Page 43 of Doomsdate

Panting, we stare at the zombie’s downed form. Maisie blinks down at her. “Did that—Taser—just zap her dead?”

I’m still gaping when another zombie lunges at us. This time, I don’t hesitate. I zap that fucker in the head. Still, it comes.

“Fuck!” I screech.

“Try his neck!” Maisie suggests as she splits another zombie’s skull apart like a bad melon. The human skull is way easier to destroy than I thought.

I try his neck. I try his gut. When he slips a little, I inadvertently try his armpit. Each charge jolts the ranger, but he keeps advancing. Meanwhile, I feel like Inigo Montoya, poking the six-fingered man over and over, but without the rousing speech to lift my spirits. The zombie’s close enough now to slash me with its fingers, some bitten down to the bone. This time, I aim straight for the name tag.

And this time, it works.

The blue lightning bolts make it twitch down dead. Er, re-dead.

“It’s the heart!” I shout. “Zapping the heart kills them!”

Maisie’s eyes light up with their own blue bolts of electricity. “We’ve got to get more of those.”

I grin, spinning on my feet and zapping the next motherfucker to try me like I’m an ol’-timey tap dancer with a shiny black cane of death. Like the others, it falls down dead. No fuss, no muss. I blow on the tip of my Fun & Stun, which, wow, aptly named, like it’s a smoking pistol. Then I gag because it’s got some burning flesh stuck to it.

Maisie throws her head back and laughs. “You are ridiculous.”

Clearing the remaining horde is as easy as roasting marshmallows. Really gross marshmallows. All told, we dispatch eight zombie rangers, and we do it as a team. I’m filled with an outrageous sense of pride and accomplishment as I swing each corpse over the edge of the mountain with Maisie. Once the campsite’s clear, we sit back down on our bench, shoulder to shoulder. Chicken reappears, licking her paw, fairly unimpressed as always.

“The Fun & Stun.” Maisie lets out a long whistle. “Who knew?”

I raise my hand. “Ahem, me? Clearly me.”

She looks at me sidelong, her smile crooked with relief. “Your discovery just made this apocalypse a whole lot more manageable, Professor.”

I hold up a finger. “Less messy, too.”

She laughs, the sound free and easy and happy.

I did that.

“Good job tonight, Chicken,” she says as my cat bounds into her lap, circling three times before plopping gracefully down. She scratches Chicken behind the ear, just the way she likes it. “You woke me up when you heard the zombies, didn’t you?”

“That’s how you knew?”

Maisie nods. “Chicken batted me in the nose, then hissed at the back of the tent. My mom taught me that animals sense danger quicker than we do and to always listen to their warnings.”

“Damn, Chicken.” I scratch her other ear, and she lifts her head in feline superiority as she gets it on both sides. “You little badass.”

I glance at Maisie, who’s gazing down at Chicken so pleased, it fills my veins with serotonin. There’s something about seeing other people love your pets that feels like they love part of you, too.

“Thank you, Maisie. If you hadn’t been there, I’d have…well.” I pause, remembering my brush with having my dick chomped off. “Just. Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. I know that was really…hard on you.” A hint of laughter lies beneath her words.

“Maisie.” I raise an eyebrow. “Was that a dick joke?”

“No,” she says innocently enough, though the corner of her mouth has gone rogue, turning up even as she tries to tamp it down. “I’m just impressed, that’s all. I’ve never seen a three-legged man fight before.”

I roll my eyes and groan, and her smile splits wide, a big, loud laugh spilling out.

“To be honest, I was afraid it would never go away,” I admit, and she laughs even harder. I realize with a jolt that I love the sound of it. That I love everything about this moment, in fact. The sunrise painting the snowy mountains in an otherworldly sheen that glitters with ice. The feeling of fighting danger and winning. The relief and simple happiness of sitting here, safe. Being on a team again. Her team.

I was good, too. The thought sends a small surge of pride through me, countered immediately by the memory of me stumbling into the snow after my dick slapped my own balls. I reflexively cringe.