Zoe also looked, seeing a young man dressed in jungle camouflage, combat boots and a camouflage hat with a white skull and crossbones in the middle of it. He walked on big black combat boots and finally stopped about ten feet away from them. In his hands was a huge shotgun with black pistol grips front and back, a flashlight mounted beneath the barrel. The butt stock was black metal and folded over the receiver. Tearing her eyes away from his weapon, she saw in his face an intensity that she had seen on the faces of the soldiers. He was clean shaven, rather young and had long black hair and rather dark eyebrows. Icy blue eyes bored into the zombie and that dark brow was held low over his eyes.
Stopping only seven or eight feet away, he glared away at the zombie and snarled, "You just get off that girl and do it now." His accent was something she had heard in the movies, someone who lived in the country in the South, and it reminded her a little of how Tex spoke, and his voice was rather young.
The zombie quickly lost interest in Zoe and stood from her, crouching down as he squared off against this new target.
"Good boy," the young man drawled. He backed away a few steps, and predictably the zombie followed step for step. Without looking at her, the young man ordered, "Miss, I need you to move out of the way now and give me a clean shot."
Still on her back, Zoe clumsily scrambled away, off the curb and into the road.
The zombie held his arms out, swung his mouth open and roared a horrible, gurgling roar. The young man responded with his shotgun, firing his first shot right into the zombie's chest. Staggering back a couple of steps, the zombie recovered quickly and charged, only to be shot in the chest again, sending him backward again.
"The head!" Zoe shouted.
Chambering another round as he watched the zombie recover again, the young man barked back, "I know what I'm doing." He fired another round into the zombie's chest and advanced as it staggered backward again.
Zoe huffed a breath and looked around her, finding her revolver a few feet away. Turning herself over, she reached for it and had it in her hand as she rose up on her knees and turned toward the zombie as the young man shot it again. Holding the revolver with both hands, she took careful aim and fired, hitting the zombie right in the temple, and it fell forward and slammed flat onto the concrete.
Turning her eyes to the young man, she raised her brow and repeated, "In the head."
He glared back at her and crooked his jaw.
The motor home door slammed shut and another man strode toward them. He was also dressed in jungle camouflage and combat boots and brandishing a longer shotgun with a wooden stock and grip, and it also had a flashlight mounted on it. He walked with a limp, had a long black and silver beard and bushy black eyebrows. He was also rather plump and had rough looking features beneath the brim of his tattered leather cowboy hat.
With his eyes on the fallen zombie, he stopped beside the young man and shook his head, saying in a southern drawl and a gravelly voice, "Fourth one of those mad-dogs we've come across. Just keep your eyes open for more, boy." His eyes shifted to Zoe as she stood and he took the brim of his hat and greeted, "Ma'am." Looking her up and down, his eyes narrowed and he raised his chin. "Hang on a second."
"She shot it in the head," the young man informed.
Training his shotgun on her, the fat fellow added, "She's also a zombie, boy!"
Zoe raised her palms to them and cried, "Wait! Don't shoot me!"
The young man took the barrel of the older fellow's shotgun and forced the muzzle down. "Zombie's don't talk, Pop, and they don't shoot other zombies."
Pulling his shotgun from the younger man's grip, the larger one trained his weapon on her again as he corrected, "You'd better take a hard look at that one. I know a zombie when I see one."
"I'm with the Zombie Response Team!" Zoe said desperately, still backing away.
"Never heard of 'em," the older man countered as he raised the shotgun to his eye and pressed the butt against his shoulder.
"Please don't!" Zoe screamed.
Once again, the younger man grabbed the shotgun and forced the muzzle down. "I'm tellin' you she ain't no zombie. Zombies don't talk."
"Mind your place, boy!" the older man yelled as he pulled his weapon from the young man's grip a second time.
The roar of an engine drew their attention and they turned around.
To Zoe's relief, the Stryker turned hard into view and charged toward them, and she stood where she was as it pulled up and quickly stopped right beside her. The doors opened, the back hatch opened and five soldiers stormed out, three of them with their weapons on the two men.
Zoe holstered her revolver and grasped the barrel of the assault rifle held by the soldier closest to her, and she assured, "It's okay. They're hunting zombies, too. They saved me from that one over there."
Sergeant Morris strode up behind her, took her shoulder and ordered, "Lower your weapons, men." As the soldiers slowly complied, he raised his chin to the older fellow and greeted, "I'm Sergeant William Morris of the Zombie Response Team."
The older fellow rested his shotgun over his shoulder and nodded to Tex. "Alfred Knox. This here is my boy Zachary. We got a few more in the motor home but I ain't bringing them out until I know it's safe for 'em."
Tex nodded and looked to the zombie that lay dead on the sidewalk. "Zoe here got three more inside. I'm sure other's have heard the commotion and are on their way." He turned his eyes back to the two men and offered, "We have a base of operations set up at the Central Hospital. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."
Slowly shaking his head, Alfred informed, "Stayin' in one place is a sure fire way to get overrun by these things. We stay on the move and we stay out of their sights."
"Until you run into a sizeable nest of them," Sergeant Morris countered. "Look, we're not hiding there, we're fighting back. Our objective is to take the whole damn city by the end of the month and we're well on our way to doing so." He glanced at their weapons. "Looks like you're pretty handy with those things. We could use a couple of guys who know what they're doing."
"But," Zoe cut in, "you have to shoot them in the head."
Alfred's eyes turned to her and he raised his chin toward her. "You mind filling me in on that one?"
"Sure," Tex agreed, "but information on her is only available to ZRT members."
"Zombie, isn't she?" the older fellow pressed.
"She's ZRT," Sergeant Morris replied with a harshness to his tone. "That's all you need to know for now."
Alfred motioned to the dead zombie and informed, "Well, that one there was trying to kill her. My boy here got 'im off of her."
"But didn't shoot it in the head," Zoe grumbled, her eyes on the younger man, who sneered back at her.
Elbowing the younger man in the ribs, Alfred ordered, "You mind your manners, boy. Go back to the R.V. and tell everyone we're pulling out." He had a little smile for Sergeant Morris as he said, "Looks like you got yourself some new recruits, Sergeant. So you got plenty of food and ammo?"
Tex smiled back, ever so slightly. "We've got it covered."
Alfred elbowed his son again and barked, "Get goin' boy!"
Zachary nodded, his eyes on Zoe, then he turned and strode back to the motor home.
Motioning to the departing young man with his head, Alfred informed, "The boy may be a retard, but he sure knows how to handle a shotgun."
"That isn't a nice thing to call people," Zoe spat.
"It means he's retarded," Alfred countered. "He's slow in the head. Don't get me wrong, I love my boy, he's just slow in the head and he knows he's slow in the head."
"Okay," Tex conceded. "We're going to finish our sweep of the mall and check for supplies. Do you know where the hospital is?"