Z-Wolf

Z-WOLF

By

Michael A. Burt.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Michael A. Burt at Smashwords

Z-WOLF

Copyright © 2012 Michael A. Burt

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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Z-WOLF

THIS IS NOT THE END

THE horde stands in front of us like a tidal wave about to crash into the beach, ready to destroy everything built there by man. I should've known it was going to happen eventually. Everything we've done has been leading to this point, but now that it's here…I'm at a loss for words.

I always knew it was gonna to come down to this. Dillon says, standing next to me with his belt-fed weapon at the ready.

My own hangs heavy in my hands, it being my constant burden since I found it. Don't get me wrong, I've been glad to have it, but that doesn't change the fact that it's twenty pounds of heavy metal. Add another ten pounds or so for the two hundred round pork chop, and…well you get the idea. What, that'd we be facing down a swarm of undead? I just look at him, You're enjoying this way too much.

Dillon just glares at me, I've only been preparing for this my whole life.

Yeah, that's what I mean.

Are you really going to bust my chops about this now?

Glancing away from him, and back to the horde, I can't help, but think about what lies behind us. All those people, defenseless, scared, but behind the safety of the compound's walls. And here we are, the only thing stopping all those freakin' zombies from tearing all those people to pieces. You'd think there would've been a few fighters among them, but no such luck. It'd be too damn easy if there was. I guess not. But I can't leave it alone, But still, it's not something most people would want to happen. Of course I'm excluding myself from that. I've always had a sort of enthusiasm for zombies.

And when have I ever been roped in with most people, Mark?

He has me there. You ready?

I was born ready mother fucker.

Really? I can't help the glare, That's the most clichéd thing I've ever heard.

Well what the hell do you want me to say? Yes just doesn't cover it.

You could at least come up with something original.

Dillon laughs, There's no such thing as original anymore, Mark. Everything's been done before. Everything is just a copy of a copy of a copy. I'm about to say something to that when he comes back, Don't even say it.

What, think outside the box?

Yup, you said it.

It's still valid.

We've been going back and forth long enough that the shambling army of undead has reached the firing line. Then Dillon says something else that makes me want to tsk-tsk at him for not being original. Do or die time.

Oh for the love of god, I say, Just shoot the mother fuckers. And with that I let the bullets fly. The vibration from the weapon radiating up my hands from the gunfire is nothing compared to what it should be, but there's only so much that can be done about that.

My god, there's so many of them. Dillon says with a laugh, This is the shit that makes me get out of bed in the morning.

Well at least that's a step closer to being something original. I shout at him over the roar of our weapons. Hell, even the noise isn't as loud as it should be, but damn it's still loud.

Are you still on that? Dillon asks, annoyed at my relentlessness.

I've been on that for a few years now. I'm surprised it's taken this long for you to make progress.

Would you shut up and throw a damn pipe bomb.

Pipe bomb? I haven't had one of those since the fucking subway. Why don't you throw a Molotov?

The line of zombies is getting closer as we both reload the belt fed guns. I wonder if anyone else has noticed you can call these BFGs too. I mean, come on, Belt Fed Gun, Big Fucking Gun. Think about it.

I haven't had a Molotov in about an hour. Dillon retorts as he recommences fire.

I join in the carnage of screaming hot metal flying to the masses of starved dead people. You mean to tell me we went into the final battle without any damn explosives? I can't believe either of us, especially him, would've forgotten something like that. Hell, there was stacks of C-4 in the compound.

We placed the mines didn't we? It took a few minutes, precious minutes to plant those stupid things, and not a single one's gone off yet.

Does it look like those did us a hell of a lot of good? Of course it would happen at that moment, a loud boom as half a dozen zombies are thrown into the air, body parts flying in opposite directions, red mist thrown all around. I can feel it coming, but I counter it before he says anything. Never mind.

Why do you argue with the master?

This coming from the guy that couldn't put his entertainment center together.

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

With my finger still holding down the trigger I put my other hand to my ear as if it were a phone. 'Hey Mark, I'm having trouble putting my game shit together, can you come over and help me?' And the only thing wrong with it was that you didn't plug the damn power cord in.

The zombies are way too close for comfort now, and our ammo counters are dangerously low. We start backing away slowly, taking out as much of the rotting corpses as we can. Every so often a mine with explode sending rotted limbs in every direction. Don't you think we've got more pressing issues to deal with here?

What, like the entire undead population of Texas about to swarm us?

Yeah, that.

I let the now empty M249 fall and pull out two full-auto pistols. The magazines go quick, but they keep the horde at bay, Nah, nothing to worry about. Dillon and I have been friends for a very long time, this whole zombie thing is nothing new to us. Can't let panic sink in.

Too bad you can't keep that attitude with every aspect of your life.

Really? You want to talk about that now? He joins me in using the machine pistols. Every once in a while we have to knock a zombie back from taking a bite out of us.

I'm just saying man, you let her push you around.

Well it's over this time.

But it's too much, even for us. If we'd had the damn C-4 this might not have happened, but it does. We die horribly painful deaths of being torn apart by flesh eating zombies. It's not the way the story's supposed to end, but hey, that's what checkpoints are for.

Dillon has to stop himself from throwing the controller across the room, Damnit! Twelve hours and NOW we die?

You've been playing this for twelve hours? It shouldn't surprise me. I only got here six hours ago, and joined in as soon as I entered the man-cave. Dude, you really need to find yourself a girl.

Why, so I can be as miserable as you?

I lift my soda and take a thirsty gulp. The artificial sugar and yellow dye go down so lustfully you'd think I was wandering around the desert for forty years and just now getting a drink of water. Not miserable anymore.

Dillon cocks his head to the side in confused shock. You weren't kidding? You actually dumped Jewel?

I nod as I crush the now empty can and toss it in the blue bucket. Like a bucket of chum in shark infested waters.

Surprise doesn't quite cover the expression on Dillon's face. It's says something along the lines of ‘it's about damn time'. He's not going to be the only one to give me that look. That was going on for what, three years?

It only seems that long.

Then how long was it?

Two and a half. Yeah, that sounds lame with how close he was, but I'm not one to let the details go. Dillon of all people knows that.

Give me a break.

Arm or leg?

And you couldn't keep her from cheating with your funny personality? What is the world coming to? Dillon rolls his eyes as he restarts the final battle. I put my controller down. What, I make one comment and you don't want to play anymore?

Six hours Dillon, six freakin' hours. I figured I could unpack my car, you know, stretch my freakin' legs. I swear, if you didn't go to the gym five days a week you'd be the perfect contender for the world's roundest man. I move to the front door.

Dillon isn't far behind. Gotta be in shape for when Z-Day happens.

And the fact that you're not kidding is what scares most women away. Actually it scares most people away, not just women.

I do alright. It doesn't take long to get all my stuff inside. Hey, did you even ask if you could move back in?

I just smile that smile I have only for him. No homo, it's a bro-mance thing, not a gay thing. After all, he is my heterosexual life partner. Go figure I'm the one pegged as the quiet one. Nope.

I could've said no.

Would you have?

Dillon just glares at me. I hate you.

That's what I thought.

Jewel and I only lived together for six months, but one of the first mistakes I made was agreeing to us living at her place, not a place we got together. Made it easier leaving though, no bullshit about names on leases and that crap. Before I moved in with her I was living here with Dillon. But I did take back everything my money paid for.

Yeah right, like she'd let you take all that jewelry you bought her.

Who said she let me do anything?

Dillon drops one of my duffle bags on my bed. I knew he'd never get around to getting rid of any of the crap I left behind. Good thing too. He was probably preparing for this day just like he's been prepared for the zombie apocalypse. You mean to tell me you cleared out while she was gone?

That's what I'm saying.

And she agreed to this? Dillon is beyond shocked. Flabbergasted would be a good word if he even knew what it meant.

How should I know? She was probably at what's his name's house fucking herself chafe. There isn't an ounce of bitterness or hate in my voice. No disdain at all. What there is, is relief. That bitch made me so miserable the greatest sex of my life didn't compensate. True I did experience it with her, but then again, so did a lot of other guys.

You didn't even tell her you were leaving, did you? Dillon might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he knows me. With that being said, it's still surprising he put it together so fast.

Not even a little bit. I kissed her goodbye this morning when she left for her 'doctor's appointment', and yes, I use my fingers to do the air quotes, and said I'd see her later.

We make our way into the kitchen for more frosty beverages. To my dismay, no beer. Believe it or not, Dillon isn't the biggest fan of alcohol. There are plenty of liquor bottles, but no beer. The only time I've seen him touch the stuff is when I convince him to go out to a club. There is one down side to this. He's very particular about where he'll go. I'll explain later.

Dillon hands me what I usually refer to as the 'nectar of the gods' as he grabs himself an energy drink. Won't she go to the cops when she sees all her jewelry is gone?

I can't help it, I actually laugh out loud. That's where it gets real fucking funny. Let me set the scene for you.

Jewel comes home freshly cleaned up so I won't be able to smell the stink of sex from the two brothers she's banging at the same time. She sets her face in mild amusement, the face she always has no matter what we're doing, and goes into my office to let me know she's back. Just to fuck with her I left the crappy stereo she gave me for Christmas playing it's normal decibel of death metal. When she opens the door and finds it bare of everything, but what she paid for, she's going to be confused. Not just your average confused, but we're talking dumb blond valley girl confused. You know the type, the kind that stairs at a carton of orange juice because it says concentrate.

It'll take a moment or two for her to get an inkling of understanding, but she'll move to other areas of the apartment, areas normally dominated by things I paid for. When she sees everything is gone she'll put it together, and move to her jewelry box. My money's riding on her not even noticing the bedding is gone, pillows, sheets and all. Jewel is going to open that mahogany box and find a few cheap items she's picked up over the years and a note. After reading the note she's going to crumple it up and throw it across the room while screaming.

Oh come on, Dillon says between gulps of air and laughing his ass off, what did the note say?

Two simple words that will prove I am a man of my word. Now Dillon is confused. His hair may be a black with subtle red highlights, but sometimes I'm almost convinced the roots are blond. Prove it.

What the hell does that mean?

Every time we got into a serious argument I'd always threaten to leave and pawn all the jewelry I bought her. When she said she'd just go to the cops I retorted with proof of purchase. I still have all the receipts. I reach into my back pocket and produce an envelope. All thirty-six receipts are right here. I've already been in talks with a pawn shop. They're quoting me at five thousand.

Dillon's eyes shoot open, as if a doctor slipped in two fingers instead of one. Five grand?

Yeah, but don't worry, I'm gonna see a few others before I actually decide.

I can see his mind working, and know what's coming before he says it. Well, you know, I haven't taken you back completely yet.

Shaking my head, I realize how well I know Dillon. There's been times I've thought, 'why couldn't he be a woman?', but then I shrug the thought off. Too weird to think about. Not that the idea of a woman in love with the whole zombie genre would throw me off. Hell, I'd love it. I may not express it as much, but I do like it all. I mean, what's not to love? Running around blowing the heads off of zombies with a twelve gauge...what could be more fun?

Alright, Dillon. One case of 00 Buckshot. That's as high as I'm willing to go.

He clutches at his heart, just like I knew he would. Be still my beating heart. A man that knows just what to get me, he says in a horrible female impersonation. But that's not what I was going to suggest.

A little surprised myself, I ask, Ok, what caliber do you want?

Dillon shakes his head, No, you're not getting me. I don't want you to spend any of that money on me, and of course he slips in, unless you want to. No, I was talking about you getting something for you.

Not another tattoo. A few years ago Dillon talked me into getting a tattoo. Actually he talked me into getting matching tattoos with him. It's sounds gay, I know, but it's a bro thing. He designed it himself. A biohazard symbol with a werewolf symbol in the center. He calls it the sign of the Z-Wolf Squad. Doesn't make any sense, right? Well let me give you some prospective. In college we did a psych paper that dealt with a pack mentality, and used wolves as our comparison to human society. Our knowledge and love of wolves is what originally brought us to be friends. When we discovered a fascination with the zombie genre and love of zombie video games, we became brothers.

When I say Dillon is obsessed with the impending zombie apocalypse, I'm not exaggerating. He's got a gun cage in the garage with military ammo boxes loaded with various calibers, a large assortment of armament, a copy of the Anarchist's Cook Book, and, I shit you not, black military uniforms. Said uniforms are complete with name plates for both of us, and unit patches. You guessed it, the unit