bedroom wall. He ignored it. He made his way back down the hall to the living room. He checked the shotguns-they were loaded and ready.
Multiple?sts pounded at the front door. It shook in its frame.
Jubal reloaded his Glock, holstered it, hung one shotgun from his shoulder and gripped the other one in his hands.
The front door, tearing from its hinges, slammed straight down against the?oor, as the crowd of undead fought to be the?rst one to get hold of Jubal. They wedged against each other in the doorway, blocking their own progress. Their antics reminded Jubal of a Three Stooges routine.
He put his back to the hallway. If things got real bad, he could always run down the hall to his mother’s bedroom, where there was a window into the front yard, giving him better access to his cruiser parked at the curb. He was thankful he didn’t have to go through his own bedroom. The sooner he forgot about that room, the better.
Jubal began shooting zombies.
Randy Minear was?rst. He and Jubal had played little league baseball together down at the city park. Randy had been an amazing short stop. He still moved pretty quick, faster than any of the walking dead Jubal had seen. He was almost on Jubal before the shotgun was raised. The blast removed most of Randy’s head, splattering bone and brains and gore onto the undead behind him. The headless corpse toppled backward, causing several of the zombies to trip and become tangled up.
Jubal took a few steps back to give him some room to maneuver. As he did, he pumped another round into the chamber of the Mossberg. Seven shots to go. Then he had the other shotgun on his back and the Glock in his belt.
A nude?gure struggled past the mass of zombies on the?oor, rolling over the other bodies and landing in front of Jubal. The dead thing stood and he recognized the decaying form of Margie Gilmore, the?rst woman he ever saw naked. When he was 13, he had chased a baseball into her backyard. After he retrieved the ball, Jubal glanced at the sliding glass door and saw Mrs. Gilmore-the mother of his friend Kent-standing there in the nude. Her breasts were quite large and sagged more than a little. Jubal didn’t care. He was frozen in place, blushing over his entire body as he stared at the brown areolas and incredibly large nipples. She held a drinking glass in one hand and she used the other to rub her belly, which served to direct his eyes toward the unkempt thatch of black hair below her navel. Jubal managed to get his body moving then, and he sprinted back to the city park. He never told anyone about the encounter, perhaps because he found it both disturbing and arousing, and he took care to stay far away from Mrs. Gilmore after that.
Now she was within a foot or two of him. The thought of her touch made his stomach do a nauseating?ip. He pointed the Mossberg and removed the left side of her head. Her right eye stared at him as she toppled to the? oor.
Six shells left in this one, Jubal. Choose wisely.
Three of the disgusting creatures squeezed through the door, two pushing the one in front. Jubal didn’t recognize any of them. All three tripped over the two bodies on the?oor, and one of them?ew through the air and struck Jubal before he could?re the shotgun. He was knocked onto his back with the zombie on top of him.
It had been a man of medium build. His face was pockmarked by the ruptured boils, and the familiar odor of disease threatened to choke Jubal. The thing swiveled its head toward Jubal’s neck and snapped its jaws. It made a tuneless humming sound, just like Jubal’s father had done when he puttered around in the garage.
The shotgun was pinned between them, its barrel aimed across Jubal’s chest. He worked his left hand up against the zombie’s side and shoved at the snapping monster. Beneath the creature’s t-shirt, the?esh shifted and rolled like the meat on a roasted chicken. As soon as he had enough room to move the Mossberg, Jubal squeezed the trigger. The recoil threw the zombie into the air and drove Jubal’s right elbow into the hardwood?oor. He felt something crunch in the joint and a searing jolt of pain exploded in a white?ash that threatened to drive him to unconsciousness.
The zombie wasn’t dead. That thought was enough motivation to force Jubal to his feet. His vision swam in and out of focus, but he could see the creature also struggling to stand. Part of its chest and left shoulder were missing. The humming had turned into an angry howl. At least it sounded angry.
Jubal brie?y wondered if the dead things felt anything, whether anger or fear. He decided he didn’t care. He switched the shotgun to his left hand and ended the creature with a headshot.
He had used four shots and there were still so many of them trying to pour in through the door. The pain from his right arm was excruciating. He thought retreat might be a prudent course. He pumped a shell into the Mossberg with a one-armed gesture.
Just like a movie hero.
Cold, dead hands closed on his neck from behind.
How-?
He spun around, though it meant turning his back on the others. The zombie turned with him, so he assumed it was a child or a small woman. He still couldn’t see it but at least he knew how it got the drop on him. The picture window in the living room had shattered. It must have happened when he was down on the?oor. He had almost blacked out and his ears were ringing from the shotgun?re, so he wouldn’t have heard it.
He used the barrel of the Mossberg to swat at the thing on his back. His effort had no effect.
Something tore into the?esh at the base of his neck. Jubal screamed and threw his body against the wall. The grip on his neck loosened and he spun around. His attacker was a girl, probably 13 or 14 years old. Her long blonde hair was braided into pigtails.
Jubal’s blood decorated her lips.
He screamed again as he shoved the tip of the barrel under her chin. He pulled the trigger, and the ceiling was painted with the contents of her skull.
Oh sweet Jesus, it bit me!
He backed toward the hallway, keeping his eyes on the advancing dead.
He kept the shotgun level in front of him. With his right hand he felt around on the back of his neck. The pain in his arm made him whimper.
The wound was small, but it was deep and the edges were ragged. His body went cold.
Am I going to change?
He didn’t know if Fiona had been right when she said Jubal was immune to the disease. Even if he were, would the immunity hold up to a direct bite? He imagined the virus or bacteria or whatever it was making its way through his bloodstream, tweaking him as it went along, soon to materialize as ugly, pus-?lled blisters. The next step would be his induction into the dead army.
No fucking way. It wasn’t going to happen.
If it came to that, he would take Fiona’s way out. He would never become one of those things.
Several of the monsters had worked their way past the bodies on the?oor and were getting close to him.
“Motherfuckers,” Jubal said. He started toward them.
He shot the?rst one in the head.
“Fuck you.”
Two more of the things approached, taking its place. One of them was Patty from the diner. Her smile had been replaced by a hungry grin. Her black tongue played across her swollen lips in a disgusting parody of seduction. Patty hadn’t even been sick two days ago. Was this plague working faster the longer it was in the air?
He did another one-handed pump to ready the shotgun.
“Sorry, Patty.” The blast tore through her face and removed the back of her head.
A crazy thought entered his mind: No more Wednesday special.
Laughter welled up in his chest, the crazy kind that you couldn’t let out. Once it took root it would never stop. He jacked another shell into the chamber and killed Patty’s companion.
The?rst shotgun was empty. He dropped in on the?oor and swung the other Mossberg off his shoulder.
The next zombie through the door was Mr. Handley, his high school math teacher. Handley had given Jubal a particularly hard time in school, apparently owed to an old encounter Handley had with Jubal’s dad. It wasn’t hard to pull the trigger this time.
A shadow fell across the?oor.
