Life After the Undead (Book 1 in the Life After the Undead Series)

CHAPTER 7

Pam woke me up before dawn. My back was sore and my eyes burned. It took every ounce of strength I had to pull myself out of bed. The sky was gray with the promise of light, the air cool. We climbed into one of the guard towers. Workers planted metal poles into the postholes and poured cement, and a new group finished the pyre hole. Pam handed me a Zigana T.

"You ever shoot anything before?"

"Sort of. My dad took me to the range once."

Pam scoffed. "Your gun is your best friend. You'll learn how to use other weapons, but if you don't have to get that close, don't. There's more of a chance you could get bit. Now, hold it like this." She straightened her arms out in front of her. "This is your sight." She pointed to the back of the gun. "You want to line this knob up with whatever it is you're going to shoot."

I extended my arms in front of me and closed one eye. I lined the sight up with a body on the ground.

"When you have your sights lined up, you want to gently squeeze the trigger."

I put my finger on the trigger and fired. The gun jerked upward and the bullet sailed wide. I saw a puff of dirt far away from where I'd aimed. I lowered the weapon and sighed.

Pam smiled. "No one ever gets it on their first try. Shooting isn't inherent. You have to practice. Try something a little closer."

"Shouldn't I be practicing on targets or something?"

"Why? You think you're going to be firing at targets out there?" She jerked her head toward the field. "Here, let's make this a bit more realistic."

We headed down the tower steps. Pam pulled one of the workers away from digging a posthole and ordered him to retrieve a body. Reluctantly, the man obeyed, and he set the corpse up on the fence. Pam motioned toward the body. It was a young man, probably college age, who wore tattered blue jeans and a green t-shirt, which had been ripped open in the middle. Blood and mud caked his blond hair. I shivered.

"Go ahead, shoot it."

I frowned. "What if I miss?"

"Then the bullet sails harmlessly into the field. I'm sure you'll miss. Despite what the movies portray, the human body is actually a pretty small target. Especially the human head. You can hit a zombie in the chest and slow it down, but you won't kill it. You have to hit it in the brain." She stepped back.

I lined up my sights and squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew over the corpse. I couldn't see where it'd landed. Frustration crept into my chest. "Isn't there a trick to this? Something to make it easier?" Why hadn't I stayed in bed?

Pam shook her head. "Nope." She set some boxes of ammunition on the ground. "You keep practicing until you hit it." She turned and headed to the top of the tower.

I spent the entire morning trying to hit the zombie's head. I could hit it in the torso fine, and wing it, but a dead-on shot was impossible. My hands were sweaty from holding the gun, my thumb throbbed from reloading bullets, and my jaw was sore from clenching. By the time I was on my fifth magazine I was so frustrated I dropped to the ground and folded my legs in front of me. I set the gun down and then buried my face in my hands. I heard someone approach and assumed it was Pam.

"This is impossible!" I yelled into my hands. "Besides, don't we have to conserve ammo?"

Pam laughed. "Are you kidding? We've raided every sporting goods store, gun dealer, and pawn shop from here to New York. We've got ammo. And when that runs out, we've got supplies to reload our own. Ammo is not an issue."

I flopped my hands onto my lap and sagged my shoulders. "I'm never going to get this."

Pam grabbed my arm and lifted me. "Then maybe you'd better go back to Florida. If you don't learn to shoot and defend yourself, you're as good as dead. You wanna go back?"