Shamblers: the zombie apocalypse Read Free Page B

hands at a time like this.
    While they worked, sever al other men and women nearby acted as sentries. Each person held their own clubbed weapon: from bats and hockey sticks, to batons, wooden dowels, and boards with large nails hammered through them, each sentry was ready to beat a zombie’s ass if need be.
    Our camp had been first settled about two weeks earlier by me, Marcus, the two soldiers from my Humvee, and the two men who’d been sharing the RV with Marcus.
    Our little posse had arrived at an old, fenced-in lumberyard with a warehouse and discovered it was unoccupied. We unanimously decided it was a decent place to settle down. This was mostly because our small, rag-tag band had been in desperate need of rest: the RV had been overrun so we’d spent an entire month moving to a different place each night.
    The lumberyard was a Godsend. The warehouse had an attached office space (which made it great for getting out of the weather). We also figured that we could secure the yard sufficiently to protect us long-term (we were still working on that). Furthermore, the area was large enough we could someday grow decent crops to eat. Finally, there was an abundance of lumber lying around; it would be useful for future building projects.
    Since we settled the area , we had sporadically used much of that lumber to build makeshift shelters, weapons, tables, or defenses. We had actually found that an 8’ 2x4 made a great weapon for killing zombies! The sturdy beams were heavy, had a great reach, and could also be used in teams to hold a zombie down so someone could get in a good headshot.
    Of course, it’s worth mentioning that the only surviving members of our founding group were now me and Marcus. Things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. As fate would have it, our site was so desirable that new people flocked to it. As these new people sought refuge with us, they were often trailed by zombies.
    Once we had de alt with each new wave of zombies, we tried to sort out who among the new arrivals was an asset and who was either useless or a potential threat. All this political shit and decision making had deterred us from our initial plan of making a solid, defensible place to live.
    “How’s it going here, guys?” I ask ed the men who were repairing the fence.
    “Hola señ or, we’re getting by,” the younger-looking of the Spanish men answered. “I think we’ll get this fence repaired within the hora.”
    I nodded. “That’s good,” I told him, “ because there isn’t much daylight left. Do you guys need anything?”
    He stood up and scratched his pencil-thin mustache. “ Gracias, but no. We have mucho support already.” He smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up.
    I smiled back as I encouraged him, “keep up the good work, my friend. You’re doing the camp proud!”
    I turned away and walked further down the length of the fence to check for any other trouble spots. The moment that we were beyond earshot of the other workers, Marcus muttered to me, “man, we have way too many of those dirty fucking spicks here. I hope those lazy fuckers don’t fuck that fence up. I really don’t feel like dying from someone else’s shoddy fucking work.”
    I scowled at him. “Hey, easy man,” I said with irritation, “those guys have done nothing to you. Plus, they’re both really good workers.” I pointed with my thumb back over my shoulder to the Spanish men. “You saw them out there. They’re doing more hard work than fucking Martin, for Christ’s sake. As far as I know, they’ve been helping out since the minute they came to camp. You can’t see how grateful they are that they have a place to stay?”
    “I don’t trust ‘em,” Marcus let me know as he glanced back warily over his shoulder, “and I don’t trust any fucking niggers, Jews, or Canadians either.”
    My jaw dropped. “You’re just a racist prick who doesn’t trust anyone,” I told him. I’d had a great-aunt who was both Jewish and