“That’s a lot of them,” Lexi says with a nervous tone to her voice.
“It’s a freaking army,” I say, starting the engine and seeing the needle spike all the way to just under a half tank. That’s not as much as I would like to have put in there, but it’s still enough to get us well away from these things. We’ll be able to fuel up once we’ve put this city behind us, and that’s all that matters right now. I look at the hulking brute, standing in the middle of the road. He’s stopped, his chest and shoulders heaving as he watches the truck, his eyes a little too cognizant for comfort. “Everyone get ready for this. It’s going to be tight.”
“Keep the windows up,” Noah tells everyone, digging out the box of bullets that he had stuffed in his pocket, quickly reloading his revolver and dropping the three spent shells on the floorboards. Grabbing the gear selector, I pull it down to drive, glaring at the hulking brute who is equally preparing for what’s about to happen. Maybe this is how their decline begins, cognizant but crazed.
Slamming my foot on the accelerator, the whole truck careens forward angrily and charges toward the mob that is now standing on the hoods, roofs, and trunks of every car that’s flanking us and filling up every inch between the banks of cars. This isn’t going to be pretty. I lay on the horn and lean back in the seat, bracing myself for whatever’s about to happen. The immense zombie that stands tall enough to look me in the eyes takes a step back, filling the space in front of him with several other, gaunt, grotesque horrors that are snapping and clacking their jaws together ravenously, awaiting the feast. I watch as the brute grabs one of them and hurls him straight at the front of the truck.
I wince as the freak slams into the hood of the truck, denting it, before rolling to the side and flying off. The front of the truck slams into the wall of flesh and bone, filling my ears with screams and thuds that make me a little queasy and uncomfortable in the deepest, most terrifying sense of the words. Several of the monsters lose limbs, hands, arms, feet all rolling over the hood while we tear through them. As the first wave of nightmares rolls over the hood, I can hear them slamming and diving onto the roof, clawing at the side of the truck and diving into the bed of the truck while we keep pushing deeper and deeper into the horde, picking up momentum as we push down the overpass. The wheels of the truck jump and bob as we churn dozens of the monsters underneath us.
Hands slap the windows, dragging bloody fingers across the dusty, murky glass, making it look like we’re truly in the middle of a horror movie. As the monster that is writhing and twitching in front of me on the hood rolls off, drawing several toward him to feed on, I spot the hulking brute, gripping the brush guard that is slick and glossy with blood and gore for dear life. His hood is still on and his gray fingers and arms are all straining, flexing to keep ahold of the guard as he tries to pull himself up onto the hood.
My nephew keeps screaming while my eyes are closely watching the enormous foe. I notice that the hood he’s wearing isn’t intentionally gray from the ash, but that he’s wearing a white, stained sweatshirt with a black cross crudely painted down the front. This thing was one of the fanatics. I feel a terrible clarity inside of me spreading out, numbing everything around me. These things were the religious fanatics who were here when my father passed through. He burned the city and they were left alone and this is what happened to them. I feel a sickly question rising up inside of me. It spawns dozens then hundreds of other questions that can’t possibly be answered right now, so I keep my foot on the gas pedal as we continue to slow, pushing against the multitude and the tires spinning on the corpses of those that we’ve churned underneath us. There’s someone walking on the rooftop and others are clambering into the bed of the truck, trying to figure out what to do next. They’ve officially worked themselves into a pickle, but the fact that they’re back there with all of our gear makes me nervous what they might be tampering with. The truck pushes deeper and deeper into the army and the dust of the commotion whirls around all of us. I hear a loud thud, and watch as the hulking brute gets his footing and leaps up and onto the hood, baring his teeth at me and roaring.
I feel the terror in me reaching uncontrollable levels and I want to scream and shout at the thing that’s coming closer and closer with each passing second. I keep my foot on the gas pedal, ripping through the horde as quickly as we can, but I’m fishtailing on the blood and gore beneath us that has turned the ash and dust into a slick of macabre mud. The truck catches traction again and lurches forward, launching us closer and closer to our destination, but compromises the footing of the brute who slams forward, smacking his head into the windshield and transforming it into a spider web of fractures and white lines. I let out a scream that barely makes it over my nephew’s commotion.
One of the side mirrors vanishes as a zombie collides with it, and I witness as its head tears away from the blow. I look at the fractured windshield and see only the huge zombie still trying to get his balance while blood runs down his head. He gets to his knees as we keep going deeper and deeper into the mob. I feel the terror inside of me welling up more and more, knowing that at any second he’ll smash the windshield and be able to reach us. But there is no getting away, we’re still trapped in a sea of the undead with nowhere to run.
On his knees, the hulking brute winds back his arm and makes a fist that’s the size of my head. The blood running down his face has turned it into a horrifying, snarling mask in the shadow of his hood. As the fist hangs there in the air, suspended by a moment of pure terror welling up inside of me, I know that everything has gone to hell. Everything has gone wrong and we are once again in a situation that isn’t going to end in our favor or anywhere near it for that matter.
As I scream, glass showers all over me, caving in and peeling free from the top part of the window frame as hands and arms begin reaching in, trying to grab us. Somehow I discern that Noah and Greg are giving me the useless advice of “Go, go, go!” I look at the hulking brute’s hand coming closer and closer, trying to get to my face. All I can do is keep my foot on the accelerator and pray that it’s all over soon.
Chapter Fourteen
There are more and more of the monsters piling onto the truck. I see them diving off the cars flanking us as I swerve to the left and to the right, grinding those hanging onto the sides of the truck against the metallic shells of the abandoned cars, ripping and shredding them into pulp in the process. I don’t feel anything but fear as I blindly try to keep the truck going as we fight to keep the windshield from shattering entirely, and shredding us to pieces of bloody flesh that will leave them all enjoying what’s left of Noah and me. I keep my eyes closed as much as I can for fear of having glass shot into my eyes. The hands coming through the glass are searching ravenously for me, but all I can hear is the screaming.
I keep my foot on the gas pedal and pray that we get through this. I don’t know how we’re going to make it when every passing second, more and more of the bloodthirsty killers launch onto the car, coming for us like a tidal wave of death. There are so many of the zombies now clinging to the truck that the windows are blacked out by the number of bodies that cover them. Peeking past my eyelids I swerve left, grinding the flesh-eaters on the driver’s side between the tuck and a cargo van.
Seeing I am in serious danger, I reach up to try and stop the plate of crumbling glass from sinking down on top of me. My hands reach up and I feel the weight of three emaciated bodies pressing down against the glass. The tiny shards are digging into my hand, slicing and tearing as they press down on me. Warm blood trickles down my arm, mingling with the pain, and I see it dripping between my fingers and onto my shirt as the screaming continues, loud and horrifying. It’s tearing at my nerves and I can’t help but feel complete, unending despair wrapping around me. My entire life has come to this single, violent moment. My hands sting and burn as I push with all my strength, trying to steer the truck with my knees, keeping it in the center of the lanes. The truck heaves to the side with a crash as we collide
with something unknown. My mind is burning, I can’t process all that is happening. The brute remains on the hood, fighting for purchase and a way into the cab. How am I supposed to fight these things off and drive at the same time? I see Noah’s bloody hands holding the glass up on his end while it crumbles against the weight and force of the creatures trying to break through. For a second we share a terrified look into each other’s eyes and we both know our time is up.
The creature in front of Noah’s face lowers its jaw, and lets out a putrid, piercing scream that cuts against the one ringing in the middle of my brain as Noah turns his head away from the creature as its hands reach out and grab ahold of his head. Noah is screaming as the creature claws at his head and face, twisting its fingers into his hair and tugging at it. Noah releases his bloody grip on the glass and I feel the weight shifting as he lets go. Punching as hard as he can, Noah’s fist slams into the face of the attacker. The creature lets out a wailing howl as I see that the skin on its cheekbone splits and tears, ripping the flesh from its cheek. I look in horror as it tears as easily as tissue paper with the strength of Noah’s punch. Noah’s face is twisted in a mask of rage and violence as he pulls back his fist again and punches his attacker in the face a second time, ripping open the cheek and exposing the entirety of the creature’s rotting teeth and jaw. Flaps of skin and muscle falls from the monster’s mouth while blood pours out of his face. With another punch, Noah shatters the creature’s jaw as it falls away, breaking its grasp on Noah.
I watch the monster tumble free as another takes its place in an instant, clawing its way up. There’s too many of them. We’re surrounded and the whole front window is compromised. I can think of a thousand different possible scenarios that this could go for and I don’t like any of them. Behind three flesh-eating monsters on the hood, the brute has changed tactics and is bracing his feet against the brush guard.
Wriggling my knees up, I try to get some more support to get the glass from coming down and crumbling all over me. The cab of the truck is filled with screaming and it’s too much. I feel like my head is going to explode if I have to keep listening to the shrieking, as I try to jam my knees up to keep the glass from bending over the steering wheel. I can’t get my knees up, so I slam my foot down on the gas pedal. The truck groans against the mob of fleshy wall of monsters. I try to get the truck to move faster—anywhere, but all I can feel is the bleeding in my hands, and the screaming is all I hear. And then it is as if a veil falls away and in that instant everything becomes clear.
Burning in my throat tells me that it’s me who is screaming and I feel this overwhelming sense of surreal bewilderment at the fact that I’m the distraught screamer. I close my mouth, gritting my teeth and pushing on the glass as hard as I can, trying with everything I have to keep it from buckling and bringing in the tide of monsters. Noah is trying to punch the next monster coming in at him, but this one has more fight in it. It catches Noah’s fist and tries to pull it toward its snapping jaws. The creature pressing down on me is crawling closer and closer toward me. Yellow eyes are staring at me with a lustful hunger that makes me want to scream again, but there’s nothing I can do. I just try to keep the fractured glass between us as a barrier as the truck pulls hard to the right before surging upwards and coming back down with a loud bang.
That’s when the explosion drowns out everything. The flash of light is bright enough that I can no longer see the snowing ash, the pale, yellow eyes, and the gray skies. Everything vanishes in the engulfing white as the disorienting light makes me see spots everywhere. I blink, trying to get my vision back as I smell something burning, putrid like sulfur. Suddenly, I realize that it’s gunpowder that I’m smelling as I realize that my ears are ringing. Blinking again, I see a hand resting on the glass, severed from whoever it belongs to. It sits on the glass, leaking crimson blood that trickles onto the glass, tainting the countless fractures.
My ears are burning, ringing endlessly as the sound of the moaning, howling, shrieking and the screaming is completely gone, blown away in an atomic blast that has ruined my hearing. I’m terrified that whatever happened, it’s permanent. Turning and looking at Noah, I see that there’s a barrel between the two of us. I look at the smoke escaping from the barrel, lazy curls of gray smoke, blending with the rest of the world as I watch Greg’s hand slide back the pump, expelling a red shell into my headrest. Everything seems to be in slow motion, even the pain that is clawing through my hands. I can’t hear a thing. I can’t hear my screaming, I can’t hear my nephew screaming, and I can’t hear the second blast that flashes violently as fire erupts from the tip of the barrel. My eyes shift and I look right at the yellow-eyed fiend in front of me.
The long, black hair hanging in the woman’s face is blown back by the force of the pellets ripping through her face. I can see everything, the gore shooting back, the bone shattering and tearing free from the rest of the skull, and the blood. There’s blood everywhere, flying in all directions. I feel the warmth of it on my face as the woman’s head whips to the side, revealing the portion of her head that’s still intact as the pressure on the glass digging into my hands starts to subside. The creature slumps to the side and rolls off the truck before the other ravenous hands grab ahold of her and start pulling her deep, down into the sea of cannibalistic monsters. Still the truck surges forward.
The third flash blinds my right eye, but I can still see the world through my left as the creature coming up the hood through the center takes a shot straight down the middle before it starts convulsing violently, clawing at its obliterated face, shoulder, and chest. The creature begins to freak out, kicking and flailing as hands grab ahold of it and pull it into the sea of hands and teeth. What’s left behind is a bloody streak of ash and gore. The large brute remains crouched at the end of the hood, biding his time. My eyes watch as the feet of the dying monster vanish. I let go of the glass, grabbing the steering wheel with my tender, bloody hands, feeling the bolts of pain ripping through my hands and wrists as I punch the gas pedal, feeling the back of the truck twist and the wheels spin before the truck lurches forward.
The hulking brute clings to the hood, braced against the brush guard as I turn to see that Greg is reloading his shotgun. I watch him slipping the shotgun shells in with strange, terrifying slowness. It’s almost as if everything in the world has come to a halt, freezing so that I can take it all in. Greg’s mouth is open, shouting something in my direction, but I have no idea what it is he’s saying. All I can hear is the ringing, the incessant ringing. In the rearview mirror, Lexi is shouting while she grips her shrieking son, whose face is twisted and contorted into a horrid mask of rage and sadness. I feel a knot in my throat as I feel the truck losing traction on the road as the wheels start to spin, tearing apart whoever I’m on top of. I look at the hood, coated in the gore and blood of Greg’s victims as he finally loads in the last shell, feeding it to the hungry beast in his hands, eager to share.
Greg racks back the pump, as the truck begins to slide askew from where I am trying to steer. Turning back to the road I see the massive zombie and he sees me. He takes this moment to stretch forward, reaching across the hood, his face a war mask of violence and rage. His eyes are hidden by the shadow of the hood and as I look at him coming, clawing inch by inch, I pray that Greg aims true. Gaining purchase on the gore-slicked paint, the hulking brute starts to charge the windshield. Inside, I’m saying my farewell to this world. I’m saying goodbye to everything I’ve ever known.
Then the flash comes and my ears begin to ring yet louder. I can feel the flash rippling through me like I’m a pond and the pellets are piercing the surface. It rolls through me and I watch as the right side of the hulking brute’s chest sprouts blossoms of crimson and scarlet. His right arm explodes in the bicep, like someone stuck a tiny piece of dynamite under his skin, blasting the arm in half while muscle and blood shoots out in every direction. As the bone shatters and the flesh peels from the muscle, the arm drops lifelessly. Instinctively,
the brute raises his left arm, groping for his savaged right arm while he loses his balance under the fishtailing truck. His left shoulder comes down hard on the hood, his head slamming into where the windshield should be.
Greg fires again. I smell the gunpowder filling my nostrils as the light blinds me, giving me only a glimpse at the white world all around me. By the time I’m done blinking, there’s no sign of the brute. He’s completely vanished from the hood, all that remains of him is the bloody, gory mess that marks his last attempt to kill us. Looking at the hood, I see that we have a moment of reprieve. All we need to do is get out of here. As I stomp my foot back down to the gas pedal, the truck begins fishtailing again but I can see that the mob of zombies is clearing ahead. Steering as best as I am able, we clip a small sedan, the passenger side of the truck rearing up into the air a moment as the engine roars beneath us. As the truck touches down with a bone-jarring bang on the concrete I see another flash, feeling it in my bones and knowing that Greg’s shot went wide and it is the fault of my driving.
Bouncing still from the collision, the truck launches into a group of zombies ahead. I feel the whole truck bucking and rolling as they vanish beneath us. Slamming into one after another, I begin swerving to shake loose any that are clinging to the side of the truck. Nothing I try seems to reduce the number of zombies that cling to the truck. For every one dislodged, another takes its place, and the clearing I had seen seems as if it were a mirage. I look down the interstate, hoping that I can see the end of the sea filled with death and horror.
Between the endless tide of monsters and the swirling cloud of ash and dust, there’s no end in sight. There must be thousands of the things.
LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series Page 77
