Read Online 4 Hardcore Zombie Novellas by Cheryl Mullenax - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cheryl Mullenax
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asked.
“Uh, shot of tequila,” Cruz said. “Make it a double and uh, hold the buckshot.”
The bartender pulled the shotgun away. Cruz raised his head off the bar and rubbed the throbbing knot over his left ear. The last thing he remembered was sitting down at the bar and then the bartender swinging a shotgun at his head in the manner of a batter going for a bunt.
“Can’t be too careful,” the bartender said, “what with all the wild shit coming down.”
“Right,” Cruz said. Who was he to argue with a psycho strapped with a shotgun?
The bartender set the shotgun down and poured Cruz a shot. “Now that the world’s turned into a fucking Romero movie, a guy can’t be too careful, ya know?”
“Right.”
“Could’ve just gone ahead and shot you, you know. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Little love tap to see if you woke up dead or not. Sometimes you can’t tell right off the bat. If a dude’s dead or zombied out or normal. One thing that ain’t like the movies, a headshot don’t put the deaders down. I can prove that shit. You wanna see?” “Uh, no, that’s all right,” Cruz said after he downed the shot.
“C’mon, what’s it gonna hurt? Ain’t like you got something else to do. What with the world gone to shit and dead. Hell, I would’ve closed up hours ago but I don’t wanna have to go home to shoot the wife, you know? Ain’t got the heart. It’s all over the news. They don’t come right out and say all the dead are walking but a little reading between the lines tells the tale. Me, I’ve seen it for my own damn self. Hadda blow away two dead cocksuckers. One a good customer too. Come on, pal, it ain’t gonna kill you. Come meet Joe the Dead.”
Cruz didn’t move. He said, “How about another shot of tequila?”
“Sure, sure. After you see Joe. Joe the Dead. Ain’t got no head but he keeps going and going like that fucking battery-hyped bunny beating a bass drum. He’s locked in the ladies room. C’mon, he can’t hurt you. He’s so shot to shit he just lies there twitching.”
“No thanks,” Cruz said. “I don’t have the stomach for it right now.”
The bartender scowled, leaned close and lowered his voice: “You better find it real quick, buddy. Dude in the booth over there’s got plans for you. And he don’t strike me as somebody you wanna rub the wrong way.”
Cruz turned his head as casually as he could to get a look at the dude in the booth.
Blink-click: mental snapshot: man in a red hoodie, hood up to conceal his face. The same guy.
Bad juju coming off him in waves.
Baad
juju.
“What’re you talking about?” Cruz asked as quietly as he could. “What plans?”
“Fuck should I know? Ask him. He’s the mystery man on the news. Where he shows up, the shit goes down. They been showing cell-phone pictures of him. They think he’s some kinda terrorist but he’s something a damn site worse than that.”
Cruz stole another glance. It looked like the guy
had
no face.
Bartender whispered, “Get off your ass and come with me. I don’t want on this guy’s bad side. Let’s go. Joe ain’t getting no fresher.”
“Right,” Cruz said, sliding off the stool. “Tell me, what city is this?”
“Jesus Christ. Phoenix. Where the fuck ya think?”
Cruz shrugged. “I have no idea how I got here.”
“Yeah, well, that could be the least of your problems, pal.”
20
Shoot & Loot
Wyatt put the crosshairs on the guy’s forehead and fired again. In the scope it was great the way the wetback drug mule’s head came apart.
“That did it,” Clint attaboyed him. “Put him down
that
time.”
“Dink’s dead but won’t stay down,” Wyatt said, using the term his granddaddy often used for the Vietnamese whenever he told war stories. “Watch. He’ll pop back up in a minute. Weird shit happening here, bro.”
“End Times, dude. Time to be lewd, crude and screwed.”
“Not before we get that dope,” Wyatt said.
“We got three backsacks
“Uh, shot of tequila,” Cruz said. “Make it a double and uh, hold the buckshot.”
The bartender pulled the shotgun away. Cruz raised his head off the bar and rubbed the throbbing knot over his left ear. The last thing he remembered was sitting down at the bar and then the bartender swinging a shotgun at his head in the manner of a batter going for a bunt.
“Can’t be too careful,” the bartender said, “what with all the wild shit coming down.”
“Right,” Cruz said. Who was he to argue with a psycho strapped with a shotgun?
The bartender set the shotgun down and poured Cruz a shot. “Now that the world’s turned into a fucking Romero movie, a guy can’t be too careful, ya know?”
“Right.”
“Could’ve just gone ahead and shot you, you know. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Little love tap to see if you woke up dead or not. Sometimes you can’t tell right off the bat. If a dude’s dead or zombied out or normal. One thing that ain’t like the movies, a headshot don’t put the deaders down. I can prove that shit. You wanna see?” “Uh, no, that’s all right,” Cruz said after he downed the shot.
“C’mon, what’s it gonna hurt? Ain’t like you got something else to do. What with the world gone to shit and dead. Hell, I would’ve closed up hours ago but I don’t wanna have to go home to shoot the wife, you know? Ain’t got the heart. It’s all over the news. They don’t come right out and say all the dead are walking but a little reading between the lines tells the tale. Me, I’ve seen it for my own damn self. Hadda blow away two dead cocksuckers. One a good customer too. Come on, pal, it ain’t gonna kill you. Come meet Joe the Dead.”
Cruz didn’t move. He said, “How about another shot of tequila?”
“Sure, sure. After you see Joe. Joe the Dead. Ain’t got no head but he keeps going and going like that fucking battery-hyped bunny beating a bass drum. He’s locked in the ladies room. C’mon, he can’t hurt you. He’s so shot to shit he just lies there twitching.”
“No thanks,” Cruz said. “I don’t have the stomach for it right now.”
The bartender scowled, leaned close and lowered his voice: “You better find it real quick, buddy. Dude in the booth over there’s got plans for you. And he don’t strike me as somebody you wanna rub the wrong way.”
Cruz turned his head as casually as he could to get a look at the dude in the booth.
Blink-click: mental snapshot: man in a red hoodie, hood up to conceal his face. The same guy.
Bad juju coming off him in waves.
Baad
juju.
“What’re you talking about?” Cruz asked as quietly as he could. “What plans?”
“Fuck should I know? Ask him. He’s the mystery man on the news. Where he shows up, the shit goes down. They been showing cell-phone pictures of him. They think he’s some kinda terrorist but he’s something a damn site worse than that.”
Cruz stole another glance. It looked like the guy
had
no face.
Bartender whispered, “Get off your ass and come with me. I don’t want on this guy’s bad side. Let’s go. Joe ain’t getting no fresher.”
“Right,” Cruz said, sliding off the stool. “Tell me, what city is this?”
“Jesus Christ. Phoenix. Where the fuck ya think?”
Cruz shrugged. “I have no idea how I got here.”
“Yeah, well, that could be the least of your problems, pal.”
20
Shoot & Loot
Wyatt put the crosshairs on the guy’s forehead and fired again. In the scope it was great the way the wetback drug mule’s head came apart.
“That did it,” Clint attaboyed him. “Put him down
that
time.”
“Dink’s dead but won’t stay down,” Wyatt said, using the term his granddaddy often used for the Vietnamese whenever he told war stories. “Watch. He’ll pop back up in a minute. Weird shit happening here, bro.”
“End Times, dude. Time to be lewd, crude and screwed.”
“Not before we get that dope,” Wyatt said.
“We got three backsacks
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