Lincoln Myles - Part 2

Linc came around the side of the building. Off to his right, about two o’ clock was what looked like a maintenence shed of decently solid construction. The area was flat grasses with some landscaped flower gardens and bushes, but mostly a manicured lawn, despite most places being abandoned for the last six weeks or so. And he also found almost a dozen walkers making their way toward him. He had about twenty yards back to the fence. He didn’t want them attracting attention, and drawing more. He also didn’t need them following him, and trying to break through wherever he found to take shelter. Too many to easily ignore. 

He made a quick transition to his AR-15, bringing it to his shoulder as he backed up, peering down the iron sights. His first shot took the closest walker, snapping it’s head back and dropping it like a marionette with the strings cut to the grass. His next shot was to the next closest, and it dropped with similar results. The third one he squeezed off a quick shot at. It went wide somewhere. Taking a quick breath, he fired once more, feeling the gun punch his shoulder back. Another miss. He’d now spent four brass with only two hits. Linc could do better. Taking a few steps back he dropped to a knee and fired again. That one went through the nose and out the top of the brain, dropping the third. 

He squeezed again only to get nothing. Frowning he noticed a casing was jamming the ejection port of the rifle. Backpedaling a little he pulled the bolt back and pulled the casing out, then pulled the charging handle back, racking a new round and tried again. Slow squeezing the trigger, his next shot blew through the bridge of another walker’s nose, again the closest one and out the back of it’s skull. Swinging to the next one, coming in on his left, now roughly twenty feet, he fired again. The shot took it just below the cheekbone and blew out the other side, but it kept coming, barely noticing what would have been a terrible wound on a living opponent. He squeezed another round off which passed through the far eyeball and blew out the side of the head, but no brain trauma. Growling under his breath he focused. THe next round passed through the ear and out through part of the braincase, dropping it as well. 

Half of them were down, but he’d spent a good portion of his ammunition. Switching back to his axe, he slipped toward his right, moving down the fence toward the shed which was nestled in some large bushes and a small stand of trees. He moved just a little slower than they did so they could catch up. The first one he stepped up to and gave a mighty swing with a grunt, aiming for the general head region. The blow caught the zombie in the nose and blew out the back side, shearing the head off at about ear level. Keeping the momentum up he brought hte axe around behind him then up and over, slamming down like he was splitting a log. Only instead of the head he knocked off the seventh one’s right arm at the shoulder. Groaning it grabbed at him but he side slipped it, and then ducked under the next grab only to sweep his axe around, slamming it into the skull, wedging the axehead deep. Before he could pull it free, the cannibal corpse fell, wrenching the axe hard, but not out of his hands. He didn’t have time to pull it free, the other three were close. Close enough to almost touch him. 

Reaching back he pulled his pistol free, then slipped under a clumsy grab and made his way away from the fence, taking a few running steps. Setting himself into a modified Weaver stance, he peered down the iron sights of his stolen Taurus pistol. He squeezed off a round, the crack of the shot louder next to the shed. The body dropped, leaving a pair of walkers coming toward him quickly. Taking quick aim he fired off two shots, but only tore out a few chunks of flesh uselessly. He fired two more shots as they closed back within arm’s reach. Backing up he caught his heel on a couple tree roots, sending him sprawling. Groaning he curled up on his back and kicked both hard in the chest, sending them staggering away. 

There was a metallic rattling noise about that time and both turned toward the noise. There was the whistle of something cutting the air, then both biters dropped as a man several years older than Linc spun a long-handled and very sharp looking brush hook once before tucking it in the crook of his arm, then stepped close, offering a hand to help the fallen firefighter up. “That was pretty ballsy, but not too bright,” he said, then walked over to the wedged axe and pulled it free with a grunt, then tossed it to Linc who caught it and then gestured for him to follow him into the maintenance shed.