the two 12-gauge shotguns. The rest was heavy turkey shot. Hopefully it would be enough.
He heard Grampa's curses and thumps from outside. Taking the stairs two at a time, he toted the shotguns, sword, and backpack. He dropped the backpack and sword at the front door while he shoved shells into the two guns. Retrieving the sword and backpack, he stepped out on the porch.
At the top of the stairs, Grampa held one zombie away with a pitchfork and chopped at another with the machete. A third, missing an arm and a leg on one side, twitched where it lay at the base of the steps. Several more shuffled toward them across the yard. Others came around the corner of the barn.
Sig remembered Grampa's words as he raised his shotgun to blast the head of the zombie on the end of the pitchfork. At this distance, its head disintegrated as the blast knocked the zombie backwards. Chunks of head and brain sprinkled the snow. The zombie slid off the pitchfork, and fell backwards. It thrashed like an insect on its back trying to right itself.
With a last machete chop, Grampa severed the other zombie's head. The head thumped as it bounced down the stairs. Grampa held out his hand. "Give me a shotgun."
Grampa's businesslike demeanor helped calm Sig's racing heart.
Sig handed it over. "It's loaded." He extended a box to Grampa. "Box of buckshot." Grampa stabbed the machete into the porch floor so it stood erect—ready at hand. Then he placed the box of shells on the porch rail before raising the gun to shoot the headless zombie in the leg. It toppled over. It can grab."
Sig pointed his shotgun toward a zombie coming up the steps and blasted it in the head. It stumbled to a stop. He blasted again at its knee and it toppled over. Before he could push more shells into the shotgun, another zombie lurched across the porch at him from the right. He unsheathed the sword. With a single sweep, its keen edge sliced through the zombie's neck. Its rotten state made the task easier. The zombie stumbled around aimlessly.
Sig reloaded. His next shot knocked that zombie over the porch rail. When Grampa bent to grab shells from the box at his feet to reload, another zombie attacked. Sig shoved his shotgun toward Grampa. "Here." Grampa dropped his shotgun, took Sig's, and shot the zombie.
Sig picked up the shotgun Grampa dropped and reloaded.
They stood at the top of the stairs blasting advancing zombies. The yard around the porch looked like a body part yard sale. Many still twitched, some even trying to rise.
Only two continued to advance toward them. Sig and Grampa rested and waited for them to climb onto the porch.
Sig heard a shotgun blast and looked to Grampa. Grampa looked at him. Neither had fired. Two blasts in rapid succession sounded from the back of the house.
"Mom!"
Sig turned and ran through the house to the kitchen. Meredith stood in the back doorway and blasted again. She glanced back with desperation as Sig burst into the room. "I keep shooting and they keep coming."
"Shoot them in the kneecaps. Then they can't walk."
She shoved two shotgun shells into her gun and fired again, aiming lower. "That works. Thanks." She gave him a strained smile over her shoulder.
"Watch out if you get close to them." He said pointing at a zombie twitching on the ground. "They can still grab you." Over her shoulder, he saw a zombie on the ground, one headless zombie wandering aimlessly, and a third with gaping holes through its body trying to mount the steps. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Let me through. I'll use this sword. Save ammunition."
He sliced through a leg on each of the mobile corpses. They both collapsed, but the one with the head still arm-crawled up the steps. Sig severed its head and kicked it to roll erratically across the backyard.
Looking back up at his mother, he realized he didn't hear any firing from the other side of the house. Carrying his sword and shotgun, he sprinted around the house. When he rounded the corner to the
He heard Grampa's curses and thumps from outside. Taking the stairs two at a time, he toted the shotguns, sword, and backpack. He dropped the backpack and sword at the front door while he shoved shells into the two guns. Retrieving the sword and backpack, he stepped out on the porch.
At the top of the stairs, Grampa held one zombie away with a pitchfork and chopped at another with the machete. A third, missing an arm and a leg on one side, twitched where it lay at the base of the steps. Several more shuffled toward them across the yard. Others came around the corner of the barn.
Sig remembered Grampa's words as he raised his shotgun to blast the head of the zombie on the end of the pitchfork. At this distance, its head disintegrated as the blast knocked the zombie backwards. Chunks of head and brain sprinkled the snow. The zombie slid off the pitchfork, and fell backwards. It thrashed like an insect on its back trying to right itself.
With a last machete chop, Grampa severed the other zombie's head. The head thumped as it bounced down the stairs. Grampa held out his hand. "Give me a shotgun."
Grampa's businesslike demeanor helped calm Sig's racing heart.
Sig handed it over. "It's loaded." He extended a box to Grampa. "Box of buckshot." Grampa stabbed the machete into the porch floor so it stood erect—ready at hand. Then he placed the box of shells on the porch rail before raising the gun to shoot the headless zombie in the leg. It toppled over. It can grab."
Sig pointed his shotgun toward a zombie coming up the steps and blasted it in the head. It stumbled to a stop. He blasted again at its knee and it toppled over. Before he could push more shells into the shotgun, another zombie lurched across the porch at him from the right. He unsheathed the sword. With a single sweep, its keen edge sliced through the zombie's neck. Its rotten state made the task easier. The zombie stumbled around aimlessly.
Sig reloaded. His next shot knocked that zombie over the porch rail. When Grampa bent to grab shells from the box at his feet to reload, another zombie attacked. Sig shoved his shotgun toward Grampa. "Here." Grampa dropped his shotgun, took Sig's, and shot the zombie.
Sig picked up the shotgun Grampa dropped and reloaded.
They stood at the top of the stairs blasting advancing zombies. The yard around the porch looked like a body part yard sale. Many still twitched, some even trying to rise.
Only two continued to advance toward them. Sig and Grampa rested and waited for them to climb onto the porch.
Sig heard a shotgun blast and looked to Grampa. Grampa looked at him. Neither had fired. Two blasts in rapid succession sounded from the back of the house.
"Mom!"
Sig turned and ran through the house to the kitchen. Meredith stood in the back doorway and blasted again. She glanced back with desperation as Sig burst into the room. "I keep shooting and they keep coming."
"Shoot them in the kneecaps. Then they can't walk."
She shoved two shotgun shells into her gun and fired again, aiming lower. "That works. Thanks." She gave him a strained smile over her shoulder.
"Watch out if you get close to them." He said pointing at a zombie twitching on the ground. "They can still grab you." Over her shoulder, he saw a zombie on the ground, one headless zombie wandering aimlessly, and a third with gaping holes through its body trying to mount the steps. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Let me through. I'll use this sword. Save ammunition."
He sliced through a leg on each of the mobile corpses. They both collapsed, but the one with the head still arm-crawled up the steps. Sig severed its head and kicked it to roll erratically across the backyard.
Looking back up at his mother, he realized he didn't hear any firing from the other side of the house. Carrying his sword and shotgun, he sprinted around the house. When he rounded the corner to the
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