against the pointy end of a broken limb, effectively impaling herself through the abdomen. Not a killing blow for a zombie, but certainly inconvenient.

No matter how hard she struggled and grunted with disappointment, she couldn’t free herself. Even as she wriggled and flailed, she reminded me of a giant, blue-and-brown marshmallow stuck on a stick, ready for the campfire.

Smirking, I helped Casey with the last of the guns, then glanced toward his busted pride and joy. The battle wagon spewed steam and antifreeze, and one of the back tires was completely flat.

“Sorry about your car, kid.”

“She served me well,” he lamented, “and died saving our asses.”

“That she did,” I replied.

As we dumped the remaining weapons onto the floor of my van, movement along the ground caught my attention. Fearing one of the zombie kids had somehow flanked us, I turned toward the sound. I recognized the little shit immediately.

Yes, our cat, Azazel, had returned from wherever she’d gone, and she was darting straight for the open doors of our home-on-wheels.

The discomforting node of guilt, fear, and worry brewing in the pit of my stomach abruptly dissipated. Glancing at Clare, I discerned the same relief in her watery eyes.

“Where do you suppose she’s been?” Casey asked me.

Azazel halted in her tracks, gazed up at me and the kid, and offered us a casual meow. I noticed a pink ribbon tied around her neck.

“That’s new,” I said, utterly perplexed as to how our cat had managed to accessorize while we were preoccupied with the moronic ranger.

Naturally, I didn’t have time to wonder for long. We needed to stow the rest of our gear and get our asses out of there. Seeing my precious furbaby also reminded me that I still had to switch my shoes. The last thing I needed was to drag Ranger Bob’s tainted blood across the floor of my vehicle.

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