What Zombies Fear (Book 2): The Maxists Read Online Free Page A

hand to pick the corpse of the smash-faced zombie up by one foot. He let out a soft grunt as he slung it into the group of undead staring at us with that same vacant hunger-lust in their eyes. There was a line of them steadily streaming through a hole in the fence behind this group.
     
    I heard a crash behind us, as the fence caved in on the other side of the yard and another group headed towards us from behind.
     
    “ Leo, John. We’re going to need some help.” I said into the mic, drawing my hatchet and pistol.
     
    “ Aww shit, Vic. It’s only a few,” complained Marshall finishing a golf style swing, which launched the top jaw and most of the skull of a zombie over the fence.
     
    “ Only takes one.” I said.
     
    “ Not for us. Well, maybe for you.”
     
    Leo and John got the door to the loading dock open at the other end of the building. John was holding a cardboard box full of cheap five dollar buck knives, still in the plastic packaging. He threw the first knife, package and all at the farthest zombie from us. When the package hit the zombies head, the knife kept going, slicing through its container and entering the brain stem of the zed. He threw six more packages, dropping six more zombies the exact same way. At the same time, Leo took off in a blur. The easiest way to follow her was to watch the heads flying in the air in the wake of her destruction. It reminded me of a combine harvesting corn, shooting out the ears into a hopper behind. This was her go-to method of undead destruction, running down the line faster than they could grab for her, kukri extended at neck height, lopping their heads off as she ran past.
     
    “ Hey Leo,” yelled John. ”I bet I can get that one before you!” He said throwing a packaged knife with deadly accuracy at the walking corpse of an old lady wearing only a long tee shirt style nightgown. On the front of the nightgown was a picture of a cat, sitting down on a rug. The caption read “The best cure for insomnia is a furry friend.” She wasn’t wearing any undergarments, but should have been. In life she must have weighed two-fifty or better. Her tits sagged to her waist.
     
    Not to be outdone, Leo poured on a burst of speed from clear across the grounds. She chased down the flying knife, reached up and plucked it from the air while she was running, then speared the old lady through the middle of her forehead on the end of a short sword. She lifted the handle of the curved blade, splitting the old lady’s face as the corpse slid to the ground, forever unmoving.
     
    “ Not fair!” yelled John. He threw the last seven knives in one quick movement, including the cardboard box. Each knife flew straight and accurate, out of the box. Each blade buried itself in the forehead of its target.
     
    “ Jesus, John, how hard do you have to throw those knives to get them to stick in their foreheads?” I shouted, almost laughing. In unison the corpses fell to their knees and then toppled forward all at the same time. Three of them came to rest face down with their heads inside the empty cardboard box.
     
    “ Catch those, Leo!” he laughed.
     
    While John and Leo were playing with the first group, Marshall smashed through all the undead in front of us and was wading through a sea of bodies towards the gap in the fence. He bent down and retrieved the hammer he’d thrown in his empty left hand and then brought the two hammer heads together. I’m sure the sound of two giant heat treated high carbon steel hammer heads clanging together with that much force would had been deafening, except that there was a head between them to absorb the blow. The skull exploded in a circle outward from the head in all directions, launching gore twenty five feet in the air. Marshall had an almost perfect line of gray matter and blood from his crotch to his forehead.
     
    About halfway to the broken segment of fence he stopped at a pallet of propane tanks, the kind for regular gas grills. He