Three Days in Undead Shoes: the Pandora Strain: Zombie Road, #1 by Dee J. Holmes

Author:Dee J. Holmes [Dee J. Holmes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dee J. Holmes
Published: 2022-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter ten

Jane jerked. Ducking her head, she stumbled backward and grabbed for Schroddie’s collar. She didn’t have to reach far. The big dog plastered himself against her side, his whole body shivering.

Together, they scrambled for cover behind the towering Fir tree on the corner.

She peeked around the thick trunk, searching the north side of the street for a flash of light from a gun’s muzzle. Given the trees and bridge off-ramp to the immediate south, the shot had to have come from that direction. It was just past noon and the April sun blazed high in the sky, glinting off the rows of floor-to-ceiling windows lining the apartment tower across the street. It was the most obvious location, but if there was a flash from a gun, she couldn’t tell. Of course, the shot might have come from farther down the road…

Biting her lip, she studied the rest of the block.

The rows of heritage homes, flanked by stubby apartment complexes, created a mess of painted beams and competing rooflines. Throw in the trees, planted so nicely at regular intervals, and it was impossible to tell.

Well, impossible for her.

Probably some military expert could tell. But the only ones she’d encountered who fit that bill weren’t exactly in a place to help. Which sucked. If only they repeated in a way that’s useful.

Course, that would require her luck to change its stripes from bad to good.

No chance of that.

“Neither of us trained for this shit,” she whispered to Schrodinger.

He whimpered and pressed harder against her, shoulder bone digging into her hip. ”Roawr awrr.”

“I know, bud,” she said. “I know.”

While she might not be any sort of trained professional when it came to firearms, her dad had insisted on dragging her out to the range. She’d gotten her firearms license—with her dad, there’d been no way to avoid it—and she knew the basics. Nothing she’d seen from the repeating zombies indicated any degree of manual dexterity. Loading and firing a gun? Not simple. Getting into a locked gun safe—as they’d have to, assuming whoever it was shooting had followed the law—required memory function and usable fingers.

Not to mention anyone who was cycling through an action would have fired again by now—probably at the exact same location as the first shot.

Hope tangled with fear in her chest. Fighting like two dogs over a bone and sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her knees trembling.

A proper, live person had shot at her.

But why? Weren’t they happy to see someone else had made it?

She carefully scanned the area, from the apartment rooftops down to the ornamental iron and brick fences marking the tiny front lawns of the heritage homes. Nothing flashed. No further shots rang out. And no one was yelling at her—shouting at her to get off their lawn or demanding some sort of tribute or whatever crazy assholes wanted in an apocalypse.

Wait… She paused; head tipped to the side.

What if they think I’m a zombie?

Okay, that actually made some degree of sense.

If

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