Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel by Mark C. Scioneaux, Dane Hatchell Page A

it. I’ll go by tomorrow, and tell them I was too sick to come, or something. Remember I told you I had a change of plans today.” His face lit up with pride. “I got five pounds of aspirin to deliver that’s going to pay a hundred grand.”  
      Deb’s eyes widened as she fought to hold her breath. “A hundred grand? For aspirin?” she said in her exhale.
    “Not aspirin, aspirin . Coke, blow, you know.”
    “You’ve got five pounds of cocaine? In our house?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Are you fucking insane?” Deb sprang from the chair and raised her hands in the air. “That much dope can get us put away for life.”
    “Hold on, don’t get all paranoid on me. This is going to lead to bigger things.”
    “Yeah, like a bigger hole in your head. You start messing with hard stuff like that and you’ll get killed. You won’t be dealing with backwoods hicks. It will be guys from Mexican cartels. They’ll—wait! What’s that?” Deb froze.
    “What’s what?”
    “Shhh . . .outside. The chickens.”
    “I—” Ryn held his words and listened. “I hear it too.” He chuckled. “Probably a coyote or a snake looking for eggs.”
    “Or gang-bangers looking for five pounds of coke. You’re going to get us killed,” Deb said in a whisper.  
    Ryn rubbed his hand through his oily hair. “Stop worrying. I’ll handle this right now.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled a .357 from its holster. He flipped the cylinder open and confirmed it was fully loaded. With a flip of his wrist, the cylinder snapped back into place, just like he’d seen Clint Eastwood do a hundred times.
    He put a finger to his lips indicating Deb to remain quiet and turned off the living room light. Ryn opened the front door and pushed the screen door open slowly so the rusted springs wouldn’t squeak. Once outside, he put his back to the siding and hugged the house all the way to the rear.
    Whatever was in the coop, it was having a heyday with the hens. There was no way a thief would make that much noise. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ryn trotted to the ageing barn some thirty feet away.
    He slowed and came to a stop at the entrance. It was too dark for him to see the predator and take a shot. So, he flipped the light switch, and held his pistol out, ready to shoot.
    “Hey!” Ryn shouted. A large man dressed in prison orange stood with his back to him. Paradis State Prison was only two miles down the road, but he had heard no warning on the automatic call system alerting him to a breakout.
    “Don’t move! I got a gun on you. I’ll use it. Hey! I’m talking to—”
    The prisoner turned and snarled with a half-eaten chicken in his hands. Blood surrounded his mouth like a bad lipstick job. Feathers stuck to it.
    Bile burned up Ryn’s throat, gagging him. The prisoner’s face contorted in a way that made it looker no longer human. The eyes, void of life, sent chills down Ryn’s body. He pulled the trigger and shot the inmate in the stomach out of pure terror. The blast from the pistol told him that shit just got real.
    The hollow point bullet opened a hole large enough for what looked like an upper intestine and some other visceral material to spill out. The inmate’s body shook at the impact, but he remained standing.
    Ryn tried to usher another warning, but couldn’t find the words. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands shook.
    The inmate let the chicken drop and extended his arms as he stepped toward Ryn.
    Three more shots rang out, with one bullet hitting center chest, and one directly in the heart.
    The inmate clawed at Ryn’s face. A fingernail tore into the terrified drug dealer’s cheek.
    Ryn fought to keep the inmate’s arms away. In one swift move, it bit down on the forearm of his gun hand. The inmate dug his fingers into Ryn’s other arm and pulled him close to the gaping hole in his own abdomen.
    Stunned, Ryn tried to tear himself away, but couldn’t budge from the behemoth’s embrace. Teeth gnawing on bone