The Saga Of Tom Stinson (Book 1): Summer School Zombocalypse by Eric Johnson Page A

my plan. Now drink the water.”
    To jump or to swing. He stared at the garage roof and the branches that stuck out toward the garage. Both branches were too weak. Alone the rope and the branch were a bad choice, but together they might work. They were both right on how to solve the problem. He would use the branch and the rope. The rope would help him keep his balance, and if the branch started to break, then he could use the rope to hold onto and get himself back into the tree house without falling.
    Tom picked up the rope and Emmett said. “See, my plan is better.”
    Snapping around, he shook his head. No, I will use both our plans. We will work together, we have to. Now stay out of the way, and let me get this done.”
    “ You want us to work together, but you don’t want us to help. Except for hauling your junk up here,” Emmett said.
    “ And peeing on the zombies,” Winston added.
    “ Just drink the water,” Tom said. “Imagine flowing water. Imagine a waterfall. I don’t care what you have to do. I need you to go.”
    Emmett and Winston got in place, and Tom readied himself to run across and jump from the branch. “On the count of three.
    “ One. Two.”
    Winston called out as Tom shouted three, “Wait, I can’t!”
     
     

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FOOLS AWAY!
    It was too late, Tom bounded over, taking two big steps across the branch. The branch flexed and sprung him forward, but Winston’s cry caused him to hesitate in mid stride. It upset the calculation, and he landed on the edge of the roof with one foot in the gutter.
    The gutter bent under Tom’s weight; he teetered back and forth, waving his arms to gain balance. Nails popped free from the mountings, and the gutter snapped; he fell. He tried to twist around to fall back onto the rooftop but he couldn’t. As he fell, he thought how lucky he was to still be holding on to the rope.
    The twins cried out as he fell.
    He swung backwards and slammed into the zombies that surrounded, the tree, hitting them hard. The force of the impact caused him to lose his grip on the rope. He hit the ground, shoulder first and tumbled to a stop on the one that he had killed. He gasped for breath and scooted backwards, kicking with his legs to get away across the grass. His hand pressed down on the blade of the shovel and it cut into his palm. The handle rose up off the ground; he took the shovel and rolled to his feet. He steadied himself and charged. The shovel drove home and stuck into the neck of the closest zombie.
    Twisting the blade free, he took three quick steps backwards, then charged the next zombie. He swung the shovel like a baseball bat, broadsiding it in the head. It staggered back and tripped over the first zombie’s body, then fell to the ground in a heap. He drove the shovel downward, severing the zombie’s head from its body.
    Overhead, lightning streaked across the sky, and the loud crack of thunder rumbled as Tom squared off with the remaining zombies. The afternoon downpour started, heavy drops pelting his face and clouding his vision. The wet grass became slick under his feet.
    The twins watched the melee in fear and amazement, not daring to make a sound for fear of distracting Tom. Tom charged again and another fell. He dodged around his old swing set, the one he never used, and circled in the direction of the garage to have something at his back. He backed into the garage’s side door as the last two zombies advanced on him. Inside the door he stood firm, bracing himself ready to strike, but something didn’t feel right. The smell. Something putrid was behind him.
    Electricity zipped up his back. He ducked and ran forward out of the garage, just like when he was a kid. Something hit him hard on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. He staggered and slipped on the muddy grass; all he could think was not like this .
    Pasty mud caked his knees and squished through his fingers as he dog-eared it past the zombies. He made it away, rolling onto the