Chapter Six: Rick's Joyful Gun

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“Nice, Gavin—the Colt Python, the legendary Rick Happy Gun. Old Dengdeng used to brag about it all the time,” Madison said excitedly, pursing his lips as he spotted the Colt Python holstered at Gavin’s waist.

“What did he say about it? He claimed his Colt was a custom edition, styled just like Elvis Presley’s—extremely rare.”

“Too bad you didn’t use that gun to send the boss straight to hell. Then he could’ve kept boasting even when faced with Satan himself, right?” Madison teased, nudging the boss’s head with his foot.

A red-and-white mixture of blood and brain matter sprayed out from the hole in the boss’s head as Madison’s foot made contact.

Noticing Madison’s move, Gavin narrowed his eyes knowingly. He understood there was some bad blood between Madison and the boss.

Two years ago, during the 2011 Super Bowl final, after the Black Eyed Peas’ halftime show, Madison had taken a painkiller shot and joined the game, helping his team clinch the championship.

Despite not being carried off the field, Madison’s knee injury led to a post-season trade controversy.

At that time, the Dallas Cowboys had just secured their third consecutive championship, and the team owner was starting to rethink his strategy.

With too many champions on the roster, the team’s salary cap was under immense pressure. The owner wanted to cut costs.

After all, no one expected a dynasty to stretch to four or five consecutive titles.

In that turbulent year, the team manager retained only twenty-two veteran players and Gavin, the core player, and went on to recruit a batch of college kids who idolized Gavin.

Though Madison was fortunate to keep his spot on the team, what happened during that period was another story.

That was when Madison and the boss fell out.

While Madison was fussing with the boss, Gavin took a moment to scan the study and quickly spotted a beautifully carved S686 shotgun displayed on the bookshelf.

He approached, took down the gun, and folded the barrel by sliding the latch sideways to take a look.

There were no bullets inside.

Gavin examined the barrel’s rifling—none to be found. Though a collector’s piece, it was a smoothbore version commonly used in flying disc competitions.

He ran his finger over the chamber, noting a thin, evenly spread layer of gun oil.

Gavin straightened the shotgun, flipped the front sight and the safety behind the ejection latch downward, then pulled the trigger a couple of times.

The gun was impeccably maintained—the boss was clearly a gun lover.

Madison was right; the boss probably would have preferred to be shot rather than die without a bullet. Gavin felt a twinge of guilt for not finishing him off.

With that in mind, Gavin tossed the S686 back to Madison.

Madison caught it, checked it skillfully, then slung it over his back with a frustrated sigh.

“Where are the bullets, man? Should I stick my finger down the barrel?”

“No bullets here. Just carry it for now. Twelve-gauge shells are pretty common; we’ll find some sooner or later.”

Gavin then rifled through the boss’s bookshelf, pulling out several books with soft covers and moderate thickness, tossing them to Madison.

“Look for some tape. If you can’t find any, just take the ropes off their bodies and bring those along.”

Gavin planned to wrap the books around his forearms and shins for some extra protection.

As for the ropes—those were valuable. Once again, thanks to the boss’s generosity.

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Hearing this, Madison nodded and sprang into action, lifting the boss’s chair upright.

After untying the ropes from the boss, he moved to the hoisting entrance behind the woman and couldn’t resist giving her a playful smack on the butt.

“Gavin,” he said, eyes fixed on a vibrating toy that had fallen behind the woman.

“Both of them are tied up—how are they supposed to untie each other?”

“Are you an idiot?” Gavin snapped without turning his head.

“Do you think either of them would tie the other up like this, then go back to their spot and tie themselves up too?”

“Obviously, someone else tied them up and left them here. When that person plans to untie them depends on how long the boss usually enjoys himself.”

With that, Gavin left the study and searched near the nightstand in the boss’s bedroom.

Sure enough, he found a fully loaded, intricately engraved Colt M1873 Cavalry revolver inside.

He grabbed the gun, glanced back toward the study, then holstered this revolver at his waist.

Continuing his search, he found two bundles of cash, two car keys, and a heap of useless photos and documents in the nightstand drawer.

After further searching, Gavin located the boss’s safe but lacked the skills to crack it.

Just then, Madison’s voice came from the study.

“Gavin, I found some ammo—not just Magnums, but .45s too.”

“I also found two boxes of twelve-gauge shells—fifty rounds in total!”

“Great!” Gavin exclaimed, then added, “Hey, Madison, bring the ammo over here. There’s a safe we need to check.”

“A safe?” Madison’s tone sharpened with surprise as he hurriedly gathered the bullets.

After stuffing about twenty scattered shotgun shells and three boxes of pistol rounds into his pockets, Madison entered the bedroom.

He loaded his S686 shotgun while staring with curiosity at the safe.

“Gavin, what do you think the old man kept inside—his health supplements and lubricants?”

“I’m too lazy to guess. Try to open it. If you can, we’ll know.”

Gavin patted Madison on the shoulder. Madison froze, then pointed at his chest with a helpless expression.

“Gavin, what kind of impression do I have in your mind? Why do you think I know how to pick locks?”

“Didn’t you grow up on the streets of Chicago?”

“Growing up on Chicago’s streets doesn’t mean I know how to pick locks—especially a safe’s.”

Madison muttered, shouldered his loaded double-barrel shotgun, and handed Gavin some pistol ammo.

Gavin took the loose bullets, sorted them by caliber, placing them in his pockets, and stuffed the full boxes into Madison’s backpack side pocket.

“Forget opening it if you can’t. Did you find any tape?”

After organizing the ammo, Gavin asked.

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Madison shook his head.

“I packed the ropes, but no tape—none, not even the kind used for adult toys. The old man probably preferred gagging mouths with ball gags.”

Gavin nodded.

“A shame, but not a big deal. Too bad we didn’t see the guns we played with this afternoon—they’re probably back in the gun room or somewhere. I don’t even know which room.”

“There are too many zombies on the estate. I don’t want to risk staying here too long. Let’s search the house some more. If we find nothing, we need to figure out how to get out.”

“And then?”

As soon as Gavin finished, Madison frowned anxiously.

“What then? Where do we go after we leave—try our luck in the city, visit other farms or estates nearby, or head into the forest to survive in the wilderness?”

Gavin pondered for a moment before speaking softly.

“Don’t mention the city. Not unless tomorrow’s Twitter is flooded with videos showing all the zombies under control.”

“As for where we go next, I plan to check out my place.”

“My family farm is pretty big, but my dad didn’t hire many cowboys, and even fewer servants or stewards. Even if they all turned into zombies, we’d have a chance to deal with them.”

“Plus, my farm is only about 140 kilometers from Dallas. It’s an isolated farm with no neighbors nearby; the closest town, Callens, is thirteen kilometers away.”

“Apart from the sparse population, my place has a water tower, livestock, farmland, and crops we planted last season. The farm even connects to the Chambers Reservoir.”

“That sounds great,” Madison quickly nodded.

“Sounds just like Maggie’s farm. I’m starting to want to go fishing, Gavin!”

Maggie was a popular character from The Walking Dead TV series, which was just entering its third season in 2013 and was wildly popular.

Madison continued.

“I never thought living near Dallas had so many advantages. If I’d known, I’d have bought a farm nearby too.”

“Chicago is too far from Dallas and Fort Worth. If I want to go home… damn, first I have to survive tonight.”

“If I make it, I’ll never let my home become a regret I can’t bear to mention.”

“No matter how long it takes, I have to go back—even if just to see it from afar.”

Saying this, Madison looked up, exhaling a heavy, troubled breath.

Gavin patted his arm in comfort.

Feeling the gesture, Madison suddenly remembered something and quickly added.

“By the way, man, I forgot to wish your parents well.”

“Give it a rest. Even if my folks somehow survived, they don’t need wishes. They need rescue.”

Gavin shook his head.

“Don’t think about that now. Let’s focus on ourselves. At least we have backpacks now. We need to pack some big clothes—especially shoes. You’re going to need those.”