Making Bullets

October 16, 2011 at 6:37 pm (Apocalypse, Eternal Aftermath, Horror, Zombie) (, )

The heat pressed in on him as Devon crouched in what might have once been a chicken coop. “So Mel, why do you guys work out here? This heat is killing me.”

The stocky bearded man turned toward Devon. Jeans and an old shirt that might have seemed appropriate on a zombie adorned the middle aged man, along with his ever present Stealers cap.

“It’s like this boss. Flitch and I are pretty good at reloading bullets, but something could go wrong and if it did, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for killing a house full of kids.”

After wiping the sweat from his brow, Devon asked, “so how’s all this reload coming? I mean if you guys can pull this off it’ll be a damn miracle. It could give as a serious edge.”

“It has been pulled off, man,” Flitch answered with a grin. “We already made you two hundred rounds, bro.”

“Well, we may end up needed more like five hundred if freako comes at us with all his special friends.”

Mel spoke again. “And we’ll have that much soon and hey we still had some rounds we scaved from the Rips, but the real issue will be when we run out of primer. When that happens, we’ll hit a brick wall until we get some more.”

“Just make what you can, for now. We’ll cross that bridge for the primer later. Right now, for all we know, Heads if marching his rotting troops toward us.”

“Do we have any clue why zombies ignore this guy?”

“Some theories at best. We’ll let you know when we now.”

“Alright boss, we’ll keep things going on this end. Just make sure we get a warning if the Walkers start rolling in.”

“You can count on it,” Devon threw over his shoulder as he passed into the blinding desert sunlight.

The heat pounded him. Sunglass went on instantly and he gazed out over the cactus covered hills. He half expected to see Haeds up there with a high powered rifle or hundreds of stumbling zombies, but neither occurred.

A few men guarded the compound—sticking to the sparse shadows. He avoided them. Instead, he hiked up to the top on the hill facing the northwest.  The Desert north east of Tucson topped a hundred and fifteen degrees this time of year. His body turned and weaved through the large patches of prickly pear. For a moment he rested in the shadow of a giant saguaro.

Finally topping the hill, he gazed toward the northwest, the direction of their newest enemy, or yes, savoir. His chest heaved. Nothing. Then he looked down.

Jaguar tracks.

My girls are here. They’re sticking close.

Something moved in the desert. Zombie, could it be one of the girls? It was Brown’s jeep. He went back down to meet them.

There was a punk teen with Brown and Devon sent the man running in to grab Mitch and the siblings.

Brown didn’t need to be asked. “It looks like he stopped long enough to prepare something. Either that or it takes a while to get them all moving.”

“How does he get them moving?” Devon Asked.

“You aren’t going to like this part.” Brown removed his cowboy hat. “He has this big truck rigged with a cage in the bed. He’s put a woman in the cage.”

“And the zombies follow the flesh.”

“Exactly.”

“And he his leading them on us?”

“Yep, but it’s still eighty miles. I’d say we have about four days. And something else. I saw the look in that girl’s eyes. I’m going to free her.”

 

Want to get in on the beginning of the Eternal Aftermath? Check it out here!

 

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