Squeeze, Don't Pull

Squeeze, Don't Pull

A Story by Rambling Storyteller

Joe finds himself surrounded by zombies when he oversleeps.


The pistol shook in Joe’s hand. He wished he had practiced with it a little more, but then he couldn’t spare the bullets. Four in the magazine and one in the spout. His eyes made a straight line through the sights to the bathroom door. Something had made its way in there. He could hear it rummaging around in there. Whether it was a zombie or a human, it still needed to die. He could hear his father’s voice now. “Squeeze, don’t pull. Squeeze don’t pull.”

The medicine cabinet in the bathroom squeaked open. It’s gotta be a human, no zombie would open a medicine cabinet. They must be looking for medicine. Isn’t that what everyone is looking for now. Pharmacies and hospitals were the first to be ransacked when the dead came back to life. 

Without the sound of humans, the world was quiet and from behind the door, Joe heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. His stomach churned and nausea overwhelmed him. That was a human in there. He had never killed before, not even a zombie since this all started. His plan was avoidance and it was working very well, till now. He had just wanted to rest his eyes for an hour, maybe two, but he nodded off for five and now it was dark outside. He couldn’t just run outside. There could be more people or zombies. He didn’t know his way around in this neighborhood enough to take the chance. 

Peeing, Joe heard peeing now. He chuckled. There’s no way he could shoot someone who was taking a piss. He walked towards the door, with the sound of the urine splashing into an empty toilet to hide any creaks and sounds of his footsteps. He waited next to the door with a plan. When the door opened, the guy would step out. Joe would hold the pistol to their temple and say something like “Go ahead, give me a reason to blow your head off.” It would be very action movie like. He grinned and nodded his head in approval.

His father’s voice came into his head again. “Squeeze, don’t pull. Squeeze, don’t pull.” He held up the pistol and waited. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Squeeze, don’t pull.” Maybe it was the adrenaline or the fear of having to use the weapon, his finger just squeezed by itself. The 9mm bullet screamed from the barrel and into the wall leaving a hole. His eyes widened and the gun fell from his hand. The butt hit first, then the end of the barrel, and finally laid to rest on its side. A little poof of smoke still billowed from the muzzle.

“Oh s**t,” a man said from inside the bathroom. Joe barely heard him. His ears were ringing from the gunshot. He picked up the gun and pointed it at the door. “That, that was a warning shot. Please go away or the next one will be in your head.”

“I’m sorry man,” said the man on the other side. “I just need some antibiotics for my sister. I don’t want any trouble.” Joe wanted to believe him. In this world, it was hard to trust people. When things are scarce, people become desperate. When people become desperate, they are pushed to do some scary things to survive.

“Just go out the window,” Joe said. “Leave and I won’t have to blow your f*****g head off.” He was surprised to hear those words come out of his mouth. In the before times, he wouldn’t swear. If he did it was under his breath. 

“I’m not going out there,” the man said. “You brought all the undead on us. If they aint here, they gonna be.”

The man was right. He stood there, with his head cocked and listened for the groans and sounds of the undead. An arctic chill swam up his legs, through his stomach, past his chest and into his head. He was pretty deaf from the gunshot. The zombies could have this entire house surrounded and he wouldn’t have heard it.

Through the darkness of the hallway, one of them came. A gangly looking woman zombie in a dirty, yellow sundress stumbled down the hall. There were three bullet holes center mass. You gotta shoot-em in the head or they don’t stay down. Behind her was a fat man with boils on his face. He held up his pistol. Three in the magazine and one in the spout. He could see more behind the fat man. They lumbered and pushed their way forward. Squeeze, don’t pull. A bullet screeched out and hit the woman in the head. She fell backward, hit the fat man and then fell on her face. 

Two in the magazine and one in the spout. Another round found its target in the fat man’s head. His boils erupted and painted the hallway walls in coagulated red. One in the magazine and one in the spout. The fat man fell on top of the woman and created a blockade. The ones behind him clamored forward. It would slow them down, but not stop them. If he could shoot two more big ones, that would probably be enough to block the hallway and then, and then? Jump out one of these windows and pray. Pray to Jesus, Allah, Ganesh, Shiva, Buddha, The Avengers, it didn’t matter who.

Joe took aim at another fat man. This one was missing the scalp on top. The white bone gave him a good target. He squeezed. The round whistled through the air and the fat man’s left ear separated, spun in the air three times and rested on the floor.

“S**t,” Joe said. He took aim one more time. The fat man with the boils and the woman were moving forward. Joe blinked his eyes. They were shot in the head, how are they moving? They weren’t moving, they were being pushed. Even if he made his last shot count, there were too many of them and it was only a matter of a few more minutes before they pushed through. It was a hard, but easy decision. Zero in the magazine and one in the spout. He held the muzzle to his head. He heard his father’s voice again. He didn’t say, “Squeeze, don’t pull.” This time, he said, “I’m proud of you.”

He closed his eyes and smiled.

Squeeze, don’t pull.

© 2022 Rambling Storyteller

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Added on April 27, 2022
Last Updated on April 27, 2022
Tags: zombie, survival