The Dead Walk! Part 1-9

[ThegunsofNevada]

Title: The Dead Walk! (Parts 1-finish)
Fandom/original: Oroginal work, Romero like zombies
Characters: Cassidy Malone, June and John
Author/e-mail: Yours truly, [e-mail]
Notes: Cassidy Malone is a fan-fic character, and I would be thrilled if some one were to include him in a story, regardless. Please credit me, David Jensen, though. Cassidy Malone is coppyrighted to me.

THE DEAD WALK!…<br>

A hard rain fell on the streets, causing congealed blood to loosen and flow into the partially blocked sewers. A blowing wind pushed a fragment of a tattered newspaper down the street.

THE DEAD WALK!
Sightings of human and animal corpses wandering around metropolitan Davidton! The cause of these frequently mutilated dead body’s spontaneously re-animating is unknown, but all who see them should be advised that the walking corpses have an unholy taste for human flesh and are to be considered extremely dangerous!

The rest of the newspaper page was obscured by water and old, dark blood. There was the sound of moaning, always the constant moaning. Then, suddenly, the sound of breaking glass.
“Come on! Run for it Betty!” Then silence except for the shuffling of a hundred hundred clumsy pairs of feet. A shotgun blast rang out, and then another. A corpse hit the ground.
“Get the car started! Get it started!” the mail voice yelled. There was a loud scream of pain, a male shout of despair another few shotgun blasts, then silence except for the sound of the deed’s terrible feast and the shuffling of more feet.


Five days earlier…<br>
John Ross relaxed and leaned back into his leather easy chair, nonchalantly watching TV.
“And in News today, a large and unidentified comet passed within a hairs breath of the Earth. The bright green comet missed earth’s atmosphere by only a matter of miles, and was so bright it temporarily turned night into day…”

The TV droned on as John paid more attention to a pretty blond walking by outside his apartment. He smiled at her, and she brushed her hair back and smiled a pretty smile back.
Ross was a medium built man with handsome facial features, impeccable hygiene, and was usually very well dressed. He was currently without a job…Due to a secretary at his previous job being unable to resist his charm, and he hers…But that was in the past.
The phone rang.
“Hello.” Ross awnsered There was a brief silence.
“Hey, John. Its me Dale. Things look good for that job.” Ross was relived. He didn’t want to put on his fake Mexican accent and pretend to be a female maid to avoid the bill collectors, who, as of late, were becoming quite ferocious. As for the job, Dale worked at a gun shop and was good friends with the owner.
“Is that so? When do I start?” John envisioned Dale Swan on the other end of the line smiling.
“The job pays $20 an hour, from 0900 to 2100 hours with an hour lunch. 10% off what ever you wana buy. From Tuesday to Saturday. Sound good?” John nodded.
“Sounds very good indeed. How much do I have to know about guns, and what the hell does 0900 to 2100 hours mean?” Dale chuckled.
“That’s military time, kiddo. From 9 AM to 9PM. Twelve hour days. You don’t have to know a whole lot…if you come over I can teach you what you need to know and give you a couple of gun magazines…” John agreed and walked down to the gun store, about 15 blocks away. John would have preferred to drive, but he didn’t exactly have enough money to spare for gasoline, and walking kept him in good shape. About an hour of jogging later John walked into the gun store; Mikes Firearms and sporting goods. The sporting goods part was more or less a lie…The gun shop, like so many others, had racks of rifles and shotguns on the wall, with glass topped cabinets with pistols and revolvers under it, along with expensive scopes and knifes. There were posters for gun or tobacco products all over the walls, along with novelty targets. The rest of the store was filled with ammo and shooting accessories. Dale stood behind the counter, wearing a shooting vest, thick military issue glasses and a sardonic grin.
Dale was an old Ex-military type who got less excersize than he should have, drunk more beer than he should have, and never missed a Saturday or Sunday visit to the shooting range. Aside from that, he was tall, and when John had first met him, very skinny and lithe. He was still vaguely handsome and very clean shaven, despite his acquisition of a beer belly.
“Hey! John! How you doing?” John respond he was doing just fine, thank you, and they exchanged other pleasantries in the manner of old friends who seen each other for a long time, despite their close proximity. Finally they got to business. Dale sent John away with a month of gun magazines, a big, thick book entitled Guns Illustrated 2003, and some advice. John slept well that night and went in to work.
The gun shop was surprisingly busy for a Saturday morning. John was constantly kept busy ringing up ammo, accessories, targets, and at one particularly interesting point, a Raptor 4 shot 7.62mm bolt action rifle to one Cassidy Malone. Dale showed John the paperwork to fill out, and Mr. Malone filled it out quickly, as though he had done it many times before. Not long after he was done, Mr. Malone left with his rifle. At the end of the day, about a half hour before John was going to check out, a bulky package came. John opened it; There were several nice looking firearm’s inside; Two pistols, one John recognized as a Springfield Operator .45 automatic. The other one was a large, shiny revolver with the Ruger emblem stamped on the side. John also recognized one of the rifles as a FN-FAL, with a very nice red-wood stalk, or ‘furniture’ as many of gun ‘in’ crowd called it.
Dale stepped out of the back.
“Ah! Those are the owner’s. He should be by to pick them up sooner or later. But until then…” Dale picked the weapons up and moved them into the hallway, leading to the back entrance and the break room/store room. Dale lifted up the rug and pulled up several of the floor boards, revealing a recessed pit. Dale laid them inside, replaced the camouflage, and turned and winked at John. John went home, massaged his sore feet wile he watched some TV and had a good beer, and then went to bed.

The next morning John woke up at 7:00 and got dressed and prepared for the day. Little did he know of the drama going on at the city morgue and hospital, convinletly located close together.

[ThegunsofNevada]

E.R Dr. Holms pulled on his white latex gloves. The nurses and ambulance techies shouted off stats.
“What have we got here?” the Doctor asked.
“Looks like some type of bite…id say dog bite, not very deep, in the shoulder, just above the collar bone.” A nurse said.
“All rightly. Put him on the table.” The nurses moved him form the gurney to the operating table in a well practiced move. The doctor lifted up the thick gauze pads over the unconscious mans shoulder. Blood ebbed out of the ragged, greenish wound. The doctor grimaced.
“Damn! How old is this? Looks…infected.” The doctor said.
“We just picked him up!” the ambulance techie declared. The doctor prepped for a surgery he would not soon forget…<br>
Across the street at the morgue, the sheepish, small and jittery mortician sat at his glassed off desk, rattling his signature off on paperwork. Something rattled in the cold room. The mortician put it down to lack of sleep. Suddenly, there was more clattering. And more. The mortician leaped out of his seat. Ht pushed open the door. Nearly half of the body lockers were being rattled against.
This had better be one sick joke! The mortician thought. He opened up the door and slid out the tray on one of the cabinets. He unzipped the heavy black bag and screamed as what was in it leaped to grab his face.

A half dozen miles away, at the local cemetery, a hand rended up through the dirt, missing a young lades leg by feet by no more than an inch.

God bless it! John said. He wheeled the old Rabbit around half way to the gun shop. He had forgot his keys, and he was supposed to open that morning. Damn damn damn! He thought as he drove back to his house. He emerged a frantic five minutes later, keys in hand. John roared off in the mighty Rabbit towards the gun shop. As he took a corner sharply, a dark figure limped into the road in front of him. John slammed on his breaks and attempted to swerve out of the way, but only succeeded in fish tailing into the figure. The long haired man flew across the road and into a plate glass window of a shop. Blood flew everywhere. Startled, John leaped out of his car and ran to the window. The man moved slightly and twitched. The impact should have killed the man.
“Jesus Christ they build them tough these days! Are you okay? John said taking out his cell phone to call 911. The man stood up and staggered forwards, his face jammed full of ragged glass and gravel. The man moaned and staggered forwards. John took a step back.. There was something wrong about the man. The man took a swipe at Johns face.
“Woah! I'm sorry I hit you! No need to get violent!” The man moaned loudly and leaped at the John.
Leaping out of the way, john realized what was wrong with the man. He only had one arm, and his throat was torn open. He wasn’t bleeding. John staggered backwards towards his car. The man limped forwards slowly. John shrank back in horror. Not knowing what to do, John ran around to the other side of his car. The man limped forwards leaking blood. John acted quickly, pulling on the trunk of the rabbit, he popped it open and removed the Rabbits tire iron. The man roared and moved forwards, tackling into John one armed. John pushed against the mans face, prying him off. After pushing him off, John smashed the man in the face with the tire iron. There was a sick crunch and half of the mans face splattered across the street.
John hit the dead man again and again, pushing him back. Finally, the man fell onto the broken glass window. John stopped, panting. John wiped his sweating face, smearing blood across his head. John looked at his hand in horror. Shuddering, he wiped them on his pants. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. John heard distinct sirens in the distance, and several gun shots. John leaped into the rabbit and turned it around, speeding back to his house.
John staggered out of it. He was so distraught that he barley noticed the several shapes staggering down the road. His tire iron still in hand, he staggered into his apartment and straight into the shower. The blood and brains cascaded off his clothes. John discarded them and put on a fresh pair of pants and a T-shirt. Something banged on his door. John toweled himself off and looked out. Something bloody and ragged was banging on his door and moaning loudly. John stepped out of the bathroom and looked. Another and another ragged, bloody man stepped to his door. John slammed his weight against the door just as the undead on the other side did. Struggling against the strength of the men on the other side, John forced the door far enough shut to lock it. More and more piled up against the door. One broke through the window.
John staggered back, looking back and forth for some weapon. He remembered the baseball bat under his bed, and ran for it. Snatching up the bat, John noticed something…the seductive shine of stainless steel. John noticed his Zippo on his night stand. Grabbing hold of it, he raced into the laundry room. He heard the door shatter open. Grabbing up glass bottle of kerosene lamp oil, John jumped into the living room. The wave of corpses surged forth. With out a word, John threw the bottle of kerosene into the air and hit it with his bat.
The bottle burst, showering the flammable liquid all over the advancing hoard of undead. Before the hoard could do anything, John flipped open his zippo, sparked the flint and threw the lit lighter. With a dull thump the flames ignited. The hoard of walking dead screamed and moaned as they ran around like a group of chickens with their heads cut off. The curtains caught fire, and then the rug. John leaped through the window and landed harshly on the pavement. Instantly, a the nearest corpse, which happened to be that of a young girl dressed in her death bed finery, lunged towards him. John swung the bat and the chunk of premium hand milled oak connected with her skull, showering brain matter onto the pavement. Another animated corpse staggered into John, smashing into him, knocking him to the ground. John rolled the corpse over and sprinted down the road. A zombie loped to intercept him, and john stabbed out with the butt of the baseball bat, knocking the 75 year old woman out of the way, her flowered sun dress stained with filth. John looked around in a panic; There were hundreds of them, converging on all sides. John looked around again, and then he saw it.

[ThegunsofNevada]

With out thinking, John sprinted for the fire escape. He toppled a garbage can over and clambered up the shortened rod iron ladder and sprinted up to the roof. The hoard of dead lurched around the building.
Pausing to catch his breath, John looked around to get his bearings. Building roof tops stretched out as far as he could see, paralleled on the opposite side of the street by more buildings. They were all roughly level. John limped over to the edge of the building, panting lightly; It was indeed worth it to jog! The next building wasn’t far…John carefully sized it up, stepped back and jumped. The leap wasn’t far, and john landed on his feet.
“Hey! No sweat.” He said to himself, wielding his baseball back in an art.
“Here comes the one man karate kung pow SWAT team.” He continued to himself as he leaped onto the side of the next building. And so John continued atop the roofs. Then came the problem. John could clearly see the gun shop…a mere hundred yards away. But there were no more buildings left to jump. John sat down and thought for a moment. The front of the window was caved in…And there was no sign of movement. It screamed “Trap”. John thought about it hard, and for the fist moment that he thought about what was actually happening…And, to his own great disturbance, didn’t find it odd. John organized his plan in his mind and walked over to the buildings skylight. A simple smash for his bat and the actual glass dome shattered; He was glad it wasn’t a tamper-resistant Plexiglas one. John hopped down from the roof and landed roughly on the bed below. First things first. He thought.
“HELLO? Anybody home?” John demanded. There was no response. John opened the closet door; Nothing of importance. He checked the night stand, the Berea drawer and finally the dresser. There were no items of importance; I.e. weapons. John walked out into the hallway and visited the next apartment. The door was locked; A quick kick fixed it. From that room he liberated a large, razor sharp hunting knife and a compass. Of special intest was the map he also found…It was of the local aeria, going to the woods and fields around the town. John noticed a small red circle about 60 miles outside of town. There were dozens of gun magazines around the house…John searched the rest of the apartments until he found what he wanted. When searching the last apartment on the floor. John swung open the closet door and looked behind the musty garments; And there lay a shotgun. John picked it up and examined it; It was an old breech loading single shot, with a black nylon band around the stock holding three shotgun shells. John examined it carefully.

SAVAGE M. 220 16 GAUGE

John fingered the lever and the shotguns front half swung down; It was well oiled, and had a short barrel. John loaded a shotgun shell into it, swung the breech back up and turned off the safety. John looked at the gun for a moment; It was quite handsome…with beautifully done furniture and a ice cold blue finish, un marred. John new that particular model was some 70 years old, at least. John set out down the stairs. The apartment lobby was deserted; Just as he had expected. John pushed open the doors and strode out. The city was quiet except for the occasional gunshot. John wondered about them. They were speratic, but seemed to be of the same caliber. John approached the gun shop with caution; crouched low, the baseball bats lanyard attached to his belt loosely; it bounced lightly against his knee. John kept the shotguns sight trained in front of him, his finger resting genteelly on the shotguns trigger guard. John looked into the gun shop…Glass…bloody glass was scattered all over the interior of the gun shop, and as far as John could tell, there wasn’t a single gun on the wall or thing left in the store; dozens of corpses lay on the ground inside the shop. John stepped in through the window, examining the re-killed corpse on the ground. It was a young man, dressed in his funeral attire. John stepped over the corpse and examined the shelves. They were completely bare; There was literally nothing in store. John dispared; he didn’t know what to do. John stepped towards the break room.
Something grabbed onto Johns foot hard, icy cold fingers locking onto his hiking boots. John turned, wrenching his foot away as he pivoted. A one armed body crawled its way along the floor, using its only remaining manipulator as a means of locomotion. John made a sour face and fired the shotgun.
John had never fired a shotgun before. The gun kicked hard, smashing into his shoulder, its hard wood stock leaving a deep bruise, and the guns roar deafened him for a second and left his ears ringing. The plus part was the disintegration of the corpses left side. John flipped the lever and the gun swung open, shooting the still smoking white casing high into the air. John pulled another round out of the holder on the stock and dropped it in, and swung the gun up hard, shutting the action. Only then did John look at the zombie. It still crawled on. John started; there was only 1/3 of a body left! John fired again, this time the shot blast took the entire right side of the creature off. It stopped moving, its head and torso splattered backwards. John re-loaded. John stepped into the hallway and threw up the rug, and tore open the loose floor board. The large .45 Long Colt stainless steel revolver lay in a old-west style leather holster. The flat black 1911 lay on the board next to it. John checked them; The revolver was loaded, but the magazine in the 1911 was empty. John strapped on the gun belt, tucked the 1911 into the small of his back, like he had seen done in so many movies. John readied his shotgun and left the gun shop.
Something moved across the street. John dodged around the corner of the building and crouched down, easing the shotgun up to his shoulder. The girl would have been beautyfull, had she not been dead. She wore a white tank top, dark clotted blood on the left side, with tall combat boots and olive drab BDU pants. Her short blond hair was done back in a pony tail, . She limped forwards a little faster and more dignafied than the other bodys did. John layed back, breathing quickly, aligining the big bead sight on front of the gun with the womans head. She grimiaced and stopped in fornt of the gun shop window, looking in. John squeezed the trigger. There was a dull click. John looked at the gun. Malfunction! He thought. The walking corpse turned and looked at him. John dropped the gun and swung up the baseball bat. The girl moved like lightning, ducking the swing, pivoiting into a crouch and sweeping Johns legs out from under him with a quick kick. John fell on his ass.
“Jesus christ, man! Whats wrong with you?” she said, jerking the baseball bat out from Johns hand, her voice heavily british accented. John groaned and went to get up. The girl extended her hand and pulled him up.
“I…I thought you were…well…” The girl smiled
“One of them? I'm damn lucky that boom stick of yours jammed, or I wouldn’t be much more than a hamburger.” She said smiling. John smiled charmingly.
“John Ross. Nice to meet you. I didn’t catch your name.” The girl smiled back.
“June Lockheart. Nice to make your acuatince, Mr. Ross. I do believe it is imperative we go now…” she said, handing his baseball back.
“Good idea. I need to get something to eat, and make a plan.” The girl nodded and pointed too a building.
“My apparptment is on the top floor there.” June said, jogging.
“Are you okay? Your bleeding a little bit.” She nodded.
“I had a run in with one of those…things.” She said. John grabbed the door and held it open for her.
“Ladies first.” John said. June smiled and walked up the stairs. John enjoyed the view form behind. June opned the door to her apparptment, and John stepped in. He layed the shotgun down on the table and looked around. The place was in ruin.
“Some one broke in and upset the place. That’s why I don’t have any of my guns.” She said, brushing a stray hair off of her face. She tossed John a bag of trail mix.
“That bites. How many guns did you have?” June smiled.
“Twenty-three.” She said smiling. “They took the ammo too.” John sat down and ate some of the trailmix and unfolded the map.
“You reconise that location?” John asked. June ate some of the trail mix.
“No…but its pretty far out there.” She said.
“I got this form the guys apparptment.” John said, laying his knife on the table.
“K-bar.” She said.
“K-What?” John asked. June smiled and took the knife up, deftly un sheating it.
“K-bar. U.S Marine corps fighting knife. Were there, by chance, any gun magazines around?” John nodded.
“I would lay even odds that that circle encoumpases his cabin or bunker.” John nodded.
“Do you have a car?” John asked. June nodded her head.
“I do. Its just that I took it into the shop.” John grimaced.
“Your kidding?” June smiled and shook her head.
“I'm afraid I'm not, mate. I don’t even have my car keys.” John groaned.
“Its going to be a long way out of the city…” June frowned.
“Why do we have to leave the city?” she asked, curiously, playing with the large, razor sharp, black knife.
“Havent you seen the movies?” John asked. June looked taken back.
“What?” she said, her british accent cuter in its supprise.
“Zombie movies! Let me explain. Romeros greats? Night, Dawn and day? Oh, never mind. Daviton is populated by 550,000 people…now, if half of them have turned…into them that’s 225,000 people. That’s a lot more than we can handle. June started.
“I know what we can do! The military base! The natonial guard have the base not too far from here! They cant get passed the fence, and the army has a large stock pile of weapons! Even tanks!” John squinted.
“How far is it?” he asked, readying his gear.
“It cant be more than a few miles. The police station is on the way!” John nodded and smiled.
“One thing before we go…Were the hell did they all go?” June shurgged.

[ThegunsofNevada]

The police officer despratly slammed a post-ban 10 round magazine into his Glock pistol. He ducked up over the baracade and aimed carefully. The walking corpse burst over the low baracade. The other police officers fired, too. Shot guns and M-4 carbines roared, cutting down the first two dozen through the door. Then, the re-killed dead were pushed aside by a wave of corpses.It happened again, and again and again, untill men were being sent to the armory to get the remaining ammunition. And it kept happening. Again and again the police officers killed every thing that came through the door. No less than a minunite later, there would be another wave. Eventualy the ammunition ran out. It went down to batons and machaties and chunks of office furnature and stun guns, but for every thing they killed it seemed to the police officers there were a hundred more. Little did they know they were right. The police station fell.

John led the way down the stairs, shotgun in hand, the single remaining shotgun shell in it, June right behind him with the .45 Long Colt out and ready. They mushed on out through the streets, carefull, keeping low and silent. As they got closer to the police staion, the gunfire abruptly stopped. June and John exchanged nervous looks.
“What the hell is that?” John said, pointing down the street. What appered to be a wall of red and white, about six feet tall was moving down the street. June turned around
“Oh shit! Run!” John looked behind him. The undead were pouring out of side streets. John ran, baseball bat clanging aginst the side of his leg. A zombie stepped in fornt of him, and John smashed the shotguns butt into its face, knocking it to the ground. June was gaining on him. Suddenly, she stopped.
“Mother of marry were lucky!” she said. John stopped as he came at her.
“We don’t have time for this!” the undead were starting a circle. June smiled charmingly.
“Give me your shirt.” John started. Then he began taking off his shirt.
“My uncle always warned me about you nasty british girls!” June rolled her eyes.
“Shut it and give me your shirt!” June turned, face to face with John, and holstered the revolver in one seductive movement. John handed her his shirt, and she promptley wrapped it around her fist and punched in the cars window. She unlocked it.
“The poor bloody bugger locked his keys in the car. How unfortunate for him, how benificial for us. You ride shotgun.” June said. The zombies moved close enough to take a swipe or a lunge just as June started the car, a recent model black Subaru Forester. Jane floored it. The wall of walking dead approached rappidly, and june didn’t slow down one bit. The Subaru roared over the wave of dead, exploding them to the sides, rolling several over the top of the car. Something crunched beneath the subaru, the wheels slipped and the car rolled.

The yellowish fluid filled the bottle up the rest of the way. Cassidy tossed the useless, empty bottle of lamp fluid aside. Flamables were all over the counter; a few cans of gasoline, several empty bottles of kerosine, four bottles of lighter fluid, and two bottles of Hoppes #9 with nitro and an empty bag of kitty litter with a half empty case of styrofome cups. Cassidy Malone smiled demonicly as he looked at the 7 completley full shampaine bottles. But the champaigne had been drained out, and the thin glass bottles were now filled with improvised napalm; The kitty litter and melted styrofoam cups had jelled it up. Cassidy popped the cork off another bottle, took the first sip and poured the rest out and poured the flamable tailings into the bottle Cassidy finished them up by duct-taping a rag to the spout of each one of them.
The abandoned grocery store had been quite a find; The last one had already been raided. This one was locked tightly, with impact resistand windows. A few .45 calliber bullets form the nickel plated colt .45 Cassidy always caryed had fixed the entry problem; In the back of the store a door lay shot open.
Cassidy moved to the front of the store, his duffel bag full of good food and 7 of the molotv cocktails. As a special agent in the ATF, Cassidy knew all the tricks for impovised weapons; He had seen them all in his 5 year career. The zombies, or whatever the hell they were lingered in fornt of the store, pounding on the glass. Cassidy took stock; He had a SOG special agent knife, his .45 with one 12 round magazine left and 5 bullets left in the gun, a pair of handcuffs, a boot knife, a pocket knife, plenty of food and water, and eight napalm-cocktails, plus the 12 guage Remington 870 he had found, which only had 4 slugs left and one in the chamber. Cassidy was a quick study; It had taken him only a few shots to realise the walking corpses were imune to any gunshots except those to the head. Cassidy aimed his .45 carefuly at the device he had rigged up to keep the door shut wile he fliped out his nickel plated zipo and lit the Molotovs fuze on fire. It had effectivly an infinate fuse; It would only explode in a flaming pile of goo once the gas was broken. Cassidy fired, his 1911 kicking in his hand frimilirly., and the broomstick rig exploded into fragments. The zombies burst through the door, and Cassidy let loose with the cocktail. It landed on the foot of the first zombie, and it burst into flames, catching the zombie on fire. It let out a terible roar and backed into the other zombies, rubbbing aginst them and setting them on fire too. Then they bumped into other zombies and before long, nearly all of them were running around on fire. Cassidy couldn’t help it. He chucled and then laughed.
The ATF agent bolted for the back door. A zombie bumbled down the hall, and Cassidy shot him in the head and splattered what looked like cherry pie filling all down the hall with all the nonchelance of a man playing darts. A zombie leaped out of a side room, hitting Cassidy on the back, clutching on to him, the ATF agent pulled hard on the corpses arm and fliped him over his shoulder, throwing the undead human into the walking monstrocity in front of him. Cassidy leaped agily over the pile of zombies and fled through the door he had shot open earlier. Cassidy pushed another walking body out of the way and ran down the street. A monster popped up to rend him with his teeth, and Cassidy removed its head with the powerfull .45ACP pistol in his hand. 3 bullets left in that magazine.
Cassidy's plan, such as it was, was to get too his car, the car, if one dared to call the monstrocity that, was a 1979 bright pink Ford Pinto, heavily armored with a custom engine and a trunk with enough equipment, guns and ammo to take over a small country. Then he would drive it to a certan research facility, and then the airport, mowing down anything that got in his way, and leave town in the helicopter he had rented.

Several gun shots rang out in quick sucession, waking June up from her temporary unconciousness. She kicked out the Suburs window with her boot and climbed out. A zombie was getting closed; She aimed carefully and hit him in the head. The revolver roared, and the zombie dropped to his knees, his head not there anymore. June ran around to the other side of the car; She looked proudly at the mulched pile of bodys, all pink and red were she had rammed the car through them. Somehow it had flipped.
That’s the end of this joy ride… she thought, pulling Johns bleeding body out of the car, john still clasping the shotgun in his hand. He started awake.
“Oh. Good morning.” He said, looking up into her eyes and grinning lopsidedly. June smiled.
“Lets go.” John nodded. The police station was within view. The two ran for it, brushing past the occosonial zombie. The dynamic dueo charged up the door. A zombie reached from inside, and John let him have it with the shotgun, blowing chunks onto both the cealing and the floor.
June ducked low and came up with a bloody pistol.
“Sig P228. 9mm.” She said, wiping it off. A door was pushed open and June emptied the 9mm at head level, and four zombies hit the dirt, along with Junes discarded pistol.
“Jesus! Wered you learn to shoot?” June pryed a Bereta 92 auto pistol out of a dead police officers hand. June smiled charmingly
“My father wanted a boy. So when I was 12 years old, insead of getting me something girlish, he got me a M-14 shorty carbine.” John looked puzzled, and june smiled.
“The armoury should be around here…keep an eye out for any survivors!” she said as she slammed the pistols barell into the mouth of a walking corpse that lunged around the corner and pulled the trigger. Twice. She whiped the gun off and moved on. The dueo stumbled over the bodys of two SWAT members. They were suronded by corpses, their heavy body armor rended open, empty magazines and shell casings practicly up to Junes knees. June bent over and pulled a rifle out of one of the SWAT officers dead hands. She checked the magazine, and then bent over and pulled open the last un open pouch on the SWAT officers vest. There wrere two full magazines for the M-4 Carbine. She pushed on the bullet in the magazine that came with the gun and poped out the remaining three bullets. She dropped them into her pocket and tossed a clip to John. John bent over and pryed another carbine out of the corpses hand. He had no more magazines left in his vest. Michael checked the magazine; Empty. John exaimened the weapon; it was a carbine version of the U.S M-16 rifle. John looked; the fire selector had three options.

[ThegunsofNevada]

“June! These are fully automatic!” June nodded and cocked the carbine by pulling out the rod behind the carrying handle.
“You know how to use that?” John asked. June smiled and nodded.
“Yes I do. I have a friend down in Nevada who has a level III.” John had heard of the much coveted “Level III” permit provided by the ATF allowing fully automatic weapons and silencers, along with other ‘goodies’.
“Uh…” June smiled
“Don’t try firing it full auto…you just don’t know how to handle it. Just fire single shots. See this? This is the saftey, this is the cocking lever.” June showed him the gun. John smiled.
“Light and handy. I like it.” June smiled.
“Lets look around and see if we can find some more weapons.” The dueo searched around for a half hour, killing an ocosoinal zombie. The police force had done one hell of a number; they counted over three hundred corpses, not including the dead officers, of which they counted 88; all of the police of the town aside from two. Then they found the armory.
“No damn good. That doors 3’’ steel. Couldn’t go after it if we had a quarter pound of C-4” John shook his head. They gathered up all the guns they could; it did little good, as there was no ammo. They gathered up the following;
Two SIG SAUR P228’s with three full ten round magazines, and a dozen water filled canteens. They also found a 16 guage remington shotgun, but the barell was bent. John scavanged 6 shells form it. They both got colapsable battons, pepper spray, a radio, some MRE’s (Meal, ready to eat…U.S military pre-packaged food) and a standard police officers pistol belt. Mark grabbed a heavy leather jacket and a tan leather shoulder holster in which he inserted the 1911A1 Springfeild in, now loaded with the pain stakingly scvanged .45 bullets. They were ready and then they left.
John and June stormed outside, john barley noticing as he took a zombies head off with a well placed swing of his baseball bat. June opned up on several of the zombies with her carbine, splattering brain onto a car. The crack of the baby M-16 was quieter than John expected; The roar and the recoil of the .45 he held was far more than he expected. The gun kicked hard in his hand, making him wish he had a better grip on it. It barked so loud Johns ears began to ring. And in a flury of home run worthy baseball bat strokes, carbine and pistol fire, the street was cleared.
June dropped out the magazine into her hand and let the carbine lay aginst her chest on its fancy sling as she loaded the rounds she had into her pocket into the magazine. She re-inserted it and turned to john. Her lips moved but john didn’t hear anything aside from the ringing.
“WHAT?” he asked, unconciously yelling. June rolled her eyes and took up a piece of paper form her pocket. Un expectidly, she shoved it into his mouth, and removed another piece and put it in her mouth and chewed on it. After a few seconds of John looking on in puzlement and June chewing, she spit it out into her hands, pulled it into halves and pushed it into her ear. Then it clicked what she was doing. Improvised Earplugs. John chewed on the piece of paper June had shoved into his mouth and pushed it into his ears. They began to feel better.

Cassidy slashed the zombies trachiea burutaly with his combat knife and elbowed the undead mans head, nocking it off. Cassidy caught the zombie behind him with a quick backwards kick which nocked him over, and then he punched the zombie in front of him in the face, twice with his left hand, his SOG knife still in his right hand. The zombies Cassidy had nocked donwn climbed back up. Cassidy kicked ones legs out form under it, shoved the palm of his hand into another ones nose which sent the corpse bouncing up aginst his car, and stabbed yet another one in the eye. The one Cassidy had just stabbed fell over, the long knife stuck into his brain. Cassidy let the corpse fall, its weight pulling the knife out of its skull cavity. Cassidy stabbed a walking corpse in the chest, let go of his knife and grabbed the neck of a zombie on the left of him and twisted as hard as he could, its neck shattering. Cassidy pushed the zombie he had temporarly sheathed his knife in away, took his knife out of him and clove the final zombies head in with its pommel.
Cassidy was sweating faintly and breathing hard. Over the last ten minunites he had killed along the lines of 20 of the walking dead, only 17 of them with his .45. The molotov cocktails had worked well, too; They didn’t kill them, but they set them on fire and got them way the hell away from who ever was throwing the cocktails. Cassidy was now at his car, his trusty Ford Pinto, splattered with blood, brains, pus and all maner of things Cassidy wanted to wash off. Its pink paint was chipped all over.. The dirve up from Nevada had been a rough one. The side of the car was covered in tally marks; Cassidy withdrew a black permenant marker and added another 22. Cassidy put his car key into the trunk and turned it, and as usual it refused to open untill Cassidy deliverd a well placed kick. The trunk popped open.
It was loaded with enough munitions to take down a military base. Cassidy had sacked the gunshop first, giving away the guns he felt he didn’t need to any one he met, alnog with plenty of ammo. Cassidy wiped blood off of his nickel plated Colt 1911 and ejected its magazine, loading it up with Federal Super Match ammo. Cassidy loaded the magazine, put it in his pistol and in turn put the pistol into its holster. Cassidy continued loading his other back up magazines. One of the zombies Cassidy had thought he killed twitched and made to get up, and Cassidy calmly withdrew his pistol from its holster with one hand, turned off the saftey and shot the corpse in the head, re-holstered his pistol and continued loading magazines.
As he did so he considered why he had come to Daviton, WY. He was in search of some one, a very special some one…One Dr. Rehinholt, an ex-nazi radioligt, who at a ripe old age of 91 was both the worlds oldest and most renouned radioligst. Cassidy had read about the man after putting the two and two together after the obviously radioactive commet had passed. As far as he knew, there had been Zombies in Nevada before anywere else; No one had believed it, but Cassidy had and knew they were a radological menace that had to be dealt with. So he had packed up the large ammounts of firearms, ammunition, and equipment he felt was nessicary and had driven up to Wyoming. He had the good Dr.’s address and was confidant the obviously genuis German would be able to help, or at the very least provide an insite. Cassidy finished up loading his pistol magazines, tucked them into the various pouches and grapped a box of 12 guage shotgun shells which he loaded into the Remington 870. He tossed the scattergun onto the passengers seat and looked on his dashboard. There was still reminants of his lunch form earlier that day; Some McDonalds. Cassidy shrugged and stuffed the remaining burger and fries into his mouth, washed it down with a swig of his sprite and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He brushed gore out of his harir, wiped up with a rag (Which reeked of gun oil; Cassidy had ended up needing to repeitadly clean his firearms on the trip up from Nevada) and straightened his tie. He put on his most charming face and looked into the mirror. Not half bad. He thought. Watching him self closley in the mirror, Cassidy siad:
“And what does Fearless Undead Killer of Great Renoun Cassidy Malone eat after a hard day of slaughtering zombies? A McDonalds combo meal #2! McDonalds; We love to see you smile.” Cassidy started the pinto and drove off.

[ThegunsofNevada]

Dr. Rehinholt had held out for the entire day; He had used all the recources his lab had to offer; Vials of acid and chemicals, sheets of experemental high strenght alloys to baracade doors (Which had done little to help; He had no good way to fasten them, and his once considerable germanic strength had faded over the decades) and lastly holing up in the vault of the lab. But what Dr. Rehinholt assumed were re-animated corpses were now busting through the walls. Dr. Reinholt slowly squeezed the triger. Suddenly, just before the triger reached its fire poit, a dozen gunshots rang out. Rehinholt let go of the trigger and swung the long barell around and made the head of a zombie breaking through the wall explode. The door was kicked in, and Rehinholt held his long luger in both hands, prepared to end the zombies un life in order to get to the other man with the gun. But it was the man with a gun there! The man was wearing perfect, well ironed black slackes, scuffed dress shoes, suspenders covered by a shoulder holster with and a white dress shirt which was smeared with blood and other unsavory things, sweat stains along the sides, more commonly seen in the desert. The mans face looked to be recently scrubed. He was holding a futuristic looking flat black rifle. The man cocked his head to the side.
“Dr. Rehinholt, Is that the eraly carbine version or the later artilery officers version of the Luger Parabelum Long ’08 with fully automatic capability?” the man said. Rehinholt looked puzzled.
“It is the artilary carbine version…I misplaced the snail drum magazine it came with years ago. How did you know?" the Dr. said, his voice heavily German accented. The man smiled.
“I'm a gun nut, well versed in the lore of firearms.” Dr. Rehinholt stood up.
“I must admit, you have me at a disadvantage, mein herr, you know my name, but I know not what yours is.” The man smiled and fired several dozen fully automatic shots through the breach in the wall, laying several undead low.
“My name is Cassidy Malone, and its an honor to meat you, Herr doctor.” Then the German conversation started.
“Do you speak much German, Mr. Malone?” the Dr. said in German. Cassidy nodded.
“I speak a little.” Cassidy said in German. Dr. Rehinholt nodded.
“Why have you come for me?” the Dr. asked in engilsh. Cassidy smiled.
“You are the worlds most renouned radioligst. Why do you think I have come for you?” The Dr. nodded his head.
“You want to know what to do about the undead. These nosferatu.” Cassidy nodded.
“I have a compound in the desert and a helicopter to get us there. We will be safe. If you can give me some proof of how to kill off these undead perminatly, I can take it to the Feds in DC.”
“Yes. Let me gather the thigns I will need to do research.” Cassidy followed the Dr. around the research facility killing zombies and gathering the things they needed. Then they left.

Cassidy and Dr. Rehinholt stepped out of the pinto. There were no zombies in sight, just the empty flight tarmac of davitons small, isolated private airport. And there salvation awaited: The olive drab painted BlackHawk helicopter sat sedately on the tarmac, fuled up and ready to go.
“You know how to fly a helicopter?” Cassidy nodded his head.
“My friend taught me how to fly on the Huey, the black hawks predecessor.” Dr. Rehinholt nodded in appreaciation.
Not much later Dr. Rehinholt was in the back of the chopper. He donned interhelicopter communication hearphones and mike and readied for take off.
Cassidy fiddled with the instruments on the controal panels for around a minunite and then the turbine started with a roar, and Cassidy eased the helicopter off the ground.
“What about your car, Herr malone?” Cassidy shrugged, and said into his mike over the roar of the engine;
“Ill come back for it. It has a good security system and is tough as nails.” The ride was silent, at least for as far as conversation was concerned.
The situation for June and John was very bad; June had only a few bullets left in her carbine and pistol, and John was completely out of ammo, having accadentily switched it to full auto instead of safe, and sprayed a zombie. His 1911 had ran out of ammo, too. John was currently hitting home run after home run on the zombies, but June knew he couldn’t keep it up, and there were too many zombies and they were getting closer, too, and every time she shot one, it seemed three popped up in its place, closer this time, though. Running was not an option; John had gotten them lost, and turned about in the residential district. She fired her last shot and watched the zombie slump over, dead, his head a smoking ruin. John dropped his baseball bat and fired off the last shot from his shotgun, splattering zombie all over the wall of the near by house. There was a faint thwack thwack thwack thwack noise coming form the distance, and getting closer.
“Holy god, I thought they had killed every one. Do you know how to use a rifle very well, herr Doctor.?” Dr. Rehinholt awnsered in the affirmative, and Cassidy gave him his G-36 rifle. The Dr. aligned the internal scope and fired a short burst, taking a zombies head off.

[ThegunsofNevada]

“Hold on Dr, im going to take us down.” And Cassidy did just that. He landed the chopper a dozen yards form the groupe in a culldesac, and Dr. Rehinholt waved for them to come. The man smashed a zombie with his baseball bat and the woman, tall and liethe, very much cassidys type slammed the butt of her rifle, or as Cassidy recognized it M-4 carbine into a zombie and hauled ass. They made it to the helicopter, probably beating the sprinting record of several star athletes.
“Welcome on boared Cassidys Adventure Charters. Please fasten you seat belt and keep all extremities inside the helicopter at all times. For your conveince we will be serving MRE’s and gatoraide on this non stop flight to Readen, Neavada. If you should be so inclined, there are barf bags on the seat back in front of you. The bathrooms are located through the sliding doors on your left and right.” Cassidy declared to the two new passengers as they clambered in through the right side sliding door.
“Thank god you came along!” the young woman said, putting on her headphones quickly. The other one, the male, looked at the female for confermation before putting on his pair of head phones.
“Okay, lets do introductions now. The old gentleman back there with you is Dr. Rehinholt, P.hD in Radioligy. I, your esteemed pilot and gunman, am Cassidy Malone. Who are you two?” Cassidy said as he lifted the helicopter off the ground.
“Im James Ross, and this is June…” Dr. Rehinholt shook hands with them both and Cassidy waved.
“Damn, we are glad you came along! Its more than fare to say you saved both our asses.” Cassidy nodded.
“Its not a problem. You don’t mind going to Nevada, I assume?” Both shook their heads in unison.
“You two look like brother and sister. Is there any relation?” June blushed at Dr. Rehinholts question.
“No, I just met him today, Dr.” Dr. Rehinholt smiled.
“Extrodanary circumstances have an extordanary way of bringing extrodanary people together, my young friends.
They both nodded in unison again.
“We are realy thankfull. Is there anything we can do to repay you? You just saved our lives back there, risking your own.” June said, brushing back her hair. In the cockpit Cassidy smiled to himself.
“Now that you mention it, there is. Can either of you rappel?” Cassidy asked. June replied she had never learned and had a fragile ankle, and Dr. Rehinholt replied “Ich bin zu alt von das scheisse…”, in essence saying he was too old. Then John spoke up.
“I know how to rappel. Why?” Cassidy smiled.
“I left my car here…and I need some one to go down and attach the helicopters towing line to a harness I have on top of my car.” John looked taken aback.
“What? It’s a realy nice car?” Cassidy smiled demonicly.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Cassidy turned the helicopter around in a low bank.
“June, you look like you can handle that M-4 carbine pretty well, and I know the Dr. can use my G-36 well enough. Do you have any ammo left? Our boy John will need some cover.” June replyed that she in fact had no ammo, which lead to her ‘borrowing’ some form Cassidy.
Cassidy took the helicopter back to the airfield and let it drift in the air, trying to keep it steady.
“Which car?” asked John. Cassidy smiled.
“It’s the bright pink one.” John looked taken aback.
“You want me to save your Ford Pinto?” Cassidy smiled again.
“Yes, I do. I have nearly a half million dollars in hardware in it…it would be a shame to have to come back for it…” John shrugged and then attached the rappelling harness. A clowd of Zombies was heading towards the car. John tossed out the nylon rappelling line and slid down, slowly at first and then rapidly as he got near the car. June pushed out the towing line Cassidy had had so expensively attached to the helicopter. It was strong enough to lift his car, but just barley.
John grabbed the thick steel cable, gave it a jerk and ran to the car. Rifle fire cracked from above, a zombie falling not two feet form him. It was eiry having bullets flying around you so closely, but not having them sent after you.
John examined the heavy Kevlar straps laying on top of the car. He fiddled with them, trying to get them on right.
God damn it, if they could stop the shooting for two damn seconds…he thought. Then finaly he got it straightned out, attached the heavy clamps to the strap and tugged on the line. Nothng happned. Then there was a hard tug and he was lifted bodily off the ground, along with the pink monstrocity. Soon he was climbing up the rappelling rope wile swinging wildily. When he got close enough he was pulled up by junes framiliar brace and the supprisingly and almost demonicly strong grasp of Dr. Rehinholt.
John looked down and his work: The car hung suspended beneath them on the heavy cable. Static crackled across the radio.
“Unidentafied helicopter, repeat, unidentified helicopter state your flight plan and number. Cassidy blinked a few times.
“This is black hawk BHK55906, destined Readen, NV. Who the hell is this?”
“This is the West Coast Militia. You are not authorized to leave Daviton, repeat, exiduos is not authorized.” Cassidy swore under his breath.
“This is Cassidy Malone of the ATF you bank robbing scumbags. Aernt you a little out of your property? Screw you, ill leave if I want.” Cassidy had had runins with the WCM before: They were heavily militant survivalists with a passion for grand schemes, overthrowing the government and robbing things to support their terrorism.
“Cassidy Malone? God damned, were lucky. Why don’t you land so we can talk?” Cassidy smiled.
“What? So you can shoot me? No way. What are you going to do, try to shoot me down with your assault rifles and RPG’s?” There was a laugh through the radio.
“No, were going to use our quad mounted Browning M2’s about 900 yards in front of you.” Cassidy stared; On a building not far from him a crew yanked a canvas tarp off of the powerfull .50 calliber gun mount.
“HOLD ON!” Cassidy yelled into the radio. Cassidy pushed the throttle all the way forwards and the helicopter seemed to leap forwards, the pinto swinging far behind it, still teathered to the chopper. Cassidy slowed just as he neared the gun mount; He saw a man cock the big guns and prepare to fire, and then Cassidy was directly over it, and then the Pinto hit it.
There was a god awful metaic clang as Cassidys armoured monstrocity of a car slammed into the gun mount like a battering ram, knocking it off the roof and sending it flying down the street. Cassidy laughed. Then the pintos trunk burst open, spraying boxes of ammo, hand guns and rifles into the street, the car now moving around franticly on its teather. Small arms fire rose up form the ground, bullets bouncing off or thudding into the helicopters medium armor. Cassidy swore brutally as he realized the trunk had popped.
“Holly cow, Malone! June, did you see the way he took out that Ack-ack?” June agreed and Dr. Rehinholt applauded.
“Attention West coast Skin heads, do you have a tank you would like me to drop my car on?” Cassidy said into his radio. The group in the back howled in laughter.
“We know were you live, Malone! Your not…” then the radio transmission was interrupted by screams and gun fire. The helicopter fell silent as every one stopped laughing. Cassidy sighed, chuckled a little and reached for the boom box he had strapped near a head phone. He turned it on, music blaring over the in radio intercom. It started out with “Ride of the Valkaries” and then went on to German Death Metal and then onto Dance music.
“You like it? Its my Helicopter dance mix.” Cassidy said, over an attractive sounding british girls voice singing what sounded like “play it on.” June and John liked it and Dr. Rehinholt remained silent.

[ThegunsofNevada]

Eventualy June and Dr. Rehinholt fell asleep: Cassidy's music had slowly faded to soft pop music, suitable for a lulluby. John stayed awake, though. Soon, the gentle slopes of Iowa faded away; and the climate got more arid and rocky, and then faded away to sand.
“Oh, crap. That was quick.” Cassidy said.
“HEY! WAKE UP EVERYONE!” Cassidy yelled into the mike, and every one woke up, Jane sweeping her M-4 up and Dr. Rehinholt looking angry.
“5 minunites heads up, gang. We hve to make a gas stop.”
“You mean you didn’t fill ‘er all the way up?” Cassidy shook his head.
“How do you think I got my hands on a military helicopter? This ones a lemon: irrugular fuel consumption. So we need to make a gas stop before this thing crashes. One helicopter crash is one too many.”<br> John looked alarmed.
“You’ve crashed a helicopter before?” Cassidy rolled his eyes.
“No, I was in a helicopter crash. Or to put it diffrently, I was in a helicopter that got shot down. In the Gulf War. That led to a nasty situation…” Cassidy shrugged off the imiage in front of his minds eye; Desert sand stained red, Dead marines all over, the Iraqi’s coming like a tidal wave. Cassidy shook it off one more time and started humming ‘Don’t bring your guns to town’ by Johnny Cash.
“Here we are…” Cassidy said smiling. A small airstrip lay in front of them
“We cant be more than three hundred miles form my place now. I'm going to have to set the Pinto down. Any one want to volunteer to drive it?” June raised her hand.
“All right. John, you rappell down and unhook my car, ill land the chopper and fuel her up wile you two cover me.” Cassidy brought the helicopter to a slow, and circuled a few times.
Cassidy slowly lowered the pinto untill its wheels touched the desert sand, and john jumped out of the ‘chopper. He slid down, and began working on the heavy Kevlar webbing and jumped clear of the pinto just as a wave of undead poured out of the hangar. Rifle fire erupted from the helicopter, dropping the entire hoard as both June and Dr. Rehinholt let loose long fully automatic bursts, the angle perfect for headshots. Cassidy cussed and touched the big chopper down next to the Pinto, just barley in range of the tanks. Cassidy jumped out of the chopper, running for the fuel pumps. June covered him. Dr. Rehinholt swore vehemently: The M4 he was using had jammed. June emptyed the last of her ammuntion. Cassidy cross drew his 1911 and strode forwards, firing it one handed, laying low twelve of them, head shots to each. Cassidy punched the last zombie with his katar-an indian punching dagger, and it dropped to the ground in a shower of blood. Cassidy waved for the other two: June and John came up. Cassidy pushed a walkie-talkie into Junes hand.
“Check the hanger over there! There might be something usefull. Rehinholt, you stay in the ‘chopper, ill get gas. GO!” Cassidy dropped the magazine out of his big pistol and loaded another. Cassidy started pumping gas as Rehinholt tossed June another magazine for the G36. The two headed to the hanger.
The door moved slightly, and june dropped to her knees and thumbed it to full auto, cutting a hole at head level through the hangars side door. The bolt of the German rifle clicked back, and June sholdered it. She kicked the door open, John covering her with his pistol. The door bounced off something and a dog lurched through the door.
June dived out of the way of the dog as it leapt for her throught. John caught a half second glance of the dog; It wasn’t right. Its fur was matted with blood and foam that was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were blank, with a red sheen to them. John raised the hefty Colt .45 and tried to get a bead on the dog, but it moved like lightning and leapt into him. The dog was a big one; a very heavily set Golden retreiver. The 150 lb dog knocked John to the ground, the dull blue pistol john held slid into the sand of the desert floor. John clawed at the dogs face as it pushed down, trying to get its terrible jaws onto Johns face. John pushed up, his arm lodged under the hidious creatures head, at the juncture of throught and torso. The dog gnawed and lunged forwards. That was when john relised it wasn’t breathing.
In disgust, John pushed up hard and tore the baseball bat off of his leg, the electrical tape he had binded it there with shredding.
In a sceene out of Steven Kings Cujo, John smashed the heafty baseball bat into the side of the dogs head, buckiling it over. John stood up and kicked the dog as it tried to get up.
The dog rolled to its feet and crouched down low, growling and bearing his teeth. John shuddered as the dog did so; What looked like long, ragged chunks of flesh and cloth were lodged in the dogs gums. John pulled the baseball bat back, ready to swing, taking a stance typical of a baseball player. The dog looked at John with flat, dead eyes. John wiggeled the bat, ready to take the dogs head off when he swung. He never got a chance to.
A single shot rang out, ringing loudly over the roar of even the helicopters purring engine. The front half of the dog splattered all over the main door to the hanger. John looked to the helicopter.
Cassidy crouched low, a monstrocity of a rifle in his hands, staring through its huge scope. Cassidy worked the bolt and inserted another huge bullet and gave them the thumgs up and checked on the gas. Johns ears were ringing severley, even through the chewed receipt. He rubbed them and June looked dazed. She was staring in throgh the hangers side door.
If johns ears wouldn’t have been stunned by the passage of the .50 calliber bullet form Cassidy's rifle, he would have heard the presestiant low growling that June had observed.

[ThegunsofNevada]

June backed up slowly. She turned to john and said something John couldn’t hear; He just saw her lips move. She pointed to his gun in the sand and appeared to yell somethig louder, but John coulnt hear over the roaring buzz in his ears. John nodded sagley and beant over and picked up the big pistol, dusted it off and shoved it into the small of his back and shrugged. June appeared frantic; She reached her hand out, as if expecting something. Then john saw what she was excited about.
In the dark depths of the hanger, dozens of pairs of red eyes shimmered faintly form the desert light. June ran for the door she had shot open and then kicked open and pulled it shut, grasping the handle and pulling aginst it. John rushed and helped her. Something slammed aginst the door, and then John felt as much as he saw one of the dogs put its head through the hole June had blasted in the door. John let june handle pulling it shut and withdrew the big pistol form the small of his back and wedged it under the breserking chocolate labs head and fired, blood, pus and decaying brain matter spraying away form the barell of the venerable combat pistol.
June shouted as the rain of decompoising flesh and dog hair fell onto her. June looked to her left as she heard the sound of shattering glass. June moitoned for john, and he handed her the pistol. June broke away form the door and dashed around to the side of the hangar to see a small bull dog on the ground, just getting up, his flat gray hide imbeded with glass fragments. A stream of dogs came form a side room and made for the window. June turned and ran.
John, in turn, saw June hauling ass for the helicopter and let go of the door and ran after her.
June turned her head to see John keeping pace with her, and a hoard of dogs gaining on them. June saw a water tower not more than a few steps away. June leapt for the ladder and climbed it quickly, her adrenaline pumping. John, confused, ran up it after her.
Cassidy saw them coming, along with the dogs. Cassidy ran to the pinto, unlocked the door and pulled his old M-14 service rifle off of the rack in the front, cocked it and kneeled down, aiming at the charging dogs. Cassidy got two shots off, and then the rifle jammed. Cassidy swore vehenmintly and tossed the rifle into the chopper and climbed in to start the engine. A dog charged into the chopper, and Cassidy calmly shot it in the head 4 times, splattering it out of the cock pit, but the dog was instantly replaced by another one, which Cassidy did exactly the same to. Then, Cassidy was in the air. Cassidy's radio crackled.
“What the hell are you doing? Are you leaving us?” Junes voice said.
“God damn it!” Cassidy swore in response.
“Yes, I am leaving you. I cant take down all of those god damn dogs by myself, or with your help. If I try to come over there and get you, the ‘chopper blades will smash up aginst that tower, and well be screwed.”<br> “Cant you drop the car?”
“No, I cant! I have to go now. I'm so damn low on fuel that I might not make it home as it is. I'm dropping a crate of supplys: I saw a car around back, and theres stuff to hotwire a car in the kit. I'm sorry! God damn it, better luck next time!” Cassidy said before clicking off the radio. The Dr. pushed the kit out of the ‘chopper, and a small parachute deployed, and it drifted gently down, landing a few feet from the water tower. June shook her fist at the departing helicopter and Cassidy swore as he banked left and headed home.
June looked down at the package, suronded by swarming dogs. She swore viliy about Cassidy's mother and sat down. John shrugged and knocked on the water tank. It sounded full.
“At lest we have plenty of water.”, He said smiling. June didn’t look amused. John frowned down at the package.
“Wait…” he said, fishing out a pocket knife and a long bit of string. He fastend the string to the knife and let the blade half way out of the folding knife and lowered it.
“I see! Your going for the parachutes cord!” June said watching. John fished at the parachute cord laying hap hazardly on the baked desert sand. He kept almost getting it, but missing, the piece of string being a little too short.
“Give it here. Let me see it!” June said impaitently as she snatched the srting away. The string slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground, one part draped over one of the support beams of the tower.
“Good job, retard!” John declared loudly as he looked at it.
“Its your fault!” June snapped back, her british accent becoming harsh. “God damn it, give me your ankles.”<br> “What?” June declared louldy. “If your making some lude american sexu…” John rolled his eyes.
“No, I'm not. Give me your ankles so I can drape you down there so you can grab the damn string.” June peeped over the ledge at the dozen or so strong pack of dogs.
“No way I'm going down there. You hang upside down!” John rolled his eyes.
“Damn it, June, its your fault I dropped it, and ill be damned if you can lift me back up…” June sighed.
“All right. You can grab my ankles, but don’t go telling all your friends.” She said smiling mischeviously. John grabbed her ankles and she crawled off the edge.
John grunted as he held her and lowerd her a little.
“Lower.” June muttered.
“What?” John yelled back.
“LOWER, you fat headed retard.” June said. John grinned and dropped her another four feet, her pony tail hanging a quarter inch from the snapping maws of the dozen rabid and undead hounds.
“That’s not bloody funny!” She shouted as John raised her. June swung for the piece of string and grabbed it, and John hauled her back up.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” John said, smiling and sweating milidly form the hot desert air and the exurtion of holding on to her legs and raising her up.
“Not realy, except for the part were you tried to feed me to the hounds.” John rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t try to feed you to the damn dogs.”
“You bloody well did too!” she declared as she made her first attempt at fishing for the parachutes cord. She hooked the pocket knife blade under it and slowly began to lift it up. John frowned.
“Beginners luck.” He declared. June just smiled. A few seconds later, June had the para cord in her hand. John snatched it away and pulled the heafty box up.
“Jesus, what evers in here is gona be good.” John said, helping June haul the box up.
After a moment of hauling, they had the olive drab box up. They opned it.
June whistled and john just smiled.
“God bless gun nuts.” John said. They sorted through the box. There were several knifes; Two pocket folders and two longer combat versions, several boxes of ammo, two MRE’s, thin, green cord with attached grappiling hook, several canteens filled with water and various instruments of survival, along with two black back packs to hold all the gear.
“Lunch is served.” John said as he tore into the green casing of the MRE. The two loaded magazines as they ate. Neither talked.
“You’re a better shot than me by far. You do the honnor.” John said as he finished his lunch. June just nodded. She aimed the M4 carbine at the dogs, and in controled single shots killed every last one of them. Then the two packed up and climbed down, carefully avoiding the corpses.
“Lets see what was realy in that hanger.” June said as she adjusted her pony tail and walked frowards.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…in the movies it was always a bad idea to go into the buildings.”
“Oh, come on! What are you, a man or a bloody woman?” June chidded him, turning around and skipping backwards.
“Come on! Itll be fun!” she declared, putting a demonic emphassis on the word ‘fun’. John shook his head as he followed her.
“Your insane. Your completley insane.” He muttered as he followed her.
Despit John’s predilictions, the hanger was empty of zombies and everything usefull. Then the two went around back. There sat a white SUV.
“There is a god.” June said. The keys sat on the seat. John opned the door and climbed in.
“Deus ex machina. The tanks even full” he said as he started the engine. June stepped into shotgunes seat and sat down.
“Were to?” They both paused. “Uh…” June smiled.
“I know were I'm going.” She said, smiling and grasping Johns head firmly and kissing him deeply, pushing him into the SUV’s back seat


T h e e n d?