It’s been a while (2 months?!) since the last Zombie Bunnies installment, and I did work on it during NaNoWriMo. It’s not quite done (November is always my busiest work month -not to mention holidays!), but I have over 20K words at this point, which was double the amount I had started with! New characters, side stories and the beginning is in the books (pun intended)!
For continuity, and because by fantastic coincidence the word CRUSH was mentioned, let’s pick up where we left off.
McMuscles was bored, and that irritated the hell out of him. He slowly rolled three walnuts in his hand, the calming ritual achieving a minimal effect. He would rather crush them into dust; damn the snacking. One crackle might blow his cover though.
It had been a boring and irritating campaign in Delta Springs. After dropping the little prick off (on Connar’s terms; McM wanted to give him a complimentary flying lesson), the chopper’s recording had stopped, so no one saw it land later that day across the city, in Eisley Park (where he had camped and LZ’ed in and out several times). He had shadowed the religious nuts as they spread the word about the rotting rodents, and Connar had arranged that Allen would never chance upon him or the chopper (and a few other areas that were off limits, for whatever reasons). He had a comm unit like Allen’s, but it was usually off. He knew his mission. Plus, fuck Connar. Only dogs wore leashes.
Just before this whole fiasco came around, he had his own show (“The Four Horsemen“) but everything was on hiatus, including the season finale; a ton of logistics was now for shit. Good intel was worth more than the expenses – fully covered by Connar – but the contract (which was money AND reputation) was off the table for them. Needless to say, the other members had started recruiting in his absence; The Book said nothing about five harbingers of doom. Just thinking about that, his fist began to close tighter…
And there he was. Alone, probably heartbroken (he had watched the show earlier), and probably looking for him. Well, I found you first. McMuscles smirked as he stored away the nuts and leveled his rifle, sighting him quickly. The OVK-1 was a perk of working for Connar. He nicknamed it “Overkill”; with all the high tech shit they crammed into it, in the end, a simple twitch of the finger unleashed final judgement.
McMuscles squeezed the trigger.