by Chris Lowry
“Sorry,” she said.
“About the hand or back there?”
“Both.”
“What you guys did was not cool, man,” Rat had both of his hands on the wheel. The lead foot may have been the result of not being able to control his ankle.
“Sorry,” Jess offered again.
Carrie sniffled.
“Is she going to keep doing that? Because if she is, you guys can walk from here.”
Carrie put her mouth behind a hand, and tried to hold back the tears.
“Remember that song, Holding Back the Tears?” Rat said over her to Taylor.
“I liked it.”
“Me too man.”
He reached up and flipped on the radio. The speakers blared in static. He gripped the wheel with his left hand as he used the tip of his right finger to scan through all the stations.
Nothing but static.
“I miss music,” he sighed.
Carrie moved his hand out of the way and clicked on the CD button.
Country music filled the cab, the wail of a steel guitar mournfully pounding out a song about lost love and drinking.
“Not the kind of music I meant,” Rat started to punch the button to turn it off.
Carrie slapped his hand away.
“Leave it,” she snuffled. “I like it.”
Rat gripped the wheel tighter with two hands.
“Alright then, guess we’re playing redneck today. Where to?”
“This thing got gas?”
He tapped the fuel gauge.
“Three quarters of a tank.”
“We should make it,” said Jess.
“Make it where?”
She scrunched up in Taylor’s lap.
“Just follow directions,” she said. “You can drop us off or stick around.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The farm.
That’s what they called it.
Rat idled the truck in front of swinging metal gate under a rusty sign hung over the road. It looked more like two ruts that meandered through a pasture and over a hill, but Jess assured them that there was a building on the other side.
“Stocked pond,” she said with a smile. “A garden for vegetables. Woods for hunting. If you can build a windmill, we can even make our own electricity.”
Taylor almost said he could look it up on the internet but that wasn’t true. He didn’t even know if there still was an internet, or if he could just make it up as he went along.
But he didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.
“What’s the G for?” Rat indicated the stencil carved out of the sign.
“Gordon,” Carrie sniffed. “It’s our last name.”
Taylor let his eyes search the field.
“Seems quiet.”
“Should be,” said Carrie. “Grandpa didn’t have neighbors for miles.”
“I like the sound of that. It’s time we got some privacy.”
He leered at Carrie, then glanced through the rear window of the truck.
“It’s like hidden and stuff, right off the main road.”
“Best of both worlds,” said Jess, a wistful look on her face.
“Best of the new world,” Carrie added almost under her breath.
“Let’s get to it,” Taylor shifted the door open.
“Where you going?” Rat asked.
“Someone has to open the gate,” he held up his clawed hands.
“Not it,” Rat shouted with a grin and pointed to his ankle.
Jess sighed and slid out of the cab of the truck.
“You can only milk this for so long, you know.”
She opened the metal pipe gate with a swinging creak that carried across the quiet grassland.
“Think anyone heard that?” she whispered.
“I think everyone heard it.”
They stood in frozen silence for a moment.
“But,” added Taylor. “If the glass packs on this truck didn’t bring them running, I think we’re safe.”
Jess looked around once more and climbed back into the cab once Taylor had settled. They spent extra time getting situated and settled for the bumps on the dirt road ahead.
“Speaking of milk,” Rat licked his lips. “You got cows?”
“There were. And chickens. I thought we’d eat a lot of eggs and veggies,” said Carrie.
“But steak?” he asked hopefully as he eased the truck forward.
“You can’t kill Winnie.”
“Who’s Winnie?”
“The cow.”
“You named your dinner?”
“I named my pet,” Jess growled. “You can’t eat my pet.”
“But hamburgers?” Rat whined. “Ribs.”
“There will be no pet eating,” Taylor said with finality. “Unless it’s dead, or dies, and then we can decide something else because steak sounds really good.”
Jess crossed her arms and snorted.
“Uh, guys,” Rat pointed. “Who’s that?”
They stared through the windshield as they approached the farm house. There was an outbuilding with a tractor, and another truck underneath it, like an open air garage that had lean-to’s and other roofed areas built onto each side.
The house was a traditional two story farm house, painted a shade of green that made it stand out against the packed dirt around it, but made Taylor think that if he brought in sod, it would probably be a good design.
There was a wrap around porch that covered the front and side of the house, a porch swing and a couple of rocking chairs scattered beside the door.
Someone sat in one of the rocking chairs, following it’s namesake by tilting back and forth, a long rifle in gnarled hands.
“Oh God,” said Carrie.
Jess sniffed twice and burst into tears.
“That don’t look like God,” Rat muttered, trying for a joke as he pulled the truck to a stop and the figure on the porch shifted up and aimed the rifle in their direction.
“I don’t know who you are,” the old man shouted.
He looked ancient, bent, gnarled hands curled around the stock of the gun, but they were steady as he aimed into the glass of the wind shield.
“But you better turn around and keep going. Ain’t nothing for you here.”
“It’s Grandpa,” Jess sobbed.
She leaned out of the window and yelled.
“Grandpa!”
The old man on the porch lowered the rifle as they piled out of the truck, and the girls raced up the stairs to embrace him.
“Welcome home,” he cried as he held them. “My girls.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Taylor sat on the top of a rise that let him stare down the expanse of pasture. The grass stretched to the main road they had driven in on a few weeks before. He noticed the gate was open and made a note to yell at Rat about it.
He was the last one on a scavenger hunt, and forgot to close it.
Not that there were any cows to get loose. Winnie had died, Mr. Gordon informed them not too long after they arrived, but she lived on in their memories.
At least in Jess’ memories. The memory of how she tasted was what Rat and Taylor remembered. Fresh steak, ground beef, roast.
Mr. Gordon may have had a sentimental streak for his granddaughters, but he was practical as hell when it came to farm life.
It made a great break from eggs, which Carrie insisted on.
He flexed his still healing hands and tried to work through exercises. The burns had started to scar over with pink skin, though the edges were still raw.
It made him useless for most of the day to day chores on the farm, which gave him guard duty the majority of the time.
Which meant sitting on the quiet hill and watching for Z. Or rogue biker gangs. Or anything out of the ordinary.
Like now.
He spied yellow movement on the roadway, and stared in shock as a long line of school buses rumbled up the road.
The lead bus passed the open gate, b
ut the second one in line stopped.
Taylor watched as the doors shifted out, and a man carrying a military rifle stepped down and studied the ground.
He made a motion with his hand and climbed back on the bus as it pulled into the long driveway.
The others followed. Taylor scrambled to his feet and raced across the pasture, hoping like hell he could reach the farmhouse before this new danger could.
THE END
Thank you for reading HEADSHOTS. If you liked it, would you leave a review on Amazon? Authors love word of mouth.
If you’re reading these in order, this takes place between OVERLAND ZOMBIE and the next installment in the series, LONE STAR ZOMBIE.
FLYOVER
OVERLAND
HEADSHOTS
LONESTAR
RENEGADE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thanks for grabbing a copy of HEADSHOTS, set in the Battlefield Z universe. Believe it or not, this started as a screenplay when I was living in Los Angeles. This was before The Walking Dead was a big thing, before Zombieland made some noise at the box office. I had an idea about an aspiring actor who hooked up with this Ratso Rizo type guy and the two buddies had a road trip comedy. With zombies.
I pitched it a couple hundred times, but no one was biting, then I wrote the script on spec and like most of those, it went into a drawer.
But then Battlefield Z took off, and I started building the Z- verse around it.
The first installment was FLYOVER ZOMBIE, which people either love or hate. I described it like Wagon train with zombies, or Battlestar Galactica with zombies, about a group of soldiers leading a rag tag group of survivors across the zombie wasteland.
But I kept thinking about Headshots. I liked the idea of a buddy action story, so I moved it over into the Z-verse, and somehow they ended up with the two sisters. I set it all in Texas so the Flyover crew could make a stopover at the farm.
Bam.
So if you liked it, get ready for OVERLAND ZOMBIE, which is book 3 in the series and combines the two groups.
You will note I am a huge fan of TWD, and see some references there.
Overland will be out in May, but if you haven’t tried the series that started it all, check out Battlefield Z, a comedy about a father hunting for his children after the zombie apocalypse.
There are 5 books out in that series (listed in order below) and book 6 is coming out middle of May.
I have 4 more planned out after that, and 2 or 3 more in the Flyover series.
That’s enough zombie nom noms to make Christmas a full of joy and awesome sauce.
I’m also finishing up a thriller series, and have been knocking on some SCI FI doors with a story that wants to be told.
Depending on what you like, you can grab a free copy of a novel, see if it’s to your taste, and follow along on FB or Twitter, so you know when they’ll come out.
Or you could leave a review on Amazon and click Follow the Author there. The Zon will tell you when I send new stuff out.
Anyway, thanks for letting me write stories for you. I’ve been doing it a long time, and when I think of people actually reading them, and enjoying them, it gives me a little tingle.
Not a dirty kind of tingle, but you know, a flutter in my stomach that feels like gratitude and pride got together to make a baby.
Which thinking about a baby inside me is kind of weird in a dude sort of way, but maybe more like a mind baby, Athena popping from the skull of Zeus.
Please don’t think I’m comparing myself to Zues in any way. That dude is way more volatile than I am.
But thank you none the less.
And I hope to see you with the next book.
In fact, take a pic on your phone and send it to me.
Chris
[email protected]
@lowrychris
On Twitter
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that started it all?
BATTLEFIELD Z
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About the Author
Chris Lowry is an avid adventurer and ultra-running author. He divides his time between Florida, Arkansas and California where he trains for 100 mile Ultramarathons. He has completed over 68 races, including 18 marathons and 12 Ultramarathons and is planning a Transcontinental Run across the United States from Los Angeles to New York City in 2017. He has kayaked the Mississippi River solo, and biked across the state of Florida. When not outdoors, he is producing and directing a documentary film about adventure and writing. His novels include Sci-Fi thrillers, Spy thriller’s and mainstream fiction. He loves good craft beer and meeting with reading clubs and running clubs, especially if the aforementioned beer is offered.
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More Books by the Author
Are you a fan of post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi?
A father hunts for his children after the zombie apocalypse. Sci-Fi comedy in 6 book series.
BATTLEFIELD Z
BATTLEFIELD Z-CHILDREN’S BRIGADE
BATTLEFIELD Z-SWEET HOME ZOMBIE
BATTLEFIELD Z-ZOMBIE BLUES HIGHWAY
BATTLEFIELD Z-MARDI GRAS ZOMBIE
More Sci-Fi
HOLY WAR
MOON MEN
SUPER SECRET SPACE MISSION
Westerns
FORT SMITH
Urban Fantasy
WIZARD AT WAR
WITCHMAS
WITCHMAS EVE
WITCHMAS DAY
Do you like smart ass heroes who get in over their head? Need a little more magic in your life? Check out the Marshal of Magic up to his neck in wicked witch troubles.
CONSCRIPTED
MISSION ONE
FLASH BANG
SHADOWBOXER
DECREED
CREDIBLE THREAT
NAZI NUKES