Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville Read Free Page B

water, grasping at the ripples.  They fell below the surface, rose up, and dove back in again.
    Tell me they're fishing… that is too damn ridiculous .  He started around the edge of the pond, making a line to north side fence, when the situation took a turn for the worse.
    There weren't a lot of them--maybe a dozen or so--but they were spread across the area that Joey needed to get through.  He ducked behind an elm, glancing in every direction.  The east was clear--it was roundabout, but it was better than getting cornered.
    He bolted from tree to tree, staying low and out of sight.  He crossed the center of the park, skirting the edge of a huge sandbox, when headlights flooded the area from the north.
    A pick-up slammed into the fence, grinding two zombies into the grass, and crashed through the park, narrowly avoiding a cluster of birches.  A twenty-foot section of fence lay in ruin, and zombies chased after the speeding truck--more pored in through the opening.
    Joey cursed and ran--both in equal measure.  He was ten yards from the eastern edge of the park when he heard the pick-up splash into the pond. 
    SPLOOOOSH!
    The engine revved; water sprayed and tires choked on the murky bottom.  There were dozens of zombies converging on the truck.  Joey watched in morbid fascination as droves of flesh-eaters ran, shambled, and dragged themselves onward--drawn by the driver's attempts to get free from the water. 
    BANG-BANG-BANG
    It sounded like a small caliber handgun.  The muzzle flash lit up the scene: the truck was two feet in the water, stalled… stuck.  The driver stood on the roof, gripping the top lights and blasting away at the zombies clambering over the truck bed and sloshing through the shallow water.  There were too many--he was a dead man.
    Joey had lingered too long: a hollow moan snapped his attention away from the pond.  A knot of zombies rushed towards him, moving with track-star speed; two more lingered behind, dragging deformed legs.  Still more crowded through the busted fencing. 
    The Mossberg roared: BOOM, KA-CHIK, BOOM, KA-CHIK, BOOM … The last shell ejected and the small gang of on-rushers lay in a heap not ten feet from Joey.  He shouldered the shotgun and blasted the two shamblers with his Glock--but the noise attracted a mob. 
    Several ran at him, careening through the sandboxes and bushes, and many more staggered eastward--groaning, moaning, hissing, and growling for his flesh.
    "Son of a bitch!"  Joey holstered the Glock and booked it to the east-side fence.  He leapt, grabbed the top and flung himself over--snagging his testicles in the process.  He hit the opposite side, clutching his groin and gasping. 
    The first few sprinters collided with the fence, shaking the chain-link and wobbling the poles.  Joey stumbled backward, fell on his ass, and scrambled back to his feet, running away from the fence.  He re-loaded the shotgun on the run, glancing around frantically. 
    Joey dodged a pair of toppled trash bins and rounded the corner of a red brick building.  The bay doors were opened and a fire engine--number fourteen--hunkered in the garage.  The station was dead quiet. 
    A block away, near the entrance to the cemetery, blue and red lights swirled.  He heard the sharp crack of pistol fire. 
    The main entrance to the medical center was a mile past the cemetery.
    Joey took out the mag-lite and checked the fire station garage: a smear of crimson ran around the front tire of the truck, sliding off to the back of the station.
    Shit .  Joey put some distance between himself and the truck.  He traced the bloody path with the light and spotted a boot.  The fireman was slumped against the side of the truck, chin on his chest, and a gory flower blossoming from his temple.  A chromed pistol rested near his limp right arm.
    Joey scanned the rest of the garage and found a fully stocked first aid kit.  He grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the garage and returned