Page 9 of My Apocalypse Mountain Man
"Here comes the main group," Kole says.
They come in waves. Ten here, fifteen there, drawn by the sound of gunfire but confused by the echoing mountains. We use the speakers strategically, triggering them to draw groups away when they get too close. But there are so many, and our ammunition won't last forever.
"Magazine," I call out, ejecting my empty clip.
Kole tosses me a fresh one without looking, trusting I'll catch it. I do, slamming it home and dropping two more zombies that had gotten within thirty feet of the cabin.
"They're learning," I observe. "Starting to ignore the speakers."
"Zombies don't learn."
"Then they're adapting. Same result."
A crash from the back of the cabin makes us both spin. Three zombies have found the rear door, and they're pounding on it with disturbing coordination.
"I've got it," Kole says, but I'm already moving.
"Together," I correct, and we approach the door from opposite angles.
The door splinters on the next hit. A rotting arm reaches through, grasping blindly. I take the arm off at the elbow with my machete while Kole puts a knife through the skull of its owner. The other two try to push through together, getting wedged in the doorframe.
"Duck!" Kole shouts.
I drop, and his axe whistles over my head, burying itself in zombie skull. The third one reaches for me, and without thinking, I grab Kole's dropped knife and drive it upward through its jaw.
We stand there breathing hard, covered in gore, surrounded by bodies.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Fine. You?"
"Fine."
We're both lying. My shoulder aches from the rifle recoil, my hands are bleeding inside the gloves, and I'm pretty sure that's not all zombie blood on Kole's shirt. But we're alive, and that's what matters.
"How many more?" I ask.
He peers out the window. "Maybe forty."
Forty. We've already taken down at least sixty, and there are forty more.
"We're running low on ammunition," I point out.
"I know."
"We need to get creative."
"Define creative."
I look around the cabin, taking inventory with new eyes. "You have fuel?"
"Some diesel for the generator."
"Bottles?"
"A few."
"Molotovs?"
