Even Zombie Killers Get The Blues (Zombie Killer Blues) Read Online Free Page A

such a deep sense of loss you broke down and screamed at the world. 
For some, they broke and never came back. Walked off and were never seen
again.  Someone like Jacob, he went off into his own world of denial. Thinking
this whole thing was a dream. For others, like Jonesy and Ahmed, growing up in
the ghetto and in the middle of a war, life honestly wasn’t much different now.
Maybe better. They could shoot who they needed to shoot without repercussion,
and for the most part, no one cared what color your skin was or which side of
the war or city you’d been on. Just that you were alive.
    Brit, she was the same story. I knew she had been a
straight 4.0 student. Smart as hell. All she cared about now was living life in
the right here and now, because the Zombie Apocalypse had stolen her future.
Like it had stolen everyone else’s.  
    On point, Jacob held up his fist, dropped to one
knee, cut his hand sideways then pointed forward. People, not Zs. We all
dropped down and took up firing positions, a quick hasty ambush set up along
the road.

We heard them long before we saw them. Horses. HORSES. At least two, coming
along at a trot. No one had horses anymore, or more like no one used them for
transportation. If a horse got within a hundred meters of a Z, it bolted. Flat
out took off running like its ass was on fire, regardless of who or what was on
its back, and often ran until its heart burst from exhaustion. Back in the
secured zone, I heard, they still used them for farming, but out here they ran
in wild herds that were impossible to come near. They had gotten even wilder
and ran from humans, too, now. I would kill for a freaking horse to ride,
instead of walking.

“OK, time to earn my leader’s paycheck.” I stood up out of the grass and
stepped into the road, weapon pointed down but safety off.

“HALT.” I spoke forcefully, and the two enormous horses slowed but kept
plodding towards me until their riders could get a good look at me, then they were
reigned in. Two men sat astride them, shotguns pointed in my general direction,
threatening but not directly so. They looked like just about any post-plague
refugees---secondhand clothes, heavy leather jackets to keep off Zombie bites,
chaps to guard their legs from bites, heavy gloves. These guys were cleaner
than most, but damn, they smelled. Something I hadn’t smelled in a while. Yep,
these guys were farmers. Manure clung to their heavy rubber boots. Their noses
were immune to the smell, but it burned my nostrils as they got closer.  

“Mighty presumptuous of you to be telling us to halt on our own road. We’ve got
no tolerance for scavengers here. Though from the looks of you…” He eyed my uniform,
with the American flag, the black and red Z patch on my right shoulder and the
Task Force Liberty patch on my left shoulder. I saw his eyes read the “US ARMY”
stenciled on the front of my black armor.
    “Your road? I thought this was a county road.”
    The older one, a grey-haired dude with a scarred
face, laughed out loud. “Ha!  A scavenger with a sense of humor!”

“We’re not scavengers.” I lowered my weapon and put it back on safe. “Nick
Agostine, United States Army Irregular Scouts.”
    “Irregular scouts?”

“Yessir. We work for the Army, but we aren’t actually in the Army.”
    “Funny line of business. So, I suppose you’re just
scouting out here all by your lonesome? Good way to get killed.”
    I whistled once, low, and the rest of the team stood
and stepped out onto the road.  Five of them stayed on guard, weapons pointing
out or back down the road. Jonesy stood next to me, M-4 looking like a toy in
his massive hands. What good that would do if the frigging huge horses decided
to trample his ass, I don’t know. The two horses were gigantic and stood rock
still. The riders seemed more taken aback than the horses but they recovered
quickly.
    “I see,” said the older man, who introduced himself
as Dave. “Well, maybe the rest