Zombie Rules | Book 8 | Who The Hell Is That? Achord, David (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📖

ever get them alone, they’re going to pay for that. We’ll probably have to kill them after, but I’m good with that.”

He was referring to a couple of women they’d attempted to hook up with. They’d driven to Mount Weather yesterday, hung around for no reason, loafed most of the day, and spent all night in the party barn drinking and smoking. They were driving home now, hungover, and bereft of their cherished smoke.

Trey agreed. “They smoked all our weed and then told us to piss off. That’s bullshit. I’ve gone too long without a piece of tail.”

“We’ll catch them out soon. Spring’s coming, people like to get out and wander. If we play our cards right and keep an eye on them, we’ll catch them out alone. In the meantime, I guess it’s another night with Rosie Palm,” Tory said.

“You know what I think? I think maybe we should go back and pay another visit to that little stink hole at the Shenandoah community.”

Tory chuckled. “I like the sound of that. We’ll probably have to snatch her this time.”

“No problem,” Trey said. “If there’s any problems, we’ll just kill her after and dump her in the river. Everyone will think zeds got her.”

“I’ve been wanting to try something I saw in a movie. Maybe we can do it with her.”

“What’s that?” Trey asked.

“The death by a thousand cuts torture. I’d like to try that on someone,” Tory said.

“Oh yeah? What would you cut first?”

“The titties!”

Both men erupted into raucous laughter. Suddenly, there was a sudden loud popping noise followed by the Jeep swerving wildly. Trey almost lost control but managed to bring the vehicle to a stop before crashing.

“What the hell happened?” Tory asked.

“I think we had a blowout. We better check it out.”

Trey put the vehicle in park and killed the engine. The two men got out of the Jeep and looked around. Deciding there were no threats, they walked around the vehicle, stopping at the front passenger tire. It was mangled. Tory crouched and inspected it closely.

“There’s a few chunks of metal shards sticking out,” he exclaimed and looked back down the roadway. “I think I see something.” He pointed and walked back up the road several yards. “Look, there’s more.”

There were several more pieces of jagged metal strewn in the roadway. He knelt and picked one of them up. “Look, they’re all painted black to blend in with the asphalt. Almost like someone set them out in the road on purpose.”

“That’s bullshit, man,” Trey growled. “If I catch who did this, I’m going to take a knife to them. A thousand cuts, man. A thousand cuts.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure out who did it, but for now let’s get the tire changed and head home,” Tory said. “I’m pretty sure there’s a jack and a spare in the back.”

Trey watched his brother try to slide a jack under the Jeep and then made a leisure scan of the area. He wasn’t on any kind of heightened alert because there’d been no zeds in the area since the attack back in December. So, when he saw a lone figure standing in the road fifty yards away, he inhaled sharply, loud enough that Tory heard him. He stopped jacking the car up and stood.

“What is it; zeds?” he asked as he looked in the direction that Trey was staring. He squinted at the figure. “Who the hell is that?”

The man was wearing a long jacket called a duster and a cowboy hat that was pulled low on his head. It prevented the two brothers from seeing in his face. The man stood like a statue, unmoving and silent. The two brothers swapped a glance.

“Is that Fred McCoy?” Trey whispered in puzzlement. “That looks like Fred McCoy.”

“Yeah, it does,” Tory replied. “Fred! Is that you?” he yelled.

The man raised his head, revealing his face. It was indeed Fred McCoy. Tory absently rubbed his face in concern as Fred began walking toward them.

“What’s he doing out here?” Tory whispered.

The brothers glanced at each other again. This time, the worry was plain in their expressions. Neither man made the connection between the metal shrapnel in the road and Fred’s sudden appearance, but they were worried all the same. Tory pulled his handgun out of his waistband. It was a Sig-Sauer P320. His brother did the same. He was carrying the same brand of handgun, only a model P365, both chambered in 9mm. They spread apart and watched as he walked in a slow but deliberate gait. When he was within fifty feet, he stopped.

“Hello, boys,” he greeted.

“Yeah, hello, Fred,” Trey replied. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing a little walking and a little thinking,” Fred replied.

Tory leaned close to his brother. “I think the old fart has finally lost his marbles,” he whispered and then spoke up. “Yeah? What’ve you been thinking about?”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve run into you boys. I have a problem, and maybe you two can help me out,” Fred said.

Those two sentences amounted to more words than Fred had said to the Freitag brothers in a long time. If they were as smart as they believed they were, they would have recognized the red flag, but they were oblivious.

“Yeah, what’s that, old man?” Trey said. “You can’t get it up anymore, so you need us to service that little filly you’re hooked up with?”

This elicited a chortle from Tory.

Fred stared a moment and then even grinned. Another red flag. A big bright one. One that would glow in the dark.

“No, son, it’s much worse than that. You see, lately my shooting skills appear to have languished. Y’all know what that word means, right?”

“Sounds like it means you can’t shoot worth a shit anymore, am I right?” Tory asked and chortled some more. “You can’t get it up and you can’t shoot. Damn, that’s awful.”

Trey emitted his own guffaw.

“Yep, I guess that about sums it up,” Fred said. “As you can imagine, it’s caused me a great