The Zom Zom Chronicles: Chapter 33 Adrenaline and Shotguns Do Not Mix

The Zom Zom Chronicles: Chapter 33

Adrenaline and Shotguns Do Not Mix

There is a very specific type of terror that washes over you when your IT guy, hopped up on military-grade combat stimulants, decides to play melee hero against a heavily armed survivalist.

Dave did not run; he vibrated forward, a blur of neon fabric softener residue and unearned confidence.

The Chaotic Javelin

Sergeant Miller barely had time to widen his sleep-deprived eyes. He swung the barrel of his twelve-gauge toward Dave.

But the adrenaline had bypassed Dave's central nervous system and tapped directly into pure, unhinged survival instinct.

Dave didn't swing the crowbar at Miller's head; he threw it like a chaotic javelin. The heavy iron bar spun end-over-end and slammed directly into the shotgun's barrel just as Miller pulled the trigger.

Flashbangs and Furry Missiles

The blast deafened the entire loading dock. Buckshot tore into the concrete ceiling, raining sparks and plaster down on the logistics zombies.

Miller stumbled backward, cursing. The recoil and the crowbar impact knocked the weapon completely from his grip.

That was my cue. I lunged forward with my titanium-scalpel-stick, intercepting a charging logistics zombie wearing a high-vis vest. The scalpel pierced the thick canvas, pinning the creature against a wooden pallet.

Simultaneously, Buster erupted into a furry missile of teeth and muscle, taking down a second infected quartermaster with a sickening crunch of bone.

Dismantling the Blockage

Over by the fuel reservoir, the sound of tearing canvas and wet, horrible snapping echoed over the fight.

Brenda and Joe were elbow-deep in the gears, using the bone saw and the pry-bar to literally dismantle the tangled remains of the dead officer clogging the intake.

"Structural blockage cleared!" Brenda roared, covered in industrial grease and things I prefer not to think about.

Surge of Power

Joe slammed his fist onto the manual override switch. The yellow pump screamed, caught, and then settled into a deep, powerful, rhythmic chug.

Beneath our feet, the floorboards vibrated as the massive V12 generator in the core below sucked in the fresh diesel, roaring back to life with a triumphant surge of power.

The red emergency lights flickered and swapped back to a solid, blinding white. The electromagnetic seals on the blast doors below were powered. We had done it.

The Big Cheese Arrives

But Sergeant Miller wasn't finished. He scrambled across the oil-slicked floor, his fingers desperately grazing the stock of his dropped shotgun. He looked up, his face twisted in a mask of absolute paranoid rage, only to freeze.

The massive steel doors of the main freight elevator directly behind him began to bulge. The thick metal groaned, buckling outward in the center.

A deep, sub-bass thrum vibrated through the soles of my shoes, completely drowning out the sound of the generator. The Big Cheese hadn't stayed in the bunker. It had climbed the elevator shaft, and it was officially on the surface.