Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (Gone Part II)

“What’s taking them so long?” Sasha asked Allen as they stood next to the pile of corpses behind the MOST. The other two members of her squad had gone to do a quick sweep of the museum. “They said they were just gonna be a couple of minutes.”

“You want to go get them? I’ll start the fire here to get rid of these bodies, and then when you get back we can just take off. I want to make it back to Central before the rest of ‘em.” Allen said with his usual smirk as he stood next to a pile of rotting zombie corpses. “I think we might beat Billy Footballhero’s squad back today.”

Sasha grabbed her ZED and headed up towards the museum’s entrance as Allen gathered some pieces of paper that littered the deserted streets to start his fire. Once he had enough kindling, he took out his Bic lighter. It was his only pre-Zack possession. In his past life, he smoked 2 packs a day. Even though the cigarette supply ran out months ago, he still carried it around with him “just in case” he stumbled across any smokes.

As he was about to flick his Bic, he saw a figure running out from the walkway to the parking lot behind the MOST. The figure was moving too fast to be a zombie. Allen rose from his fire and approached to see if he could help. As the figure got closer, Allen could see that it was a woman, and she looked scared for her life.
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Nielsen’s Gift

Battalion B, Squad 24 trudged back into the Zone after a long day of slaughter on a breezy, pleasantly cool Syracuse September day.

“Good job out there today, Guys,” Billy said, looking down at his gore-coated shoes.

“What’re you gonna do now?” asked Greg.

“I dunno. Tom, you still have that bottle under your cot?”

Tom shook his head, “No man… a bunch of 15-year-olds stole it from me, but they looked like they had some fun with it.”

“Damn…” responded the other two men of the squad in unison.

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St. Valentine’s Day Massacre


Greg looked into the eyes of his fiancée, the woman he had proposed to just two years ago. When he awoke that morning he never would have guessed that he’d be in this situation. Luckily, without electricity, the convenience store’s doors wouldn’t open and somehow the glass on both the windows and door remained intact.

“Come on Greg!” shouted Billy. “We have to go regroup with the others. You pissed. Now let’s go and get away from the damned window!”

“Just give me a second, Bill,” Greg meekly replied.

“Dude,” Billy said as he grabbed Greg’s collar and pulled him within inches of his face. “You’re lucky that I haven’t bashed that fugging store open and spilled the black rot that is her brain all over the magazine rack.”

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Today, Billy Nielsen is a name that inspires laughter in the zone, but there was a time when in the city that name, the name of the best quarterback the city had ever seen, meant Bowl games and wins. It meant first downs and touchdowns. Then the man graduated, leaving behind a legacy of a three-year starter who was bound to be a top 10 draft pick, MVP awards, and championships.

He was drafted 4th overall in the draft. When he was selected there were cheers, fans jumping for joy. Finally, “the ‘cuse” had produced a future football legend. His initial jersey sales were astronomical. The streets were packed with #11 jerseys bearing the name Nielsen. It was one big beautiful bandwagon that spread like a virus throughout Central New York. Every man who knew anything about football was obsessed with his strong arm, good eye, and extreme mobility. He was a perfect athlete, destined for his fair share of records.

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