Bill hands me the light and shoves his hand into the front pockets of his jeans. He rummages through each, but comes up empty. I keep a lookout for any chasers as he pats down his coat.
I watch him dig around in pockets with worried eyes. I’m afraid he’s lost our only ticket out of here.
“Got them,” he says relieved.
“You had me worried there for a second,” I say.
Bill holds the keys out in front of him and mashes the button on the fob. Nothing happens.
I glance to Bill, and give him a worried stare. “Do those things take batteries? Do you think they’re out?”
Bill shrugs. “Most do. Who knows how old they are?”
Batteries have been the bane of my existence for the last little bit. Seems like everything we try to use requires them.
Yowls taint the air. I search for the source, but it’s hard to pinpoint. I don’t want to wait out here too long to discover where it’s coming from, though.
“Try it again,” I urge.
Bill sighs like Dad used to when I’d get on his nerves. “I’m mashing the damn thing, but it isn’t-”
A horn beeps, followed by the quick flicker of headlights to our right. Thank God. I narrow my gaze, and train the light in the direction that I noticed the sound.
“Hit it again, will ya?” I say.
Bill thumbs the button, which creates the beep and the glow from the headlights. “We do that too many more times and that noise will draw the chasers here. It may have already.”
“There!” I point across the street in the direction of a large city bus. “The lights that flashed came from behind that bus.”
Bill tucks the keys back into his coat pocket. He steps off the sidewalk and moves out into the middle of the road. Duke and me follow along beside him.
The light sweeps over the vehicles. Most, if not all, are riddled with bullet holes. I spy no bodies within the cars, but that doesn’t mean too much. I’m not stopping to examine them at great depth.
The large windows of the Greyhound bus are covered in streaks of bloody hand prints. Not a single piece of glass is free of the disturbing imagery. The gruesome sight causes me to gulp as I wonder if any infected reside within the metal tomb.
I stand on the tips of my toes, and tilt my head back, trying to peer inside the bus. There are no rail-thin bodies roaming the interior.
Duke growls and his ears stand on end.
“Whatcha got, boy?” I ask.
His ears twitch, honing in on whatever’s grabbed his attention. He peers straight ahead and down the congested road. He turns on a dime and faces the way we came.
Bill looks back over his shoulder at the intersection and the row of buildings beyond. “Is his radar picking up the infected?”
“He’s picked up something. Could be the chasers. They have a strong scent about them. Not sure how he doesn’t, considering we just trudged through human waste not too long ago. Whatever it is that’s got his attention isn’t good.”
The air always smells of death. It’s tainted with the infecteds’ rotting corpses. The smell has drilled into my nose and fused with my cells. It’s a wretched smell that I have gotten used to, so it’s hard to tell when they’re close. Right now, I smell just like the chasers.
I pat my leg twice, which snaps Duke out of his fixed trance. He shakes his head, turns, and continues on.
We reach the rear of the bus. Bill nudges my arm with his elbow, then points to the area beyond the large vehicle. “Hey, shine the light over there.”
I train the Maglite in the direction he’s pointing, and find a vehicle parked within a garage. The front portion is barely noticeable as its black body color melds with the dark and conceals its presences.
“That’s it, right?”
Bill answers with a tilt of his head. “It’s the only vehicle around the lights could’ve come from. Plus, it’s a Jeep.”
To say that I’m relieved is an understatement.
“Come on. I’m ready to get out of this dam— Look out!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A dark figure charges from the shadows near the rear of the bus as the Maglite washes over his grotesque frame. Dressed in a blue uniform covered in dried blood, the tall, gangly man sprints from the shadows. His chest has been cracked open like a crab shell, displaying what organs haven’t been harvested from his decrepit body.
I squeeze the trigger without aiming. My shot tears through the paper-thin skin that coats his neck. The man stumbles and loses his footing for a second before correcting and lunging at Bill.
“Christ!” Bill bellows out. His canon pops off two rounds that hammer the man’s skeletal frame. It does little to thwart the man’s advancement. The infected tackles Bill. They fall to the ground in a tangled mess of arms and legs.
Duke turns, then barks and growls, but it isn’t at the ravenous officer on top of Bill. It’s at something else.
Bill opens fire from the flat of his back. The gun barks. Bullets tear through the chaser’s boney body and punch through the blue rags covering him. The infected recoils from the multiple impacts.
“Christ, James. Get this thing off me!”
I can’t get a clean shot without the risk of hitting Bill. Damn it. Come on, James. Work this out!
I think on my feet, and act on the first idea that springs to mind.
Bill bench presses the infected as rapacious fingers claw at his swollen face. I strike the chaser in the side of the head with my boot, knocking it to the side.
The chaser topples to the concrete. Dazed and confused, it shakes off the blow and stands up. I squeeze off another round and place a slug in the middle of the creature’s head. The bus is painted with a mural of bone and brain. Its legs give out, and it drops dead on the street.
“Good shot. Glad you didn’t miss this time,” Bill jabs.
“Yeah. I didn’t see you doing any better.” I sneer, then reach out my hand to help him up.
Duke’s growling and barking hasn’t ceased. He’s focused on the street ahead of us. I train the withering beam at the stretch of road. The light struggles to punch through the darkness. I squint, and spot multiple shadowy figures racing up the road in our direction.
“We’ve got more infected inbound!” I warn.
Bill retrieves the keys from his coat pocket and dashes toward the building. He leaps up onto the sidewalk and skirts around the front part of the vehicle toward the driver’s side door.
The wails from the inbound horde of infected rise with every passing second.
“Come on, Duke. We need to go, now!” I demand. Duke continues barking and growling. We don’t have time for this crap. I grab him by the collar, and drag him to the Jeep. “Duke, let’s move.”
He follows my lead. We jump up to the sidewalk, and make for the passenger side of the Jeep. I thread my frame through the narrow gap between the building and the vehicle. It’s a tight fit. The pack presses to the wall as my stomach slides along the vehicle, but I manage to get through.
Duke waits patiently as I crack open the lone door far enough for him to fit through. It’s tight, but I think he’ll manage. He wiggles up into the front seat and moves to the small space in the rear of the Jeep. I slip the rucksack free of my shoulders, and throw it to the back.
Bill cranks the engine. It fires up on the first try.
“Hell yeah!” He claps his hands as I settle into the passenger seat.
The glow from the dash mounted gauges illuminate his face. His hands feel along the dash as his foot presses down on the gas pedal. The engine revs smoothly. There’re no clattering or other grumbling noises that would cause any immediate concern.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Ah.” Bill thumbs a button on the dash near the steering column. The headlights fire up along with more that are mounted to the roof.
The gleam pierces through the darkness and washes over two gaunt chasers standing in the middle of the street. They’re boney ch
ests heave and fingers twitch, but they just stand there. What are they waiting for?
“Punch it!” I urge.
Bill grabs the gearshift and pulls it back into drive. He mashes the gas and sends the Jeep barreling out of the building.
The chasers shrill and charge the vehicle like a bull seeing red. I brace my hands against the dash and roof as the Jeep drops off the sidewalk and onto the street. Through the driver’s side window, I spot a wall of ghastly gray bodies rushing headlong out of the shadows—a wave of dead that will try to overtake us.
“Hold on!” Bill growls through clenched teeth as he plows over the two chasers in our way.
The creatures slam into the grill with a nasty thump. Bill spins the steering wheel around. The tires squeal, fighting for traction. He keeps his foot pressed to the floorboard.
One of the infected vanishes under the Jeep while the other clings to the grill. Bill manages to straighten us out as we speed toward the intersection.
I check the sideview mirror and spy countless frail bodies bathed in the red glow of the Jeep’s rear lights. With arms reaching for us, they sprint as fast as they can.
“Damn it!” Bill growls.
He jerks the steering wheel to the right and sideswipes a sedan parked in the intersection. The crunching of metal and glass breaking sounds off. The Jeep shudders from the impact, but keeps moving.
The chaser clinging to the front of the Jeep climbs up onto the hood as Bill speeds up.
The infected giving chase drop farther back into the murk of night as we race down the street.
Bill cranes his head, and looks to either side as he tries to watch the road ahead through the infected now perched on the hood. “We need to get that thing out of the way. I’m having a hard time seeing with it right there.”
The wind hammers the chaser’s body as it falls flat on top of the hood. Bill swerves from side to side, trying to rid us of the pesky creature.
The ends of the chaser’s gnawed fingers reach for the windshield. They latch onto the lip of the hood just below the wiper blades.
“Whoa!” Bill calls out as we almost ram a truck. He skirts the dented-up bed by mere inches.
My hands press harder against the roof and dash. The chaser lifts up, battling to stay perched where he is. The wind and constant swerving of the Jeep try to throw him from the hood. Like all of the infected, the fiend refuses to yield.
“Hit the brakes, now!” I demand.
Bill gives me a confused stare.
“It should fly off, right?” I clarify.
Bill shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
He mashes the brake to the floor. The tires lock up and skid over the pavement. The chaser flies from the hood. Its body smacks the ground and tumbles end over end like a rag doll.
A strip of blood and flesh paint the concrete. Slowly, the chaser lifts from the pavement and stands on two wiry legs.
Torn pieces of decaying flesh flutter in the wind from the chaser’s chest and face. The ivory bones are visible now through the missing skin that once draped over its forlorn torso. Strands of muscle and tissue stretch and move as the chaser gnashes its teeth.
Screw this thing.
Bill punches the gas and heads right for the creature. He keeps our course straight and right on path for a collision. The chaser stumbles with a bad limp and reaches out to us. Bill tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
With a sickening thud, the infected’s battered frame impacts the steel body of the Jeep.
I crane my neck to see if it managed to hold on this time. There is nothing left of the creature to suggest that it did, limbs or otherwise.
The infected who were in pursuit of us have all but faded to black. There’s nothing in the rear-view mirror except the desolate city.
I rest my head against the seat and think of Cassie and Cindy. Not knowing if they’re ok is killing me. I’ve lost Lucas to that vile band of thugs, and the girls’ lives hang in the balance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter most. Like not being chased by ravenous freaks.
I remove my hands from the roof and dash while breathing a sigh of relief. I toss the gun up on the dash and exhale, trying to release the stress my body is battling.
Even in a moment of not having to fight for my life, or that of others, I still can’t relax. The tiny voice nestled in the back of my head makes sure to remind me often that it isn’t an option. For all I know, the days of relaxation are long gone.
Don’t get too comfortable, James. There’s still plenty of time for the crap to hit the fan. You’re not out of the woods. Not by a long shot. Stay sharp and be ready for anything.
Bill yawns, then rubs his hand over his face. He hits a tender spot and growls. “Damn it to hell.”
From here, it’s not hard to see the puffy skin surrounding his closed eye. He pushes the tip of his finger against the swollen flesh with a soft touch, then glances at the rearview mirror.
I can only imagine how bad his face must hurt. I remember getting kicked in the face with a soccer ball when I was young. That hurt. Not quite the same, but it’s close enough.
“Are you able to see the road all right?” I ask. If his depth perception and overall sight are messed up, it might stop him from being able to navigate the treacherous roads, especially at night.
Bill grumbles, then fixes his attention back to the road. “Like I said before, this isn’t the worst beat down I’ve ever been given. I’ll be fine. It’ll heal with time.”
The words spill from Bill’s mouth as if he’s said it a hundred times. The beat down he received would have done in most of the people I knew. He took his and moved on. He’s more than got my respect for that.
I stare out of the front windshield at the buildings we pass. Bill does a good job of navigating the maze of stationary vehicles cluttering the roads.
We hit pockets where we’re able to speed up and cover ground without much issue, but it’s few and far between. Being in the city, much like the others I have braved, is slow going at best.
Bill clears his throat, then nudges my arm. “That was a good call back there. I wasn’t even thinking of slamming the brakes to get the infected off the hood.”
“I’m just glad it worked. I’ve been in plenty of scenarios where they’ve tried to bust through the windshield with their fists.” I retort. “Since they don’t seem to feel pain, they can do a lot of damage in a short amount of time.”
Duke leans between the two bucket seats and licks the side of my face. I rub his head and allow him to do his thing. For once, I don’t mind his rancid breath.
“You doing all right, dude?”
He whines and groans while continuing to bath me with his tongue. I imagine that I don’t taste too good all things considered, then again, I’ve seen what he does to certain body parts of his.
My hand moves down and rubs his side. He’s lost a lot of weight. I can feel his ribs through his fur with ease. He has to be famished and thirsty. I wish I had some food and water to give him.
Duke runs his tongue along the outside of his snout, then yawns. He’s just as worn out as the rest of us. A subtle shake of his head and he retreats back to the shadows of the backseat.
“That dog of yours is pretty special,” Bill glances over his shoulder at Duke who curls up into a ball. “It’s been ages since I’ve been around any dogs. To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a dog as well trained as him. Most are unruly and don’t listen for crap.”
I chuckle. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s a great dog, but he is strong willed when he wants to be.”
Duke perks his ears up, then looks at me. He groans as if to counter what I’m saying about him.
“I think he would disagree with what you’re saying.” Bill smirks as he stares into the rearview mirror, watching Duke.
“He generally does.”
Bill slows the Jeep down as we approach a pile of contorte
d vehicles that spans the width of the road, cutting off any sort of attempt to pass.
The lights from the Jeep illuminate the graveyard of cars and military transports that sit abandoned. I spy no dead bodies on the streets which makes me wonder if whoever guarded this area survived and escaped, or if they’re infected now, and lurking in the buildings around us.
“Guess the military gave up and retreated. From the way things look, doesn’t seem that they made much headway in containing the infected.” I say with a somber tone.
Bill glances out of the driver side window, then points at a narrow opening within a cluster of vehicles. “I think we can slip through over there. Should be wide enough for us to fit. That mountain of rubble, though, could pose an issue.”
I keep a watchful gaze on the surrounding buildings and the streets for any chasers or unsavory folks looking to steal our ride.
“Works for me. From the looks of the tires of this rig, I doubt it should have any issues going over it. Besides, I don’t want to sit idle for too long. We’ll be asking for trouble if we do.”
Bill agrees with a tilt of his head. He cuts the tires toward the passage and hits the gas. Slow and steady, he threads the Jeep through the military vehicles on both sides of us.
The gleam from the lights shine through the busted windows of the building in front of us. The tires hit the edge of the curb and roll over with ease.
Bill keeps his foot pressed to the gas. We’re jostled about in the cab as the back wheels roll up onto the sidewalk.
He spins the steering wheel to the right and grazes the brick façade of the building. He works the brake and gas in tandem as we traverse the cluttered mess of busted brick that is scattered over the sidewalk.
The interior of the structure is a complete disaster. The walls are blackened and burned to a crisp. A gaping hole in the back reveals more devastation. It looks as though a bomb was set off. A last-ditch effort perhaps to thwart the infected?
“Man. Looks like a war-zone around here,” I mutter.
Bill focuses on the sidewalk jerking the steering wheel from side to side to avoid any debris from the derelict building next to us.
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