Outcast Zombie — Battlefield Z book 7
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OUTCAST ZOMBIE
I thought a lot about Odin the Far Walker. The Norse God was known for a lot of things, trading an eye for wisdom, for being cunning and a warrior of legend.
The reality of what I was had me seriously contemplating some of my choices of late. Like how I ended up on a three-lane country Highway jogging at the head of a herd of zombies.
It was not my first choice.
Or second.
Or third.
I’d much rather be smacking my lips over a cold craft beer listening to my kids laugh about my very unique style of dancing. Much like my killer pop & lock moves, the Z behind me stank.
I was down wind and the stench of a couple hundred rotting walking dead followed me like a cloud. It was so bad I was beyond gagging. I would have taken off through the woods and lost them, but both sides of the road was bordered by a nine-foot fence.
It must have been a national forest back when the world was real. Now the signs were gone and the fence designed to keep people out was doing a damn good job of pinning me in.
The Z weren’t any closer.
But they could go forever and I was almost done.
My stomach growled reminding me it had been almost two days since I last ate.
I needed food, rest and I wanted a beer. More than one.
And a weapon.
Something. Anything that could stop or slow down the horde stalking me.
The road stretched out in front of me and it was tough to tell if the heat was making the asphalt wavy or it was my eyeballs.
At first, I thought it was a mirage. Then when it didn’t move, I decided it was real and shifted up into a slow jog. I’m not sure who left their car in the middle of nowhere or why.
It was parked on the narrow shoulder in the passenger door was open.
