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    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies
    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies
    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies
    Ebook46 pages39 minutes

    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies

    By J.A. Marian

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    About this ebook

    Jim was minding his own business, enjoying a slice of pizza and a cold beer, when the zombie apocalypse literally tore down his front door. From that point on, the only thing he could hope to do was survive. 

    Accompanied by a too-soon retired nurse and a band of fellow survivors, Jim must overcome not only the impending doom and gloom brought on by the raving and raging zombies, but also a band of militarized mercenaries who seem hellbent on bringing down civilization as we know it. 

    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies is an action oriented and humor laced tale of unlikely survival, uncompromising persistence, and all the zombie thrashing a person could possibly begin to hope for.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJ.A. Marian
    Release dateApr 13, 2015
    ISBN9781513045818
    How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies

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      Book preview

      How to Kill Stuff and Annihilate Zombies - J.A. Marian

      HOW TO KILL STUFF AND ANNIHILATE ZOMBIES

      By J. A. Marian

      Copyright © 2015 J. A. Marian. All rights reserved.

      This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

      Reproduction of whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. The author appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

      Thank you for supporting this work.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Conscripted

      The zombie apocalypse started three minutes before I realized it, but there was no time to celebrate my near-clairvoyant response time because my front door exploded and I laid my eyes on the first zombie to ever to be killed by an angry woman with a spud gun. I had somehow gotten from a sprawled position on my couch, pizza, chips and beer carefully positioned in an easy-to-reach array across my torso, to standing, staring with a mixture of awe and horror at the fragments of my door now laced with zombie goo when the woman wheeled about and fixed her sights on me.

      A zombie morphed into existence from behind the woman and face-planted her back, throwing her forward and off balance.

      I was in my bedroom by then, flinging my closet door open and hauling the gun out. I own a shotgun. It used to be my badge of manhood, my certification that I was somebody important. I bragged about it at bars and at work. That is, until people got tired of hearing about my Remington 870 and I had to learn to keep my mouth shut about the beast. Not every shotgun can load three-and-a-half inch shells, you know.

      Call me stupid, but I keep it ready to fire.

      I pumped the action and hurled myself back into the living room where my unwelcome visitor was using her feet to fend off a man in a suit. It had half a head.

      Back away from it! I roared as I leveled the gun at my hip. The woman flung a panicked look in my direction and rolled behind the counter. I took a few hurried steps forward before I pulled the trigger and sluiced zombie matter all over my fridge before it could dive after her. Frantically, I limped around the counter to find the woman leveling the spud gun at me.

      What the hell? I saved your life, woman!

      She fired.

      The speeding potato of death whizzed past me and landed with a squishing sound. I turned and saw another undead toppling backward with a mouthful of McCain's finest.

      Oh, I managed. Thanks. Then I turned and really saw the woman for the first time. She wore navy blue jeans that hugged her thighs nicely, done up with a simple black belt followed by a bit of stomach soon covered by a black, very flattering t-shirt. Her dark brown hair fell in waves down past her shoulders and she brushed some away from her face with an irritated flick.

      Are you going to help me up?

      Oh. Awkwardly, I clamped the shotgun under one arm and helped her up with my free hand.

      Nice, I said,

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