Jake's Law: A Zombie Novel Read Free Page B

his head almost as much as the coffee itself would. He didn’t often overindulge in alcohol – just a couple of beers or a glass of whiskey every now and then – but yesterday had been a special occasion, an anniversary of sorts. It had been exactly one year since the world, his world, had ended; a reason to celebrate or to commiserate, depending on one’s point of view. Others might argue the exact date, but for him, June 6, 2015 was the one he had red-lettered on his mental calendar. June 6, 1944 was D-Day, the invasion of Europe. June 6, 2015, exactly seventy-one years later, was his personal E-Day, the end of his world when almost everyone died. In comparison, a slight hangover headache didn’t seem much to complain about.
    Boots laced , but the coffee not quite finished brewing, he walked to the window and gazed out over his domain. Split Rock Canyon was a narrow defile thrusting six-hundred yards into the rugged Galiuro Mountains north of Tucson, Arizona. His home, built of native stone and Ponderosa pine logs, rested on a ledge fifty feet above the canyon floor, accessible only by a set of fifty-five hand-hewn steps and a twelve-foot-long plank bridge spanning a narrow cleft in the cliff face. His view of the canyon was spectacular, one of the reasons he had chosen such a remote site for his home
    A soft sigh escaped his lips, a s he noticed two figures beyond the gate lumbering up the dirt trail. His day wasn’t starting out well. Even fifteen miles from San Manuel, zombies still managed to find him, roaming along the river from the local farms and ranches. He believed the creatures could smell living flesh, sought it out as a bat seeks cactus blossom pollen. He seemed to be the only living flesh in the area. Moving to the living room, he picked up his Browning X-Bolt rifle always kept handy beside the sofa, and stepped out onto the balcony.
    He sighted his first target through the scope. The creature wore ragged jeans and t-shirt but had no shoes. Its bare feet were lacerated and bleeding. Its eyes, retaining none of the qualities of a living human, scanned the fence hungrily, like an animal. Carefully centering the crosshairs on the zombie’s forehead, he took a deep breath and slowly released it as he squeezed the trigger. Jake’s Law #1 – Aim high; shoot straight. The zombie collapsed before the echo of the shot reverberated from the canyon walls. The heavy .308 Winchester round took out the back of the creature’s head, spraying a fan of blood across the sand. He had learned from experience that head shots worked best. You could kill a zombie if you inflicted sufficient damage to vital organs, but a single round to the brain worked just fine and saved ammunition.
    The second creature stared at its fallen companion with disinterest for just a moment, as if judging it as a possible source of food, and then returned its attention to the gate. As Jake sighted it in his scope, he was shocked to recognize the creature as one of the area ranchers, an old man named Caldwell. He had met Caldwell once or twice at the grocery store in Catalina when Caldwell had struck up a conversation. He had seemed a nice guy, but whatever the creature now was, it was no longer Caldwell. It joined the first zombie a few heartbeats later with Jake’s second well-placed shot. Shortly, he would transport the bodies to a nearby gully and incinerate them, but not before breakfast and an aspirin for his mounting headache. He hated to face zombies, alive or dead, before his first cup of morning coffee. At the noise of the percolator gurgling, he set aside his rifle and strode across the room to the kitchen.
    For twelve years, Jake had been a Pima County Deputy Sheriff, dealing mostly with search and rescue situations. On the side, he had operated an online website for hunters and survivalists – preppers. He had also sold and repaired guns at local guns shows and often acted as a guide for area hunters. It never made him rich, but it