Tarantula

There he was. As big as life, or death. The zombie fucking undead was feasting on my friend.

From the glovebox of my Pacer I pulled out my Colt Anaconda with the 8 inch barrel. I always kept a revolver in my glovebox for protection. This, of course, was in the hopes that I would never have to use it.

With shaking hands I drew a bead on the foul fiend who was now feeding upon Phillip. A cool wind caressed my skin. Goosebumps pebbled the flesh on my forearm, flesh that if I wasn't careful would become an entree.

I whispered encouragement to myself. "Just like at the firing range. Just squeeze it gently."

Phillip's urine soaked corpse stared at me with three eyes, the two in his head and the one he had been using to fertilize the cactus with when...

I remembered that I kept a flask in the glovebox next to the revolver. This I had anticiapted having use for, and often.

The zombie paid me no attention. It just gnawed on my grade school chum.

I choked back a sob and grabbed the cheap tin flask. Engraved on the front was the saying, "Look out lips, over the gums, hooray for tummy, here it comes!"

After several botched attempts I fumbled and shook and unscrewed the lid.

The contents burned on the way down. I emptied the entire vessel (shamelessly) to the point where I was shaking it above my lips for more. There could never be enough alcohol to prepare you for this situation.

My hands were no longer shaking. Although they should have been. I couldn't imagine what I was going to tell Phillip's wife when I got home. If I got home.

The forsaken roused me from my revelry with a groan as it turned its dead gaze upon me.

I again aimed the revolver at the abomination and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Slowly the zombie bastard shuffled to his feet.

I pulled the trigger again and again.

Nothing.

The moon broke through the cloud illuminating the brain sucker's features.

I popped out the chamber of my revolver and cursed in three different languages. The curse words were all I knew. It appeared that my son Tommy had messed with my piece. All of the bullets (hollow points) had been removed. They had been replaced with gummy bears. I wasn't packing heat, I was packing Amazing Fruit. And to think of all of those people who I had intimidated into paying up over the last week.

I could see the ghoul's face clearly now and bullets ceased to matter. The sunken, dead features were familiar. I knew who this succulent corpse was, this feast for the crows come back from the dead. Yes, I knew the bastard dead walker and inwardly I chuckled. He could wait...

Until hell freezes over. He could take my ex wife with him too, just like before. I slid back over to the drivers seat and fired up the ignition. The Pacer was a piece of shit, but it could outrun one such as him.

The End.

__________________
A virtue maker took every last dime with that scam
It was worth it just to learn some slight of hand.