Read Online Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge - eARC by Larry Correia - Free Book Online
Authors: Larry Correia
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and a woman was dragged out, screaming. At least a half dozen of the undead descended on her and started ripping her apart. I could see there were more occupants in the car and they were bound to be dragged out next.
“This is gonna be interesting,” I muttered, trotting forward.
I had exactly two advantages in the situation. I had a firearm, which meant slightly more range than arm’s length. And I had the cars. The zombies could clearly reach a fair turn of speed in a straight line. They had a harder time with any sort of maneuvering. Which meant I had to get into and onto the cars and use them to break up the mass. The nearby woods might help as well assuming that I could outrun the zombies from the cars to the woods. Given my current condition, I wasn’t positive I was more nimble than the zombies.
I put that out of my mind and approached the group which was feasting on the woman. She looked like she was probably one of the mothers of the group. She’d been on the passenger side. I could vaguely see kids in the backseat, huddled on the far side. I wasn’t sure where the dad had gone.
I popped one of the undead in the back of the skull. Zulu down. Shift, pop. Zulu down. Shift, pop. Zulu down.
Now I had their attention.
If I thought about it, I knew I would fail. So I didn’t think about it. I simply leapt onto the trunk of the next car over and ran across the roof. There were more Zulus around the cars but with moving meat their attention was shifting. Arms waved at me from almost every direction as I popped Zulus in the fading light. One thing I’d already determined was that getting this over before full dark was sort of a necessity. Fighting these things in the dark wasn’t something I relished.
As the zombies concentrated on getting to me from the driver’s side and back, I made a leap to the next car over’s hood. Again, I just assumed it was going to work. I ignored the fact I had a femur made of baling wire and spit and that four months before I had been in traction. I ignored the fact that doctors told me I’d never walk again without a pronounced limp. I, in fact, forgot about all of it in the rush of combat.
Two more leaps and I’d partially broken contact and the Zulus had to maneuver around a couple of cars to get to me. As the first group approached I took careful, aimed, fire and popped skulls. Some of the rounds bounced off. Some of them missed. I waited until the leaders of the group reached the car, backed up onto the roof, checking six, and popped them as they tried to climb up. Again, point blank range. Pop. Zulu down. Pop. Zulu down.
I’d reloaded, twice, carefully placing the empty mags in my right pocket where my ammo was, and realized that at this rate I was going to run out of loaded magazines before I ran out of Zulus. I dropped off the car, dodged around another to confuse the zombies and darted through the crowd of vehicles looking for…a look is the best way I can describe it.
I found it behind the wheel of a new-model Cadillac. A man with short cropped hair going gray, a stiff back and a look of concentrated fury.
“Can you reload these, please, sir?” I asked, holding up my spent magazines and a handful of .22 ammunition.
“Sure will, son,” the man said, cracking his window. “Who knew I’d need my guns at a revival!”
“You’re a gift from God, young man,” the woman said. His wife, also going gray, good looking for an older lady, looked just as competent and just as angry.
“You have no idea , ma’am,” I replied.
The Zulus were closing so I slid up onto the hood and then up to the roof. I knew it was damaging the paint of the well-cared-for vehicle. I also knew the occupants would understand.
More zombies down and it was time to play tag again.
By the time I got back around to the Caddy, the wife just stuck her hand out the window with my refilled mags. I reloaded, handed her my expended and with most of the Zulus still trying to get to me
“This is gonna be interesting,” I muttered, trotting forward.
I had exactly two advantages in the situation. I had a firearm, which meant slightly more range than arm’s length. And I had the cars. The zombies could clearly reach a fair turn of speed in a straight line. They had a harder time with any sort of maneuvering. Which meant I had to get into and onto the cars and use them to break up the mass. The nearby woods might help as well assuming that I could outrun the zombies from the cars to the woods. Given my current condition, I wasn’t positive I was more nimble than the zombies.
I put that out of my mind and approached the group which was feasting on the woman. She looked like she was probably one of the mothers of the group. She’d been on the passenger side. I could vaguely see kids in the backseat, huddled on the far side. I wasn’t sure where the dad had gone.
I popped one of the undead in the back of the skull. Zulu down. Shift, pop. Zulu down. Shift, pop. Zulu down.
Now I had their attention.
If I thought about it, I knew I would fail. So I didn’t think about it. I simply leapt onto the trunk of the next car over and ran across the roof. There were more Zulus around the cars but with moving meat their attention was shifting. Arms waved at me from almost every direction as I popped Zulus in the fading light. One thing I’d already determined was that getting this over before full dark was sort of a necessity. Fighting these things in the dark wasn’t something I relished.
As the zombies concentrated on getting to me from the driver’s side and back, I made a leap to the next car over’s hood. Again, I just assumed it was going to work. I ignored the fact I had a femur made of baling wire and spit and that four months before I had been in traction. I ignored the fact that doctors told me I’d never walk again without a pronounced limp. I, in fact, forgot about all of it in the rush of combat.
Two more leaps and I’d partially broken contact and the Zulus had to maneuver around a couple of cars to get to me. As the first group approached I took careful, aimed, fire and popped skulls. Some of the rounds bounced off. Some of them missed. I waited until the leaders of the group reached the car, backed up onto the roof, checking six, and popped them as they tried to climb up. Again, point blank range. Pop. Zulu down. Pop. Zulu down.
I’d reloaded, twice, carefully placing the empty mags in my right pocket where my ammo was, and realized that at this rate I was going to run out of loaded magazines before I ran out of Zulus. I dropped off the car, dodged around another to confuse the zombies and darted through the crowd of vehicles looking for…a look is the best way I can describe it.
I found it behind the wheel of a new-model Cadillac. A man with short cropped hair going gray, a stiff back and a look of concentrated fury.
“Can you reload these, please, sir?” I asked, holding up my spent magazines and a handful of .22 ammunition.
“Sure will, son,” the man said, cracking his window. “Who knew I’d need my guns at a revival!”
“You’re a gift from God, young man,” the woman said. His wife, also going gray, good looking for an older lady, looked just as competent and just as angry.
“You have no idea , ma’am,” I replied.
The Zulus were closing so I slid up onto the hood and then up to the roof. I knew it was damaging the paint of the well-cared-for vehicle. I also knew the occupants would understand.
More zombies down and it was time to play tag again.
By the time I got back around to the Caddy, the wife just stuck her hand out the window with my refilled mags. I reloaded, handed her my expended and with most of the Zulus still trying to get to me
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