Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Simpson, A. (pride and prejudice read txt) 📖

He still had a look of surprise on his face when he slammed into their upturned mouths, bowling them down, breaking long-dead bones and cushioning his fall with their rotting bodies. The railing broke and Gunny tried to roll away from them as they slid onto the oversized dormer roof. Grasping hands found his legs and his roll became a desperate kicking, his boots breaking faces and sending splashes of contaminated blood across the shingles. They fought their way down the slope, Gunny moving furiously, kicking and punching and flailing, anything to keep their teeth from finding his flesh. The rest of them poured out of the house and followed the struggling meat over the side. They tripped off the walk, couldn’t find their balance on the angled shingles, face planted, then slid right over the edge and onto the first story roof. Gunny managed to grab the gutter on his fall to the next roof, but the thin metal ripped free. The tumble wasn’t far, but he landed off balance and was immediately knocked down again by falling bodies, their dead weight sending him sprawling. He kept rolling away, trying to put some distance between them. The undead poured out of the third-floor doorway, followed the running mob through the broken rail and bounced down the roof. They hit, rolled, tumbled, and then plunged all the way to the ground. Bodies crumpled and piled up, brittle bones shattered, and the rain of zeds continued unabated for minutes. The long-suffering undead didn’t complain: if they could walk, they struggled to their feet and stumbled back into the house. If they couldn’t, they dragged themselves along the ground, occasionally being flattened by a falling body. The only command they obeyed was the insatiable need to bite and tear human skin. To taste human blood.

Gunny rolled a few more times and finally managed to draw his pistol. He was breathing hard, mostly from the shock and adrenaline-fueled fright he’d just had, not from exertion. He watched their clumsy attempts to come after him, the few that managed to stay on the roof. They stood on unsteady legs, took a step and fell, unable to compensate for the slope. A few were crawling as fast as their withered arms would allow, jaws snapping in anticipation. They didn’t anticipate the boot to their face, though, and they followed the rest over the edge. The waterfall of undead slowed to a trickle and Gunny took a second to look around. The others were all staring, guns at the ready.

“This works pretty good,” Gunny yelled. “You guys should try it.”

Griz shook his head and holstered his gun.

“You go, girl. Think I’ll pass,” he said, watching the broken dead try to crawl back into the house.

Gunny closed his eyes and realized that it had worked out pretty good, desperate fall and all. At least a hundred of the zeds were now so broken, they weren’t much of a threat. He sighed, stood, and then readjusted his armor. It had worked well at softening his falls, the modified plastic football and soccer pieces serving double duty.

He keyed the mic to tell them of his new idea, but they all shook their heads or held hands to ears. He checked the two-way attached to his Molle vest and saw it was shattered.

“Y’all stay quiet!” he yelled at them. “I’ll try to lure more over here, see if we can do a repeat performance.”

He made his way over to the dormer and climbed back up toward the widow’s walk. The flood had slowed enough that the handful on the decking were just watching, looking for him, but not plunging off through the broken rail. Gunny kept low and quiet, sneaking up out of their sight. He reached up, grabbed a leg and pulled, making a face at the way the flesh felt, soft and saggy, like bread dough. He showed himself and waved, starting another rush and tumble over the edge. He grabbed a few more crawlers, dragged them over, and watched them bounce out of sight. He could hear the crunch of the impact, even over the muffled keening of the undead in the other houses.

When the walk was clear, he dragged himself up, pulled his knife and started clearing the house of the slow movers as he made his way back down three flights of stairs. A quick poke to the eye dropped them where they stood or crawled and he pushed them through open doors, leaving himself a clear path back to the roof.

He went to the stately old home where Griz was stranded first, walked up to the rear of the keening and clawing undead still trying to force their way up the jam-packed stairway. After brief consideration, he pulled his Glock, lined himself up so he could get two headshots with one bullet and pulled the trigger. The mob surging up instantly became the mob surging down.

Gunny ran.

They stumbled and staggered after him, reaching arms and gnashing teeth seeking his blood. He led them up the stairs, jamming doors shut behind him so they would stack up and not be too spread out. It wouldn’t take them long to force the already broken doors open, but that was the plan. He wasn’t trying to stop them, just slow them down. He waited for them on the widow’s walk, knives in hand, crouched and ready. He needed to get them into a frenzy, get them howling for his flesh. Get them angry, if they could feel emotions anymore.

“What are you doing?” Griz yelled over. “You’re not going to fight them, are you? Don’t be a dumbass! Just jump off the walk, they’ll follow!”

They wouldn’t, though. Maybe some of them. Maybe the ones that got pushed from behind, but these creatures had a basic sense of preservation. Gunny waved at him to be quiet. To keep still. The zombies couldn’t reason, they were