Zombies Ever After: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 6 by E.E. Isherwood

higher
power. Just the opposite, in fact. These two men had given up...
    He wanted to look away, but he was drawn to them. Made himself
look at them. It couldn't be coincidence he'd seen three suicides in
a row...
    Don't let this be you, Liam.
    It reassured him. He would never allow himself to reach that low
that he'd take his own life.
    “Fight!” the triplets had told him.
    Hey, at least you don't have to climb out of a grave today.
    He silently laughed, but the day was young. Anything could happen.
    Finally, as he was on the verge of looking away, he saw something
important. It was the cause of such devastation on the bodies of the
dead men.
    The double-barreled shotgun had fallen between the two chairs. And
there on an end table was a box of twenty-five shells. It was worth
the smell and the fright to get a real weapon.
    He was already on his knees, so he crawled to the gun and pulled
it from its cranny. He tried to watch both men, assuming they were
going to wake up and attack him—even without a good portion of
their heads. Neither moved a dead muscle.
    When he had the gun, he got the shells, then moved across the room
and sat up against the wall. The smell was ripe, the drones were
somewhere outside, and he felt his day was looking up.
    The shotgun had been chopped. Rather than the stereotypical
hunting shotgun, it had been made to look like a rap gangster's
weapon. The chamber broke open so he could feed in two side-by-side
shells, then he snapped it shut with force. He set it over his legs,
using it as a substitute comfort blanket.
    Then, he waited.
    A shadow passed over the front windows.
    If a round came through the glass, he tried to imagine where he
would run. Maybe he would jump in the chair with the old man and use
him as a meat shield. He was positive something like that had been
done in the zombie books he'd read. He got lost in thought, asking
himself if he had it in him to pull the decaying corpse on top of
him...and the drone was soon out of sight.
    I have to get out of here.
    2
    Armed as he was, he risked getting closer to the windows to see
what was happening outside.
    On the front side, the house abutted the main street which was now
the outer perimeter of the Forest Park refugee camp. On the far side,
there were a string of urban flats with the taller medical buildings
behind them. In the daylight, he saw the line of cars and buses
blocking the intersection, but also the amount of work that went into
boarding up each house along the street. Cars had been wedged in the
narrow corridors between each house, further reinforcing the
defenses.
    After establishing his bearings, it was clear he'd run too far and
was now on the north edge of the park. He was closer to the west
side, but it was a beneficial error because it put him nearer to
Victoria's campus and dorm.
    He crept back to the kitchen so he could see the backyard, but he
was pretty sure one of the drones was still back there. The ominous
hum kept him on edge.
    The glass door shattered, and something slammed into the wall near
his shoulder.
    Though he was already on high alert, it caused him to freeze in
panic.
    While he watched, a mini tank crumpled the aluminum storm door and
drove itself right into the kitchen.
    The black drone was behind it.
    Run!
    He spun around and ran for the front room. Another gunshot hit a
lamp next to him as he ran. He felt the splash of glass on his right
arm.
    The door to the outside was ahead of him. An array of
possibilities scrolled across his eyes.
    Fight the drone with the shotgun. Not likely.
    Run parallel to the Forest Park perimeter. Get caught by the air
drones.
    Run toward the perimeter across the street. Get shot by the
defenders.
    The door took a few seconds to unlock and open. The front screen
door was also locked—the owners must have bolted the place
down—giving the tank drone extra time to crunch through the
kitchen table and chairs. He could hear it breaking those things
apart.
    When he made it