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The Henshaw Boys
(© Ben R. Busse)

Page 1

The 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.

"See anything?" asked Craig.

"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 half."

"Well donít 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 van."

"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!"

Before Craig could reply, Phil, who was sitting next to Craig, got his attention.

"Theyíre here!" hissed Phil looking through his binoculars.

"Theyíre here," 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."

Craig relayed the message to Carl.

Craig then 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.

The man 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.

Craig focused 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 her."

"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 Phil.

"Get the girl!" shouted Craig into the radio.

Carl then bolted out of the van and sprinted toward the park.

Craig watched 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 ]

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Genre:Living Dead
Type:Medium length story
Rating:7.78 / 10
Rated By:69 users
Comments: 5 users
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