“Aim high, and stay behind the boys.” Sarah said while pounding three more bullets into the foreheads of their attackers.
B.J. ran up behind her father and Colton. She tried to take careful aim. The first zombie looked like someone’s mother, and B.J. couldn’t pull the trigger. The next one seemed like someone’s grandfather. She sighed and tried to find someone else. Almost every zombie she aimed at still looked alive and healthy. She wouldn’t even point the gun at the kids.
Bobby switched to the Kel-Tec KSG shotgun. He switched the gun so that it fired from the tube filled with slugs. The first chunk of lead hammered into the closest man. The aim was low, and instead of hitting him in the head it went through the neck. It must have hit the spine because the man just collapsed. The slug kept going and hit a woman in the collarbone. The woman twisted and fell to the ground with a crunch. There was so much damage to her collarbone that her left arm was completely useless when she started to get back onto her feet.
Bobby fired Michelle again, and the woman’s head smashed in like a pumpkin. The slug kept going and removed a man’s leg at the knee, and finally found its home inside the stomach of a five year old girl. The girl fell onto her butt, and when she got back onto her feet her insides were spilling out through the wound. If she felt any pain, she didn’t show it.
Her insides were dragging behind her as she started running towards them again. Bobby was already aiming at another zombie, and Colton was fighting with a magazine that wasn’t fitting into the gun. One of the other zombies took a bullet from Sarah, and collapsed onto the kids internal organs. The little girl’s insides unraveled until they snapped tight. Her lower intestine tore, and a mixture of semi-digested food and fecal matter sprayed out. The girl kept churning her legs, and eventually the girl started dragging the body behind her.
Colton got the magazine into his gun, and shot a skinny male jogger. The first bullet hit him in the chest. The man staggered, and Colton fired a second shot. The jogger fell onto the lower intestine beside the already dead man that the girl was dragging. The little girl slowed, but kept moving. A troop of Boy Scouts ran past the girl. Bobby took aim and fired the last four slugs of in his shotgun. Two of the four were headshots. The heavy lead erased anything resembling a face. Those slugs hammered into various body parts of zombies behind the scout troop. The other two slugs were low and went through their chests. As the lead expanded, it ripped the spines out of two cherubic scouts. Their legs quit working, but their arms clawed at the street to get closer.
Bobby flipped to the other tube of buckshot shells. He started unloading shot after shot. His shoulder was already becoming bruised and sore, but he emptied the shotgun. “I need to reload.”
Colton flipped to his shotgun, “I’ve got you.” The fat redhead jiggled with every shot. B.J. kept trying to find someone in the crowd that she could shoot and not feel guilty about later. Colton fired the last shell, “I’m out. I have to reload.”
*Click*
B.J. turned around. Sarah dropped her rifle and started walking up to them. She took out both of her pistols, and then opened up on the zombies as soon as she was standing beside her husband. Both guns blasted away as fast as she could pull the trigger. Zombies dropped in heaps. Sarah emptied both magazines. She yelled, “Reloading.” Then she tucked one gun under her arm, and started replacing the magazine on the other.
Bobby racked a shell into Michelle, “This is so much better than Duck Hunt!” Bobby shredded the zombies with blast after blast of buckshot. Chunks of flesh and bone were blown off one shell at a time.
Colton joined back in and the buckshot proved much more forgiving of his aim. As the zombies got closer it was less about aim, and more about just pulling the trigger and reloading. Even when Colton missed, the buckshot still found its mark in the head of another zombie. There were so many that it was almost impossible to shoot into the crowd and not kill at least one or two.
Sarah got her pistols reloaded and she emptied both clips, killing the last of the Boy Scouts in the process. “I’m out.” Sarah searched for more magazines, but she was empty.
Colton pulled his trigger, but nothing happened. “I’m out.”
There were three zombies left. An old man, a man dressed in a forest ranger uniform, and a busty soccer mom that was still pushing her stroller for some unexplained reason. Bobby took aim at the forest ranger, “Hey Ranger Smith…this is for denying Yogi and Boo-Boo all those picanic baskets.”
The park ranger seemed insulted and snapped, “My name is Alphonse Heb-“
*Boom*
The buckshot destroyed everything above the park ranger’s jawline. His hat fluttered to the ground. Bobby aimed for the old man and yelled, “Try not to break a hip on the way to hell!” The old man flipped them the bird just as Bobby pulled the trigger. The buckshot took the man’s finger completely off, and he collapsed with three pellets from the shell buried in his brain. The soccer mom ran a little faster. Bobby sighted her in. “Holy shit…I really am a M.I.L.F. hunter.” He pulled the trigger.
*Click*
“Motherfucker. I need to reload.” Bobby started fumbling with the shells.
B.J. gasped. No one else had any ammunition, and her father wasn’t going to be able to reload in time. B.J. looked at Sarah and Colton, but they were standing too far away to toss either of them her guns. Her father started backing up, but the soccer mom was gaining. B.J. raised both guns and pulled the triggers. She didn’t stop until both magazines were empty. The soccer mom lay bleeding on the ground. Most of her shots missed completely, but she got lucky, and one of the bullets pierced the woman through the eye. The soccer mom lay on her back, blood poured from hole in the back of her skull, and ran back down the road.
B.J. ran to the side of the bridge and vomited. Sarah put a consoling arm around her and whispered, “It’s okay sweetie. You had to do it.”
“I k-k-killed her.” B.J. sobbed.
Sarah shook her head, “No sweetie…they were already dead.”
“You don’t know that!” B.J. sniffled.
“If they weren’t already dead, then they should be. They would have killed us. Now I know this sounds bad, but I need you to hold it together for just a little while longer. Can you do that?” Sarah asked.
B.J. sniffled and nodded, “I’ll try.”
That’s when they heard the baby crying. It was loud, and angry. Colton paled, “Oh God…you can’t be serious.”
Bobby finished reloading and walked over to the stroller. He took one look inside, and then looked as though he was going to vomit. “Jesus…the little bastard chewed off its own fingers.” Bobby stepped to the front of the stroller and took careful aim.
*Boom*
“Holy shit Bobby. I can’t believe you just shot a baby.” Colton had to sit down from the shock of it.
Bobby was pale. He looked barely able to stand, but he still found the strength to give Colton a weak smile, ”I’m an equal opportunity ass kicker. I’m gonna shoot every undead motherfucker regardless of age, creed, sexual preference, or religion.”
Colton sputtered, “But it’s a baby!”
Bobby shrugged, “Would it make you feel better if we just said I performed an extremely late term abortion?”
“No…damn…what the hell is wrong with you!” Colton snapped.
“What? I’m just exercising my right to be pro-choice.” Bobby’s eyes gave a hint of madness to them.
“Bobby…shut up.” Sarah’s voice didn’t even have the slightest hint of laughter. Bobby’s grin fell immediately, and his shoulders slumped as he realized he might have taken it a little too far. Pissing off Colton was one thing, but upsetting Sarah was a different thing altogether.
Chapter Forty
“Fucking asshole…I wish I knew how he made me jump out of that bus. Must be some sort of Jedi mind trick.” Jimbo grumbled as he walked along the edge of the highway. Most of his clothing was trashed. The wound in his leg from Damien hadn’t healed, and now both
arms were broken. One of his feet was facing the wrong direction, and he was pretty sure there was glass in his face, but he couldn’t raise his hands up to pick it out. At least the mirror had fallen out of his ass.
He’d been walking almost two hours now, and was just now crossing the bridge over the Amite River on Louisiana 16. Jimbo walked barefoot across the combinations of pavement and metal grating that made up the bridge road. Steel girders were covered in rust, and Jimbo edged as close to them as possible to avoid being hit by another car.
Flashing lights were the first clue something was wrong. The siren made Jimbo jerk, but he kept walking. A white police car with green trim slowly drove in front and came to a stop. Jimbo had no choice but to stop. They were at the center of the bridge. The officer wore a light green uniform. He walked around and said, “You know it isn’t safe to walk this bridge. You might…” The officer took a closer look at Jimbo. “Jesus boy…sit down so I can get you an ambulance.”
Jimbo shrugged, “Won’t help.”
“Well just come sit down and let them decide on that okay.” The officer was genuinely concerned. He gestured to the green shield with the state of Louisiana on the passenger door. Jimbo flopped down beside the door. The officer got on his radio and asked for an ambulance. Then he wiped the sweat off his balding head, “It started out so nice and cool this morning, but it’s gonna be a hot one today.”
“If you say so.” Jimbo responded. He looked up at the officer. The man’s ebony skin already had a slight sheen of sweat forming on his arms and high forehead. He had a large mustache, and friendly brown eyes. The nametag on his chest said Duane Jones.
“What happened to you?” Officer Jones said.
Jimbo half-heartedly said, “I got hit by a car.”
Officer Jones shook his head, “Damn…is there anything I can do for you while we’re waiting? I have some spare water in my trunk.”
“No…thanks.” Jimbo leaned his head back against the green shield for the French Settlement police car.
Officer Jones politely asked, “Can I get your name and date of birth?”
“Jimmy Beaufort…people call me Jimbo. My date of birth is January 7th 1982.”
“Okay Jimbo. I’m Officer Duane Jones, but most people call me Ben. I’m going to step around to use my car’s computer. Just rest right here for now okay.” Officer Jones said with a gentle smile.
“Thanks Officer…Ben.” Jimbo said with a weak grin.
Officer Jones slipped into his car and checked the man. Seconds after he finished typing the information he received the returns on his computer. Officer Jones read as the man’s regional warrants popped up one after another. Then he clicked to go forward and saw the warrants from the national database. “Jesus…what kind of sicko is this guy?”
The officer asked his dispatcher for confirmation on all warrants. In the meantime ems arrived. Officer Jones got out and watched as they loaded the man into the back of the ambulance. One of the medics walked over, “We’re going to take him to Our Lady of The Lake.”
Officer Jones nodded, “Okay, I’ll be following. He’s wanted in two parishes for beastiality. What a freak!”
“Eww…can we just push him off the bridge and pretend this never happened.” The medic said. When the officer didn’t laugh he interjected, “You know I’m kidding right?”
“We’re still investigating that couple we found floating in the river last week. Right now probably isn’t the best time to be making jokes.” Officer Jones grumbled.
“Fine! No sense of humor whatsoever.” The medic snapped as he walked back to the ambulance.
Officer Jones slipped back into his car and followed the ambulance. At first it was like they were taking their time. Driving safely and carefully to their location, but then suddenly the lights and sirens went on and the ambulance started accelerating. The officer groaned, “What the hell just happened?” Then he stepped down on the gas to catch up.
Medic Tucker Alphonse Beauchamp, and medic Dale Jacques Hebert were working frantically on Jimbo. Their driver, medic Evan Rendell drove like a wild man as he weaved the boxy ambulance in and out between cars. Evan Rendell peeked back, “Tucker, Dale…what’s his status?”
Tucker and Dale were still securing the man in. Jimbo kept trying to climb out. Dale shook his head, “I’ve never seen anything like it. His heart isn’t beating, he’s got no reflexes, his pupils are completely blown. He’s got the worst case of sulfhemoglobinemia I’ve seen in twenty years. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was dead, but he’s still communicative.”
Tucker nodded, “His blood is green as old pea soup. Hell it’s so dark that it’s almost black. The officer said he had warrants for raping animals. Do you think maybe he got this from porking a pig?”
Jimbo screamed, “I never raped nothing! Baby and I were in love! All the others were consensual relationships between adults.”
“Pigs can’t give consent.” Medic Rendell giggled.
“Then how’d your momma have you!” Jimbo yelled as he strained against his restraints, but with both arms broken he couldn’t put up much resistence.
“Watch your mouth smartass!” Evan Rendell turned completely around and screamed at the man. “My mother was a saint!”
“A Saint Bernard!” Jimbo laughed.
“Oh shit! Bus!” Tucker screamed.
Evan Rendell turned back around and screamed. He jerked the steering wheel and the ambulance’s tires screamed as he got back into his lane. “Holy shit! That nearly was bad.”
“What the fuck man? You have one job! ONE! Drive the ambulance. What the hell were you doing?” Dale screamed
Evan Rendell started giggling, “I let Jesus take the wheel, but I forgot the poor bastard doesn’t have a driver’s license.”
“That’s not funny.” Tucker growled.
“It’s a little funny.” Dale chuckled.
“Did you guys see who was driving that bus?” Evan asked.
“I can’t see anything through your pumpkin head.” Tucker grumbled.
Dale ignored his best friend and coworker, “Who was it?”
“I’m not sure.” Evan answered.
“Well if you didn’t know, then why the fuck are you asking us?” Tucker spat.
“What I mean is, I don’t know who because of how they were dressed. It was a busload of clansmen. Strangest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” Evan said.
“Clansman? You mean like the KKK? I didn’t even know they still existed. Are you sure?” Tucker asked.
“White sheets and hoods...either it’s the clan, or it’s a busload of muslim women wearing those burgers.” Evan said through gritted teeth as he fought the ambulance around a corner.
“Burgers? You mean burqas.” Dale said as he rolled his eyes.
“Burqas, burgers, what does it matter?” Evan grumbled, “I’m just saying that I think that was the clan.”
“Can we focus on this man please?” Tucker snapped. “Dale…get me some epinephrine.”
“Epinephrine? Why?” Dale asked.
“His heart isn’t beating. We need to try and get it started.” Tucker answered as he pumped on Jimbo’s chest.
Jimbo spat up green frothy bile as the man kept working. “Can you stop that? I’m gonna lose my lunch at this rate.”
“Hey guys?” Evan yelled. “That police officer is turning around.”
“So what? Maybe he just decided not to arrest Doctor Doolittle here.” Tucker said as he plunged the epinephrine needle directly into Jimbo’s heart.
Its effect was instant. Jimbo felt his bones begin to shift. His teeth fell out, and he began choking on them. His face ached as he felt the flesh pushing out the glass. Tucker and Dale watched in horror as the man’s face elongated, and his hair tore away exposing two furry wolf ears underneath.
“Oh shit” Tucker and Dale both screamed.
“What is it now?” Evan turned his head to see what the two men were screaming about.
A clawed
hand shot up. The snapped restraint was dangling off Jimbo’s arm. The skin was falling off, showing the fur underneath. Two of the clawed fingers rammed through both Evan’s nostrils, and imbedded themselves all the way up into the medic’s brain. Jimbo pulled his arm back, and yanked Evan out of the driver’s seat. With no one left to drive, the ambulance veered and swerved before dipping into a drainage ditch. The ambulance was still doing seventy when it hit a steel drain pipe that ran under a driveway. The ambulance stopped immediately, but the contents inside kept going. Tucker was thrown forward through the windshield. He struck a wood fence, and one of the wooden slats went through his mouth. It anchored him down. His body’s momentum carried him over the fence. The point of the slat stuck out through the bottom of his jaw line and then back into his throat. His body tried to keep going, and it ripped away from the neck and rolled another twenty feet.
Dale hit the driver seat and felt shoulder pop out of joint, and then his neck snapped and he didn’t feel anything at all. Dale gasped like a fish out of water as he tried to will air into lungs that no longer responded to command. When his vision refocused, the crippled man screamed. Jimbo wasn’t the man they were working on. He was eight foot tall, and covered in fur, fangs and claws. Jimbo was chewing on Evan’s soft belly. Each bite tore out a mouthful of the man’s innards. Evan’s eyes were already dull.
Dale was suffocating. He fought to get even a little breath, but nothing came. Instead all he could do was lay there. Strangely he felt himself become calm. Dale knew this was in response to lack of oxygen. His training as a medic let him recognize all the symptoms of imminent death from suffocation. Knowledge had always comforted him before, but now it was taunting him. He saw everything he needed to save his own life dangling around him, and he couldn’t move to help himself. All he could do was lay there and wait to eventually black out from lack of oxygen.
Uncle Gary's Campfire Stories: Bayou Zombie Werewolves Page 39