Shamblers: the zombie apocalypse Read Free Page A

were killed by rioters. Likewise, many rioters, and even whole camps, were outright gunned down by the terrified soldiers. The other, main problem with the quarantine camps was that the electrified fences failed once the power grid finally went down. This is what led to the downfall of my quarantine zone. Once those fences lost power, a surge of hungry zombies (who had watched us for weeks as if we were candy inside of a vending machine), pressed right through the fences to get to us.
    I survived solely because I made panicked, pleading eye-contact with a soldier in a nearby Humvee. For whatever reason, he had taken pity on me and allowed me to climb inside with him.
    The driver of the Humvee , who happened to be a female soldier, punched the gas a moment later. We sped off as fast as it would go, running over people and zombies alike. We didn’t stop until we were nearly in the desert. From there, one thing had led to another. We had encountered Marcus and his group camping out in a metal, 1976 Airstream RV.
    Ever since our first meeting, Marcu s and I had pretty much spent our time killing people or zombies almost every single day. I tried my best to leave the past in the past. I found it quite interesting that Marcus had just insinuated that I wasn’t backing him up. Did he really think we were ganging up on him? It sounded ridiculous. No, it was beyond ridiculous. It was childlike. Fucking Marcus.
    As Martin went back to his business with the clipboard, I replied, “I never claimed to be no saint man, but I sure as shit plan to live long enough to see the world go back to normal. No one is going to make it on their own. If we keep beating down everyone who fucks up, there’s going to be no one left.”
    “Whatever you say, boss,” Marcus chuckled and punched me in the shoulder. I slugged him back for good measure.
    “You hit like a pussy,” he told me.
    I was about to r espond but Becky interjected, “how about cutting your little tea party short and you both help to fix the fence? In case you’ve forgotten, we have a crisis. Your male bravado bullshit isn’t going to solve it.”
    “Fair enough,” I added. Marcus shrugged. Together, we headed over to check on the breach.

 
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
    Our chain-link fence, with its three, parallel, barbed wire strands along the top, had certainly seen better days. It had once been one, formidable barrier against the zombie incursion. Now, it was more like three separate fences that had been knitted together. Zombies continued to come along and beat down or tear through weak points. We continued to repair it with whatever supplies we could get our hands on. It wasn’t exactly a stellar setup, and by no means was it permanent, but it was all we could manage for now.
    When Marcus and I showed up to help repair our beleaguered perimeter fence, I saw that three members of our party were already busy at work. They were presently hoisting a six-foot tall, metal, chain-link section back into place. Two, dark-haired Spanish men in their early twenties were holding the fence section in place. A third man (he was white and in his forties) was using a band of copper wire to tie the broken pieces of the fence back together.
    I’ d only met the white man yesterday. I think his name was Rob -or maybe Ted. Either way, I was pretty sure that he’d been a school teacher back in the day. His hair was salt-and-peppered and he had a beard that was turning white. He seemed friendly enough.
    T he two Spanish guys had arrived the day before. I hadn’t had a chance to speak to them yet, so I knew nothing about either one. There was even a real good chance they were, in fact, Mexican (not that it mattered to me one way or the other). They definitely spoke Spanish. The shorter one was presently giving his friend directions that I couldn’t understand as they worked on the fence.
    I was glad to see that all three men were putting themselves to good use: we couldn’t afford idle