Cars line the road, charred to uselessness and there are mountains of blackened books incinerated for who knows what reasons. Why would they do things like this? Why would they murder and burn the past like it’s what caused all of this to happen? Are they really that broken, that twisted that they would believe this? I look over at Greg who is gripping his shotgun nervously. There are dozens of people wandering out of houses and businesses with weapons in their hands. They’re bearing clubs and knives, looking at our truck suspiciously. I know that it’s only a matter of time before they stop looking at us and decide to act. I grip my father’s gift to me and wonder how many people I’m going to have to kill.
If those things back at the Coast Guard base count, I’ve killed several people, but something inside of me refuses to accept them as living human beings. I think of them more like feral animals that had to be put down. These people, however, they’re different. These are thinking individuals, even if they are brainwashed and absolutely insane. I’m not sure if I have that in me. I’m not sure if I can kill people who I know are completely there, it’s just wrong. But as I look at Greg, I know that there’s something worth fighting for. I know that I love him and that if they kill him, there will be nothing left for me in this world. I will have Lexi, but that won’t be the same. Greg is my love. Greg is the fire that keeps me warm. So I grip my Sig, hearing the blast of some kind of horn, and look back at the people who are starting to chase after us. If they try anything to hurt the people I love, I’m going to kill them.
Something smacks into the side of the truck and then a hole appears in the tarp covering and I realize that someone has a gun and is shooting at us.
Much to my astonishment a white truck pulls out of an alley and I see a man standing behind a very large caliber machine gun. I think back to the white truck on the bridge with the large machine gun. Maybe these people are national. It is certainly the same people. I raise my gun and immediately start firing at the windshield, hoping that I can kill the driver before the truck gets close. As for Greg, he doesn’t waste time either. Resting his forearm on the side rack of the bed, he takes aim through his scope before squeezing off a round. The gunner hurls backwards into the others standing in the bed of the pickup and I watch them stagger beneath his weight, before casting him aside to tumble on the concrete like a ragdoll. The truck accelerates and brings them closer to us as another fanatic tries to get ahold of the gun. I keep firing at the windshield, hoping that I’m putting bullets through everyone that is behind the fracturing white web of broken glass, but no results tells me my aim isn’t true. Taking a deep breath I look down my barrel as I exhale. When all my breath is expelled I squeeze gently and feel the kick of my trusty Sig. The fanatic’s truck keeps accelerating and starts to swerve and shake. I hit the bastards, but whoever is behind the wheel has gone kamikaze.
I’m thrown from my feet as the grill of our pursuer slams into the tailgate of the five ton and the hitch hooks something in the engine and begins to drag the truck behind us. Greg keeps his footing and starts firing at the fanatic who has gotten ahold of the heavy caliber machine gun. I drop my Sig as I hit the bed of the truck and listen as the fanatics start clambering over the top of the white Silverado. Greg fires another round, taking off the top of the closest nut job’s head. The man flips backwards and slams onto the hood of the truck before being flung off onto the road. A crimson smear remains everywhere the man touched. I grimace at the sight as I get back to my knees, but the next two fanatics are too fast for Greg and immediately start to grapple with him.
Looking back, I see them slam Greg into the canvas side of the truck and I’m afraid that all of them are going to go flying out. Groping blindly for my pistol, by the time I find it, it’s too late. Behind us, on the white pickup, a fanatic has appeared on the hood and is kicking out the ruined windshield, all the while his eyes are on me. I watch as their windshield buckles and falls out across the hood of the truck that is still being dragged along with us. Watching as the inside of their cab is revealed, I see that the man behind the wheel isn’t exactly dead, but he’s certainly seen better days. This has to end, and soon, before we lose another member of our small group.
My fingers finally find it. I feel the brush of the handle against the tips of my fingers and I stretch out and clamp down on the Sig. Rushing to my knees, I point the gun at the fanatic with a black cross painted over his face, still on the hood of the white truck. He looks at me and for a moment he realizes that he’s a dead man. He realizes that I’m going to put a bullet through his head and that it’s all over. In that moment, I can see that he’s genuinely thinking that this is a bad idea, that this isn’t what he signed up for in life. But truthfully, none of us signed up for this. I’m not the kind, caring person that I was before the world started to wither away. I wanted to help save the lives of animals and I wanted pet owners to feel the joy of having their beloved furry friends with them forever. But when animals started dying of starvation, I watched my passion and love in the workplace die as well. There was no future for me in this wasteland, not how I was. I just wanted to help the helpless. I just wanted to make the world a better place. Was that too much to ask for?
I barely feel the recoil.
The man’s head smacks into the hood of the Silverado and sends a spatter of scarlet blood all across the tainted hood and shattered windshield, now beneath him. I feel nothing. I don’t feel sad or as if there’s some precious part of my soul that I’ve just lost. If anything, I feel a sort of weightless certainty that I had to do it. But there is still the driver to deal with.
Looking down my short barrel, I squeeze the trigger again and again, watching as I put a bullet through his shoulder, graze his face, taking off his right ear, and finally land a fatal shot through his left lung. The man isn’t long for this world, but I can see, even from here, his co-pilot is dead set on getting revenge.
Greg has killed his share of men now and it doesn’t seem to bother him. Looking over at him, I see that he’s more than preoccupied at the moment. I have a clear shot at one of the men that is wrapping his fingers around Greg’s throat, and I squeeze the trigger. I’m more than willing to end his life.
Nothing happens. Shit.
I look at the pistol and know that my father would be angry with me if I stopped at that. Just because I don’t have bullets doesn’t mean I’m useless. I grip the handle and swing my arm at the nearest guy’s head. I feel the butt of the handle slam into the side of the man’s head, grinding his ear against his skull and the man screams in agonizing pain, flinging Greg and the other fanatic toward the tailgate. I scream as all three of them topple over the edge of the truck and onto the hood of the white Silverado. Greg slams down on them and I watch in horror as the combined weight of all three of them slamming onto the hood is enough to finally dislodge the grill from the hitch. Greg’s hand clamps down onto the tailgate and I scream in horror as the Silverado rips free and Greg vanishes from my sight, just his hands holding desperately onto the tailgate.
I watch in horror as the two fanatics cling to Greg’s legs. Rushing to him, I grab his shotgun and look over the tailgate at the two men dragging behind Greg, trying to pull him off the truck as the skin and flesh is torn from their bodies against the harsh, dirty road. Greg’s face is a twisted grimace of pain and determination as his boots clatter along the road with two grown men pulling him in half. I lift the shotgun, but I can’t get a good shot. The truck bounces too much. I don’t trust that I won’t blow off one of his feet if I squeeze the trigger.
“Hang on,” I shout at him.
I have to get Noah to stop the truck so I can save him. I spin around to shout for Noah to stop, but before I can, I feel the truck slam into something hard and instantly we’re turning, spinning out of control as I’m flung from my feet, violently. Slamming into the bed of the truck again, amidst all of our supplies, I smack my head against a five gallon tank of gasoline as light erupts before my eyes. I groan, trying to recover q
uickly, but the pain is pulsing through my head. All has gone black for an instant and all I can think about is Greg. He’s out there and I have to help him. I feel like the whole world begins spinning and the vibration from the truck’s engine is making me nauseous. I don’t hold back, vomiting as I crawl across the bed. We’ve stopped moving. I’m certain of it.
This is too much. How are we going to get out of here? There are too many of the crazy fanatics and if they come at us with another truck, I don’t think we have the ammunition to hold them off. I wipe my mouth and pray that Greg is alright. I have no idea what we hit, but I fear it might have knocked him loose. He might be dead in the middle of the road for all I know. Pushing myself to move faster, I locate Henry’s hunting rifle and ripping the mag free, make sure that there’s still ammunition in it. The magazine is full and there’s an extra round chambered. Eleven shots. Planting the stock into the bed of the truck, I push myself up and try to make the world stop whirling around in circles.
That’s when I hear the moaning.
It’s a too familiar sound and when it reaches my ears, my blood runs cold. The first gunshot from the cab makes me flinch, jarring me back to reality and I turn to look over my shoulder but there’s no time to go back that way. Lexi and Noah will have to hold their own for a few minutes. Behind us is the shattered remains of a crudely built barricade, through which we’ve plowed a giant hole, beside which the white Silverado is wrapped around a telephone pole with the driver and co-pilot hanging half out of the cab, motionless. Around us, the sounds of dozens, maybe hundreds of zombies grow nearer by the second. The fanatics had caged them in, or out rather, with the wall made from pallets and doors.
Knowing I have no time, I race to the rear of the truck and look down. The two fanatics that were clinging to Greg start to scream as Greg rolls over, revealing that he’s pretty beat up, but he’s definitely still alive. Rapidly stretching shadows in the dawn light hint at the approach of the lumbering, snarling Zombies. I have to act. They’re not killing the man I love.
“I have to go get Greg,” I shout over my shoulder at the cab of the truck.
“Hurry,” Lexi shouts back. More gunshots punctuate the haste needed. I don’t need to be reminded twice.
Lunging over the tailgate, my feet hit the ground with stunning force and I feel the tingling rushing up my leg like a thousand super-fast caterpillars. Without hesitating, I look over my shoulder to the truck, seeing how much time we have. A minute, maybe less, before we are overwhelmed. Lifting Henry’s hunting rifle, I take the first shot at the nearest one. Watching its head vanish into a cloud of scarlet mist, the others around it pounce, ripping apart the remains of their fellow, lumbering savage.
With the time I’ve bought, I rush to Greg. The side of his face is bloody and torn up by smacking the road when we broke through the barricade, but he’ll be fine. He’ll probably have a scar, but he doesn’t appear to have any major injuries. I reach down and help him up, slinging his arm over my shoulders and stabilizing him.
“You came back for me,” he says with a dazed tone.
“Can’t leave my man,” I say to him.
I help him limp toward the truck, unable to use the hunting rifle until I get him there, and with his new injuries adding to the previous, he’s in no condition to walk. We move as quickly as we can, but the Zombies are closing in and they’re not letting us get away easily. Shoving Greg towards the truck, I raise the rifle just in time to put a bullet through the chest of what was once a woman. She screams in agony, dropping to her knees and is then quickly dragged down by the others, being torn apart before she’s even dead. Behind me, the two fanatics who tried to take Greg from me are getting what they deserve. Already, the fiendish undead are tearing at their flesh as they scream out in bloodcurdling cries of anguish. The sound doesn’t even faze me. I’ve heard death cries too many times over the last three days. Their screams are blended with all the other noise and I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy for them. I only wish that they will buy us the time we need. Keep screaming, assholes.
“Get in,” I tell Greg as he struggles with the tailgate.
He slips and almost falls down on top of me, forcing me to give up defending him and boost him up into the back of the truck. Shoving him upwards with everything I have, I push him over the tailgate as he rolls into the bed of the truck with a loud bang. When he’s over, I clamber in after him, watching the gnarled, reaching hands of two Zombies vanish behind the tailgate as I tumble behind it. Immediately I hear the truck grind into gear and lurch forward. As we speed off, I resist the urge to fire at the other Zombies just to kill a few more, deciding instead to leave them alive. I want them to turn on their captors and I want them to tear them apart. I want the horizon to bring a bloody dawn for the religious zealots. I want whatever is left of their cult to pay for being wicked in a world where people need to remember their humanity.
Leaning up against the bench that runs the length of the bed, Greg groans and moans, his head against the cab of the truck. He looks awful, but I don’t care. He’s still alive and that’s all that matters. I’m not ready to lose him and I don’t ever want to think about the possibility again. I squat next to him, trying to keep my balance as Noah rams through another barricade. We’re almost out of ammunition, so if they keep pursuing us, we’re screwed. But that’s the least of my worries right now. I look at Greg and pray that he hasn’t acquired any internal injuries thanks to his little party with the two fanatics. I grab his head and force him to look at me, opening his eyes.
“Stay awake,” I order him. He looks at me with a warm, bloody grin and I can’t help but melt at the sight of it. I smile at him and shake my head in frustration. “Don’t fall asleep,” I tell him with as serious a tone that I can muster right now. “You probably have a concussion, so stay awake. Got it?”
“When did you get so badass?” Greg grins and leans his head back against the cab.
“When no one else would,” I tell him before leaning in and kissing him on the bloody lips. His kiss tastes of copper and salt. There’s no one else in the world that I would rather be here with right now than Greg. I love Lexi because I was born into the same family as her and I have an obligation to take care of her, but I chose Greg and that makes our love different. He’s my man and I’m never going to give him up. I’m never going to let anything happen to him.
“I’m glad you came back for me,” he says after I pull away.
“I always will,” I promise him.
It doesn’t take long until we’ve put Tifton in the distance. I try to keep Greg awake as long as I can, but he falls asleep on me. I was worried the moment he closed his eyes, but I don’t think he has a concussion. I’ll wake him up in a bit and check his pupils. Honestly, Greg has been through a lot worse than this when he was playing football. I don’t want to ever have to deal with a situation like this again. I want this to be our last adventure. When the truck begins to slow down, I’m in the process of cleaning up his cuts and gashes. I hear a knocking on the window and look up to see Noah’s face.
“I need you up here,” he shouts.
“I’m fine,” I hear Lexi snapping at him and I know that it’s probably serious.
Greg opens his eyes briefly, fluttering his eyelids as I begin to move. I feel his hand grabbing ahold of mine and I give him a soft squeeze, promising that I’ll be back soon. He smiles at me and I make my way to the back of the bed before hopping back down onto the road. I take a moment and look back toward Tifton and where we lost Henry. I’m not going to miss Henry one bit, but I wish that we’d had someone more valuable with us. Right now, I’m the only one with a skill. I’m a veterinarian and that makes me pretty good at keeping people and animals alive. The only other people I have with me on this journey are a bashed up chemist jock, a sarcastic gamer, and my overly emotional sister. I wish I had Marko, a mechanical genius or Devon, an engineering savant. I wouldn’t feel so burdened by responsibility. I don’t like being the leader. But
that’s my burden right now and I’m going to bear it as long as it takes.
One thing I know for certain now. I will be avoiding any sign that has the black cross on it. I’ve learned my lesson. I make my way around to the cab of the truck and throw open the door. I look at Noah, who is pale and looks like he’s seen a ghost. At first, I’m afraid that it’s Lexi. I’m afraid that one of the bastards got her.
“She’s bleeding,” he says with a quivering voice.
“Get out,” I say to him as directly and sternly as I can.
“But—” he stammers.
“Get the fuck out,” Lexi shouts at him.
He doesn’t need to be told again and I’m thankful that he finally listens to her the eightieth time. Noah scrambles out of the cab and walks away from the truck, his arms wrapped around his chest as he goes, looking out toward the horizon. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, but it makes me feel even more nervous. I quickly climb into the truck and close the door after me, staring at my sister who looks like she was just caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her eyes are wide and the color is vanishing from her face.
“Lexi,” I say cautiously, seeing that her hands are covered with blood and that her baggy sweatpants are soaked with blood. “What’s going on?”
She stares at me for a moment and I’m afraid of what she’s going to say to me. Whatever is about to come out of her mouth is something that I don’t want to hear, but already I’m letting the pieces fall into place and I know what she’s about to tell me. It’s been my nightmare since all of this started happening, but truthfully, our luck was about to run out sometime soon. It was only a matter of time before one of us suffered an injury like this.
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 65