by Zoe E. Whitten
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On the seventh floor, it was the sergeant who took another round from the sniper's rifle. He'd just opened the door of a small corner office and as soon as he tried to edge into the room, the sniper fired and put a bullet through his shoulder.
He was still falling back when I rushed through the door. I saw the sniper behind the desk, pulling back the bolt to eject the casing. By the time I crossed the tiny room, he'd chambered a round and was trying to bring the rifle to bear on me.
I slung my sword in a one-armed chop on the sniper's wrist. His dead hand still clutched the rifle forearm as he dropped the gun and fell back to scream.
Walking around the desk, I almost pitied him. He was bright red and blistered, his chapped lips cracked so deeply that he had blood staining his chin. There was a cloudy cataract-coating over his corneas that stained them a sickly grey and washed out the brightness of his ice blue eyes.
No, I really did pity him. But I'd only just begin to empathize with him when he pointed at me and screamed, "Abomination!"
There are some trigger words that it's not a good idea to use around me, and that's right at the top of the list.
The crazy bastard was opening his mouth to scream at me again, and I shoved the point of my sword through his mouth. The dual edges broke out his front teeth and slashed his lips, but I kept shoving until the blade sprang out the back of his neck in a crimson mist cloud.
~end
Excerpt from Confessions of a Zombie Lover by Zoe E. Whitten
© 2011. All rights reserved.
by Zoe E. Whitten
~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~
by Zoe E. Whitten
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