Cup of Joe

Cup of Joe
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 317

Waking up, and getting your first cup of steaming coffee... that’s the best part of any day. These days, just waking up if a good thing, really. After lighting the portable butane hotplate, Joe dismantled his shotgun, cleaned it methodically, and reassembled it before the water finished boiling.

“Finally out of milk, Brandon.”

“Have to see if we can find some on the next recon later this morning. There should be plenty of long life stuff left at the seven-eleven.” Brandon said optimistically.
Joe shook the empty carton upside down and cursed when not even a drop came out.
“I can’t handle starting the day without a decent brew.”

“Let’s...”

Loud thudding began against the reinforced oak front door.

“Time to move.” Joe said.

“It only took them a week to find us this time,”

Brandon said. “Do you think they’re learning, or getting smarter?”

“Zombies are dead. They can’t learn anything.”

The pair put their backpacks on, slung their weapons over their shoulders and opened the back door of the house.

Standing on the garden path in front of the Hills Hoist was a very badly decomposed woman wearing an apron.

“What the...” Joe said.

The zombie held a bottle of rancid milk, overflowing with maggots. It looked more like a bottle of puss than milk.

“Looks like the tea lady is here for you, mate,” Brandon said.

Joe pumped a shell into the barrel, took aim and shot the bottle out of her hand. The stench became worse the instant the sour milk splattered across the apron and garden path. He pumped another shell and blew the zombie’s head off.

“I don’t like full cream milk you idiot,” he said.

They took off over the back fence, into the next street and to the Land Rover; they left there for a quick escape.

“See,” Joe said as they drove towards the seven-eleven. “They can’t learn. That’s the tenth one that has brought full cream milk to us.”