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women started falling out, clown car style.  One two, three…a staggering total of seven individuals emerged from a vehicle which I’m sure would have been uncomfortable for me to fit in one of those econobox seats.
    One looked to be holding a tire iron and another clutched a three foot long piece of chain.  No firearms, no bladed weapons.  I figured at that point they were all just going to die.  I was going to be treated to a front row seat as the horror unfolded.  Crap.  That’s why I stick to killing zombies and let somebody else worry about the living.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
    “Get out of the road!” I bellowed, but of course none of these ladies could hear me over the Led Zeppelin roaring out of the boombox.  From where the car ground to a stop, the women had choices about where to fort up.  On the left, a partially boarded up service station and attached mechanics shop offered some cover.  On their right, I spied the only Chinese restaurant in town, a place with the word ‘Wok’ in the title was all I could remember.  Oh, and it had floor to ceiling glass windows in front.  For me, the service station was a no-brainer, but then I knew something these ladies did not.
    In the end, panic determined their choice as one of the women seemed to give a little shriek, at least, her face drew up in a mask of terror and darted towards the Chinese restaurant.  She broke for the restaurant and the other women followed close on her heels.
    “Fuck” I murmured and kept shooting zombies, hoping to give them some cover for as long as the loaded magazines held out.  At this range, my marksmanship wasn’t spectacular, but I managed to keep the lurching corpses off the women until the group disappeared out of sight through the front door, which, surprise, was still open.  More likely, someone had already broken into the restaurant.  Either seeking shelter or an order of Wonton soup.  If I remembered right, their soup was pretty good, back in the day.
    As more zombies began to drift over in the direction of their next Happy Meal, I continued to cut down every one I could safely shoot. The problem being, as the dead drifted between my position and the restaurant, I had to be mindful of those glass windows.  Even with a 22 LR round, over-penetration could still occur as a bullet passes through these rotted corpses.
    My strategy worked for a while, but eventually the leakers just got by me.  For every one I dropped, two more showed up to shuffle right into the danger zone where I feared shooting.  I estimated the total was still under four hundred now, but even with my boombox blaring, these zombies were drawn to the sound, and maybe scent, or live humans on the ground.
    Looking quickly around my rooftop lair, I decided I would need to handle the rest of these rotting dead heads from a different locale, namely the rooftop of the Happy Wok.  Or Golden Wok.  Or whatever.
    Shagging ass, I grabbed the box of empty magazines and dumped them into a duffle bag.  Then, I stuffed four of the 10/22s in on top, since I could only get that many to fit.  Then I snagged a prepacked backpack from the stack of items next to the tent and swung the load on my back.  Looking around, I saw the two rifle cases, the stacks of ammo and the other gear and resolved right then that come hell or high water I was coming back for the rest of my stuff.
    For now, I horsed the ladder around until the legs were secured in the truck bed and I carefully climbed down the aluminum length, remembering yet again how much I detested heights.  Standing on the roof was no problem, but hanging on the creaking ladder was a whole other deal.
    As soon as I appeared, the zombies stumbling around my truck seemed to look up in unison and start that damned hissing.  Before I set foot in the truck bed I counted at least twenty dead trying to join me there.  They banged on the