The Henshaw Boys
(© Ben R. Busse)
neighborhood, for the most part, was deserted. Craig only counted about twenty
of those things shuffling about on the streets but there could have been a lot
more in the abandoned houses. They were all a mess. Rotted, blood stained and
smelled worse than they looked.
"I guess the
suburbs arenít as bad as the cities," thought Craig. The last major city they
drove through, the streets were so packed with those things it was a wonder how
they got out of there alive.
Now, sitting in
this second floor bedroom, waiting, didnít seem so bad. It gave Craig time to
focus on when their target arrived. He then spoke into his portable radio.
"No! Not since
you last asked me fifteen minutes ago," replied the voice on the portable. "Just
the same dead mother-fuckers I have been looking at for the last day and a
blame me Carl," said Craig. "Theyíll be here soon. So just suck it up and take it."
"You said that
a day and a half ago," replied Carl. "You two assholes are up in that nice,
cozy house. Iím stuck in this shit smelly, sweat box of a van. I canít even
open the door to piss or take a dump. If you fuckers had any heart at all, you
would trade places with me, right now."
"You know we canít
do that until sunset," replied Craig. "They will see us for sure and swarm the
"Well, I canít
take too much more of this!" said Carl. "If we donít trade places soon, I swear
I am going to go fuckiní postal!"
could reply, Phil, who was sitting next to Craig, got his attention.
here!" hissed Phil looking through his binoculars.
said Craig, speaking into the radio.
"I donít see
anyone," replied Carl.
"They are at
the far East end of the park," replied Phil. "Tell Carl they will be in sight
as soon as theyíre at the playground."
the message to Carl.
lifted up his rifle and looked through the scope. Two-hundred yards away, he
could see them clear as dayóboth of them.
The man was
about forty years old. He was carrying a pistol grip shotgun slung over his
shoulder. The girl was about five. A cute kid with light brown hair.
carefully looked at the surrounding area. He scanned the houses and streets. The
ghouls were too far away from the man and girl to be able to tell if they were
alive or dead, like them. The man held the little girlís hand and walked over
to the playground. He put her on the swing set first. She started to laugh, but
the man put his finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet.
his crosshairs on the man.
"Heís still too
close to the girl to get a clean shot," said Craig. "He has to move away from
"Itís got to be
at least two-hundred yards from here. Thatís a hard fuckiní shot to make. Are
you sure you can do it?" asked Phil. "You arenít Lee Harvey Oswald you knowÖ"
"I know Iím not
Lee Harvey fucking Oswald. But he ainít JFK, either," replied Craig. "Iím not
going for a headshot. All I need to do to put him down with a chest or gut shot."
The man took
the little girl off the swing. Once she was off she pointed at the slides and
ran toward them.
The man stood up
and smiled at the little girl. Craig took the shot.
Everyone in the
neighborhood, alive and dead, heard the gunshot. The man lay on the ground
clutching the left side of his stomach.
"You got him!" shouted
"Get the girl!"
shouted Craig into the radio.
bolted out of the van and sprinted toward the park.
the man through his scope. The little girl had gotten off the slide and started
to walk back toward the man. As he lay on the ground he could see the man motioning
for her to move away from him. Craig then shot the man a second time. The man
stopped moving. The little girl stood over the man looking down on him.
[ Continue to page 2 ]