He shoved his head and arm out the window, and then the truck hooked hard to the right and collided with the brick wall. The pistol fell from his fingers, and the zombie turned to roar at him.
He shoved himself back into the cab. A pale, flabby arm hovered over Blake, trying to find something to rip.
“Straighten the wheel!” he yelled, but he knew Blake probably couldn’t do anything but try to stay out of the dead thing’s grip. He’d have to kill the zombie if they wanted to survive this.
He grabbed the hunting rifle from the seat and wrestled it. Even in the giant cab of the massive Ford, he had trouble getting the weapon to point in the right direction. The barrel wedged against seats and prodded the ceiling. He could almost picture the barrel snapping off while he tried to get the damn thing aimed straight.
The sounds of steel fighting brick blended with Blake’s screams and the zombie’s roar. He added his own cry as he fought the rifle and finally swung it in the right direction. He shoved the barrel past the dead man’s lashing arm and jabbed it into the thing’s cheek.
He pulled the trigger, and the back of the zombie’s cranium exploded. The arm went limp, and then the dead body fell away from the truck. It hit the ground and burst like a bloated tick beneath a hammer.
Morris slumped against his seat and prayed they’d make it free of the parking lot.
————————————
The truck cleared the store’s wall, and suddenly the thrumming engine was the only sound Blake could hear. He caught a glimpse of the parking lot. Dozens of zombies charged the truck, arms flying and teeth snapping. A glance across the street told him three more homes had caught fire, filling the sky with flames and casting a black fog along the ground. He wondered how many more dead lingered in the smoke, what obstacles lay in wait.
“Faster!” Morris ordered.
“On it.”
He turned his attention back to the scene in front of him. A zombie that might have been a teenage boy when it died leaped into the air in some crazy attempt at an attack. He goosed the accelerator, and the dead thing bounced off the hood before hitting the windshield and starring the glass. It disappeared over the cab in a tangle of limp arms and legs. More zombies closed in to take its place. He looked at the speedometer and saw he was losing speed.
“Fuck!” He punched down on the gas pedal and held on with white knuckles. He tried to pilot around the rushing cannibals, but there were too many to avoid them all. They bounced off the grill and corner panels, crunched under the wheels. Another one managed to grab hold of his door before losing its grip and tumbling into the pack.
His lungs burned from the smoke. He coughed, and his eyes watered. Fighting through it, he aimed the truck’s nose for what he hoped was the parking lot’s edge. He hoped the street was clear. It had to be better than the mass that had converged on Tandy’s.
He heard Morris choking in the back seat. “What the hell?” the big man said. “Where’d the fire come from?”
“That was me,” he answered. “Sorry.”
He jumped the curb and bounced onto Main Street. Zombies charged onto the pavement, and he decided setting the fire had been a terrible idea. Maybe the zombies would have found them anyway, but he’d probably grabbed their attention with a gallon of gas and a match, brought all three thousand of the bastards running. Idiot.
He straightened the pickup and gave it more gas. The engine replied with an angry bellow as the speedometer climbed. The zombies failed to grab hold of the truck. One of them leaped in front of the nose and exploded like a bile-filled balloon as the pickup slammed into it. A single arm flopped onto the hood and stayed there, twitching as the falsehood of life left it.
Blake turned his eyes from the arm to the road. He remembered the van Morris had hit when they first entered town. If they wanted to escape Rundberg alive, he had to be careful. He didn’t plan to die like the rest. No, sir. He’d get both of them out of town and then he’d drive like hell until they reached Millwood. Then, he would take Holly into his arms and kiss her for a month. He’d marry her like he’d always planned, and together they’d stay safe. They’d work on making the world good again in every little way they could.
He felt his breath disappear as he passed through a break in the smoke. A zombie that appeared to have once been a corn-fed man the size of an oak tree stood in the middle of the street. It was naked, its gray flesh streaked with filth and dried blood. A ragged ruin marked the area where its penis had once hung. Its left hand had also been torn away, the wrist ending in shreds of blackened skin.
Blake didn’t give a shit about the thing’s dick or its left hand. He cared about its right, about the goddamn street sign the monstrosity held in it. The bottom of the signpost ended in a harsh twist of rusted metal. Its top still held a set of crossed green rectangles. Blake stared in wonder and mounting terror. He thought he caught the word Marsh on one of the signs, but then the dead giant swung the sign like a club and the white letters blurred into a flurry of violent inertia.
————————————
A sheet of broken glass fell into Blake’s lap, and the truck swerved wildly as the man tried to shove the stuff to one side. Morris reached around the man and flung the entire crumpled piece to the right side of the cab.
“Keep us moving!” he said, but then the truck jerked to an almost complete stop.
————————————
Blake cried out as his foot slipped from the gas and hit the brake, snapping him forward. His forehead bounced off the steering wheel, and a new pain tore through his skull like a brushfire. He shook his head, and the throbbing agony nearly knocked him cold.
Some instinct told him he’d slowed to a crawl once again. He searched the floor until he found the gas pedal, and then he gave it his full weight. Something crunched against the cab’s roof, and he didn’t need a crystal ball to know the giant was still nearby. A glance at the right sideview told him the rest. The monster’s rotting bulk had latched onto the side of the truck’s bed, legs dragging along the street. The thing didn’t appear to give two shits; it held on with its tattered arm while it prepared to swing the street sign once again.
————————————
Morris crashed the rifle’s stock into the cab’s rear window. The glass starred, but he lacked the momentum needed to bust the glass outward on the first shot. He cracked wood against glass twice more, and the entire window fell into the bed.
He shoved his back against the driver’s side door and swung the hunting rifle’s barrel through the empty window frame. How had that big bastard grabbed hold of the truck? He glanced at the left arm that ended with a ruined stump. The limb should be useless, but it held on like a grappling hook.
He took aim as the monster swung the street sign again. The club crashed against the cab, and he fired as Blake swerved to the side. His shot went wild, and the giant attacked again.
————————————
Blake dropped into a terrified, ridiculous imitation of a crouch, peering at the street from just over the wheel like an old lady. The ceiling crunched down as the giant struck again. Metal squealed over metal, and he spun the wheel back and forth, hoping each swerve of the truck would be the one to send the dead man tumbling into the street. The monster held on though, the muscles of its left arm bulging as it squeezed the truck’s sidewall tighter and tighter, clamping down like a vice.
He dropped to the left as the sign came again. It shattered the passenger window, blasting him with a blizzard of safety glass. Pebbles of the stuff clung to his jacket and hair, rested in his lap. He ignored them, instead concentrating on the road and trying to find any way to shake the monster trying to batter its way into the cab.
The street sign clanged against the side of the Ford, the ringing sound jabbing at him like a hot blade. He swung the pickup to the left and let out a panicked, “Fuck!” as a charred wreck appeared in front of him. He steered right,
and the truck slowed as it scraped along the wreckage, steel shrieking like a frightened baby. His clumsy foot slipped off the accelerator, and he fumbled around the floorboards until he found it again.
He listened to the alternating angry and belching noises the truck’s engine made. It appeared the thing didn’t like being driven by a terrified man with a broken leg. He only hoped the engine lasted until long after he’d cleared Rundberg’s city limits.
————————————
Morris cracked off two more shots and roared as they both missed. He fired again, and a lumpy substance that may have once been blood gurgled out of the giant’s left biceps. The damn thing refused to let go, however. What would it take to get rid of this thing?
“Stop swerving!” he told Blake. “Let me get a shot!”
“I’m trying!”
“Like hell, you are!” He fired again, and a chunk of gray flesh exploded from the thing’s neck.
Come on! he thought. One left. Make it count! He leveled the rifle’s barrel as the giant dead man reared back, preparing for another blow.
He pulled the trigger. The monster swung in the same instant, and Morris watched in despair as the bullet dug a furrow across the thing’s scalp before disappearing into the smoke.
“Dammit!”
“What?” Blake asked. The man’s voice was hot with panic.
“No more shots. Drive like hell.” He jabbed the rifle at the beast, figuring it was better than nothing. Aiming for its eye, he threw everything he had into the attack. The thing dodged the blow, however, and Morris felt the rifle fall from his hands and watched it clatter over the truck’s side.
————————————
Blake spotted a cluster of zombies running onto the road about half a block down. He looked past them for any obstacles, deciding they weren’t nearly the threat the big bastard latched onto the pickup was. But maybe they could help him in some way. He aimed the pickup’s nose at the dead congregation and gunned the engine. The truck growled loud enough to drown out the dead beast that was preparing to swing its club once more.
He braced himself against the wheel as he careened into the decaying throng of bodies. Limbs and torsos bounced off steel. Snarls became exclamations that might have been cries of pain. He looked to the sideview, hoping to see the beast tumble away, knocked aside by another zombie.
No such luck. The street sign slammed into the cab like a dragon’s tail. The steel post bent, hooking into the empty space where the windshield had been a moment before. It caught against metal as the zombie tried to yank the weapon back into striking position. Blake watched it catch again and again, and then it dropped away, discarded. He felt a surge of relief. At least the damn thing didn’t have a weapon anymore. Maybe the zombie would have such a hard time hanging on it wouldn’t be able to attack. He didn’t dare hope the fucking thing would simply give up.
He reached the end of Main and swung the truck right. The truck took the corner wide, with Blake only barely letting off the gas as he tried to keep the vehicle on all four wheels. He rocketed past the middle school. The smoke had thinned out here, and so had the dead. It didn’t mean they were in the clear, but he still took it as a good sign.
He had to find Highway 50. That was the key to escape. He thought it might be four or five blocks directly ahead of him, but he didn’t know Rundberg’s streets very well, and the road that cut in front of the school ended in a T-stop just ahead.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Right!”
He coughed as he drove back into the smoke. They disappeared into a cloud of blackness but kept going until they punched through to cleaner air. When he looked to the mirror again, his stomach tightened.
The mountain of a zombie hadn’t fallen off during either of his last turns. It had crept closer to the cab.
————————————
Morris stared in awe. His mind searched for some way to make sense of it all, some way to stop it. Nothing came.
The beast worked hand over arm, ignoring the way its legs banged wildly against the street as it inched its way toward its goal. Its white eyes found him and burned, promising pain.
He could only watch as the monster reached out and grabbed hold of the cab. How was it even possible? The damn thing was down a hand! The bastard shouldn’t be able to hold on, let alone work its way toward them. He decided he wouldn’t be surprised to see the dead giant sprout wings and lift the entire truck off the road. It would just be a sick continuation of their recent luck.
He turned away from the monster and searched the cab for anything he might use as a weapon. He wished he could rip one of the wooden poles from Blake’s leg. Maybe he could use it as a spear, put it right through the damn thing’s eye. That wasn’t an option, though. He needed something else.
The truck banked around a sharp corner, and the ruined windshield fell into the floorboards. He spied the aluminum bat sitting in the passenger seat and figured it was better than nothing. He snatched it up and brought into the backseat with him.
Morris faced the monster. It stared back. He wondered what he could possibly do to the thing, and then he decided he was desperate enough to do something stupid.
He eased his torso out the back window.
————————————
Blake charged past a storefront labeled Rundberg Drugs and Goods, and a trio of corpses leaped through the shattered windows to give chase. A glance in the rearview mirror told him dozens more sprinted behind him, trying to catch up so they could grab another meal. He couldn’t worry about them.
He jerked the truck left onto a new street, taking the corner as fast as he dared and hoping it might be enough to fling the zombie clear. Metal groaned and the rear passenger door began to open. He had a mad thought that the big bastard had figured out how to work a door handle, but then a squeal of metal filled the cab as the door was ripped away and crashed to the street.
“Morris!” He didn’t know what he could possibly tell the man, but the name rushed past his lips anyway. When the man didn’t answer he checked the rearview mirror. His eyes bulged as he saw Morris climb out the back window, baseball bat in hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Morris didn’t answer.
————————————
Morris got both arms free as the giant tore the passenger door away in a single pull. He stared in awe at the strength of the thing, but then its war cry brought him back to his senses.
He cocked the bat over his right shoulder and swung at the monster appearing in the frame where the cab door had been. Metal crunched against the thing’s elbow, but it didn’t let go. The truck swerved and he almost sprawled into the bed. He righted himself and swung again. The zombie shrieked as he hit its elbow once more.
Morris looked up and saw the thing roar at him. He screamed as he attacked again. His weapon glanced off its skull, and its head slumped forward.
“Yes!” He raised the bat to strike again, finish off the terrible thing.
Its hand closed around his leg and dragged him back into the cab.
————————————
“Morris!”
Blake ripped a hand away from the wheel and reached for the big man. He saw Morris drop the baseball bat and claw for anything that might stop his momentum. He tried to grab hold of his hand, but the big man wouldn’t stop flailing.
————————————
Morris heard the massive thing screech in triumph as he searched for something to grab. He needed to wrestle free of the damn thing’s grip, needed to save himself. The bones of his lower leg snapped and ground together in the zombie’s grasp, and he knew it was useless even as agony flared through his entire body. The thing had him, and it wasn’t letting go until it was satisfied.
As agony threatened to overwhelm him, he wondered how this thing could exist. Was it the next step of the dead’s evolution? A freak
of nature? That almost got him laughing. They were all freaks. Maybe this thing was just a bigger, nastier version of the end of the world.
Darkness closed in on him.
Be home soon, Carol.
————————————
Blake saw a look of wide-eyed terror in Morris’s eyes as the zombie dragged the man toward the missing door. He reached again, the steering wheel spinning free of his hand. The zombie roared, and then Morris disappeared as the beast ripped him from the cab and flung him to the street.
“No!” He looked in the mirror and saw his friend’s body tumble and roll along the pavement. A pack of zombies fell on the man before he even came to a halt.
Blake screamed as the zombie-Jesus, the thing was huge-pulled through the open door and did the same, its cry like an angry lion preparing to bury its muzzle in a fresh kill. He pulled the truck left, and the force kept the zombie from climbing into the cab.
He winced as the dead man’s roar stabbed at his eardrums like cold daggers. The violent sound drowned out the truck’s massive engine. It promised horrible pain before death.
He spotted something in the middle of the road and turned in time to see the tree that had fallen across the street. He grabbed the wheel with fists like iron and pulled right. He felt the zombie squeeze into the cab in the instant before the pickup bounded over the thinnest part of the dead tree. His head bounced off the ceiling, snapping a flash of light through his vision, and then he steered left. Tires squealed, and he looked over his shoulder as the giant flew out the passenger door, catching the truck’s frame with its only hand. He hoped the damned thing might lose its grip, but the bastard held on tight. As he watched, its fingers sunk into the steel. He could only imagine what that hand might do to his body.
Scavengers Page 24
