I Explode Things.
A neurotoxin transforms the Texas panhandle into a forbidden dust zone where Georgy Founder struggles to keep his three young sons alive and together as a family. It turns out that post-apocalyptic 1928 Texas ain’t very handicap accessible, and while zombie-slaying is fulfilling, wheelchair lifts are pretty damn slow.
The metal on metal squeal of the Jeffery’s brakes snaps me from my trance. My sons. All I can think of are my sons. I shake the dead twitchers from my mangled legs and drag my body back toward the discarded shotgun, popping two more shells from my bandolier on the way. I hear Bertha … Read more Paraplegic Zombie Slayer:p.16
The glass bottle shatters one step in front of the three twitchers and blankets them in fire. Sprawling and wailing, the three manage to spread the flames to three others by the time I pack the second bottle and light it up. Leonid has us moving at a fast run now, hopefully fast enough. I … Read more Paraplegic Zombie Slayer:p.15
After several seconds of rare silence, he lifts his head. “No. If not for me, what about Mik and Pete?” Five pinholes of light hover several feet above our heads—a manhole cover leading to a dead end in the industrial district, near the helium plant. I picture myself crawling down the street on my elbows. … Read more Paraplegic Zombie Slayer:p.14