Tales of the Zombie Apocalypse (Issue #2 | September 2015) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Michael Anthony
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
onto the ground.
Frank managed to kill that one (it was completely beheaded – they found the head under the car, eyes burning, jaws opening and closing weakly), but the others approaching from the rear of the vehicle had done him in.
“I’ll take care of it.” Milo said quietly as he knelt beside Frank.
He had been the first person Milo had found when it all started. With him from the very beginning. Back when the power was still on in parts of the city. Good guy, smart fighter. To be killed like this was…
Milo bowed his head and let the tears come.
Death was a constant possibility. They all lived in its shadow. One misstep, one single mistake and things could go from okay to fatal in the blink of an eye.
He tried, but failed to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault. That nobody could have foreseen that the office door would be rigged to a still-functioning alarm. At the end of the day though, it had been his call that drew the zombies to them. His insistence on forcing that door. If he hadn’t done that, Frank would still be alive and well.
“Jesus Christ, Frank…I’m so sorry man.” He said through his tears as he plunged his knife into his friend’s skull to keep him from turning.
The worst part, at least from Milo’s perspective, was that they couldn’t even give him a proper burial. Out here, there was no time. They had nine people back at the camp, waiting for them. Counting on them to return with enough supplies to get them through another few days, and the living took priority over the dead. On a run, the fallen simply stayed where they lay. There was no other choice to make.
He remained where he was for a lingering moment, asking both an uncaring God and Frank to forgive him, then rose shakily to his feet, grabbed Jasper, and the two of them went back into the store to help Rebecca.
When all was said and done, they scored 38 cans of assorted food, two four-packs of toilet paper (toilet paper! That was pure gold), and about a dozen packets of flavored drink mix. The adults wouldn’t care much about that, but the kids would be thrilled.
The office wound up holding a nine millimeter in the desk, two boxes of ammo, a collection of working ink pens, and three partially unused spiral notebooks. All in all then, it was a decent, if somewhat light haul. It was not enough, however, to make up for the loss of one of their own.
Frank had been sharing a tent with Lisa Casselman, back at their base. They weren’t married, but they might as well have been. Milo dreaded having to break the news, but as their leader, and given that he felt as though it was his fault, he knew it had to be him.
The whole way back to camp, he steeled himself for it. Mentally and emotionally preparing.
Of course, no words were actually needed. Everyone could see as they approached that they were a man short, and Lisa was already sobbing uncontrollably by the time they reached the camp. Milo handed his share of the loot they’d gathered off to Mike Tomlinson, who took it to the supply tent, while he knelt down beside an inconsolable Lisa, putting a hand on one of her shoulders.
“He got three before they took him.” He told her. “It was…just a stupid accident. The whole run went sideways – none of it ever should have happened.”
She looked at him with fire and pain burning in her eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She asked acidly. “Knowing how many of those bastards he took out before they killed him? Knowing that it was “just a stupid accident? Because it doesn’t! It fucking doesn’t!”
Milo cast his eyes to the ground, unable to meet her fierce gaze. “It was my fault.” He told her sadly. “My fault.”
“They why aren’t YOU the one who’s dead!?” She asked him bitterly through her tears. “If it’s your fault, why can’t you be dead, and Frank be here with me now?”
Milo didn’t have an
Frank managed to kill that one (it was completely beheaded – they found the head under the car, eyes burning, jaws opening and closing weakly), but the others approaching from the rear of the vehicle had done him in.
“I’ll take care of it.” Milo said quietly as he knelt beside Frank.
He had been the first person Milo had found when it all started. With him from the very beginning. Back when the power was still on in parts of the city. Good guy, smart fighter. To be killed like this was…
Milo bowed his head and let the tears come.
Death was a constant possibility. They all lived in its shadow. One misstep, one single mistake and things could go from okay to fatal in the blink of an eye.
He tried, but failed to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault. That nobody could have foreseen that the office door would be rigged to a still-functioning alarm. At the end of the day though, it had been his call that drew the zombies to them. His insistence on forcing that door. If he hadn’t done that, Frank would still be alive and well.
“Jesus Christ, Frank…I’m so sorry man.” He said through his tears as he plunged his knife into his friend’s skull to keep him from turning.
The worst part, at least from Milo’s perspective, was that they couldn’t even give him a proper burial. Out here, there was no time. They had nine people back at the camp, waiting for them. Counting on them to return with enough supplies to get them through another few days, and the living took priority over the dead. On a run, the fallen simply stayed where they lay. There was no other choice to make.
He remained where he was for a lingering moment, asking both an uncaring God and Frank to forgive him, then rose shakily to his feet, grabbed Jasper, and the two of them went back into the store to help Rebecca.
When all was said and done, they scored 38 cans of assorted food, two four-packs of toilet paper (toilet paper! That was pure gold), and about a dozen packets of flavored drink mix. The adults wouldn’t care much about that, but the kids would be thrilled.
The office wound up holding a nine millimeter in the desk, two boxes of ammo, a collection of working ink pens, and three partially unused spiral notebooks. All in all then, it was a decent, if somewhat light haul. It was not enough, however, to make up for the loss of one of their own.
Frank had been sharing a tent with Lisa Casselman, back at their base. They weren’t married, but they might as well have been. Milo dreaded having to break the news, but as their leader, and given that he felt as though it was his fault, he knew it had to be him.
The whole way back to camp, he steeled himself for it. Mentally and emotionally preparing.
Of course, no words were actually needed. Everyone could see as they approached that they were a man short, and Lisa was already sobbing uncontrollably by the time they reached the camp. Milo handed his share of the loot they’d gathered off to Mike Tomlinson, who took it to the supply tent, while he knelt down beside an inconsolable Lisa, putting a hand on one of her shoulders.
“He got three before they took him.” He told her. “It was…just a stupid accident. The whole run went sideways – none of it ever should have happened.”
She looked at him with fire and pain burning in her eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” She asked acidly. “Knowing how many of those bastards he took out before they killed him? Knowing that it was “just a stupid accident? Because it doesn’t! It fucking doesn’t!”
Milo cast his eyes to the ground, unable to meet her fierce gaze. “It was my fault.” He told her sadly. “My fault.”
“They why aren’t YOU the one who’s dead!?” She asked him bitterly through her tears. “If it’s your fault, why can’t you be dead, and Frank be here with me now?”
Milo didn’t have an
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