Christmas With the Dead Read Free Page B

taken one down and was tearing its throat out, pulling it’s near
rotten head off its shoulders.
    “Good dog, Buffy,” Calvin yelled, and
swung the iron. “Sic em .”
    They came over the roof of the truck. One
of them, a woman, leaped on him and knocked him face down, sent his tire iron
flying. She went rolling into the wall, but was up quickly and moving toward
him.
    He knew this was it. He sensed another
close on him, and then another, and then he heard the dog bark, growl. Calvin
managed to turn his head slightly as Buffy leaped and hit the one above him,
knocking her down. It wasn’t much, but it allowed Calvin to scramble to his
feet, start swinging the tire iron. Left and right he swung it, with all his
might.
    They came for him, closer. He backed up,
Buffy beside him, their asses against the wall, the zombies in front of them.
There were three of the dead left. They came like bullets. Calvin breathed
hard. He grabbed the tire iron off the garage floor, swung it as quickly and as
firmly as he could manage, dodging in between them, not making a kill shot,
just knocking them aside, finally dashing for the truck with Buffy at his
heels. Calvin and Buffy jumped inside, and Calvin slammed the door and locked
it. The zombies slammed against the door and the window, but it held.
    Calvin got a box of .38 shells out of the
glove box, pulled the revolver from his belt and loaded it. He took a deep
breath. He looked out the driver’s side window where one of the zombies, maybe
male, maybe female, too far gone to tell, tried to chew the glass.
    When he had driven inside, he had
inadvertently killed the engine. He reached and twisted the key, started it up.
    Then he pushed back against Buffy, until
they were as close to the other door as possible. Then he used his toe to roll
down the glass where the zombie gnashed. As the window dropped, its head dipped
inward and its teeth snapped at the air. The revolver barked, knocking a hole
in the zombie’s head, spurting a gusher of goo, causing it to spin and drop as
if practicing a ballet move.
    Another showed its face at the open
window, and got the same reception. A .38 slug.
    Calvin twisted in his seat and looked at
the other window. Nothing. Where was the last one? He
eased to the middle, pulling the dog beside him. As he held the dog, he could
feel it shivering. Damn, what a dog. Terrified, and still a fighter. No quitter
was she.
    A hand darted through the open window,
tried to grab him, snatched off his Santa hat. He spun around to shoot. The
zombie arm struck the pistol, sent it flying. It grabbed him. It had him now,
and this one, fresher than the others, was strong. It pulled him toward the
window, toward snapping, jagged teeth.
    Buffy leaped. It was a tight fit between
Calvin and the window, but the starved dog made it, hit the zombie full in the
face and slammed it backwards. Buffy fell out the window after it.
    Calvin found the pistol, jumped out of
the car. The creature had grabbed Buffy by the throat, had spun her around on
her back, and was hastily dropping its head for the bite.
    Calvin fired. The gun took off the top of
the thing’s head. It let go of Buffy. It stood up, stared at him, made two
quick steps toward him, and dropped. The dog
charged to Calvin’s side, growling.
    “It’s all right, girl. It’s all right.
You done good . Damn, you done good.”
    Calvin got the tire iron and went around
and carefully bashed in all the heads of the zombies, just for insurance. Tomorrow,
he’d change the tire on the truck, probably blown out from running over
zombies. He’d put his spare on it, the dough nut tire, drive to the tire store
and find four brand new ones and put them on. Tomorrow he’d get rid of the
zombie’s bodies. Tomorrow he’d do a lot of things.
    But not tonight.
    He found the Santa hat and put it back
on.
    Tonight, he had other plans.
     
    * * *
     
    First he gave Buffy a package of jerky.
She ate like the starving animal she was. He got a