Ghost Run
“I’d slept so soundly that I’d forgotten where I was the night before, even without an empty bottle of scotch at my feet. It took a few seconds, but the previous day’s events began to play back at a blinding speed in my mind, catching my consciousness up to the bed I sat in, sweating. It was already warm and the humidity was soaring. My chest was covered in no-see-um bites and I was dehydrated. I downed two bottles of water and filled one up with fluorescent yellow piss and tossed it out the sid...e window with a thunk. The only undead that remained were those nearly rotting corpses that were stuck in the mud in the adjacent field. Reaching under the seat, I pulled out a lead-filled wooden tire checker with a lanyard of olive-drab paracord routed through the handle.
I recovered the Ruger pistol from its green plastic container under the bed. I pulled the action a few times, the slide painfully pinching my thumb and index finger. I could smell a thin coat of minty lubrication on the gun.MoreLess
I recovered the Ruger pistol from its green plastic container under the bed. I pulled the action a few times, the slide painfully pinching my thumb and index finger. I could smell a thin coat of minty lubrication on the gun.MoreLess
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