Read Online Can You Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? by Max Brallier - Free Book Online

blood down the side of the truck.
    You pull your head back.
    Holy. Fuck.
    Blood from the kid’s body pools around the rear left tire and seeps into your sneakers.
    To stay alive, you need to think. One mistake, you’re history. And not the good history—not the kind that ends up in a middle school textbook—the bad kind, the forgotten kind.
    You peek around the other side of the truck. You don’t almost get shot—good start. Squatting down, you make your way along the side of the truck, to the next car. A convertible. The driver and his three passengers—pretty, young girls—areall riddled with bullets. The arm of the girl in the front seat hangs over the side, blood dripping down to her hand, collecting around a massive diamond ring, and trickling off her fingers. You gently push her dead arm aside and keep moving.
    Still low to the ground, you work your way down the bridge, hugging the sides of the cars.
    Suddenly a mass of people, twenty or thirty, you can’t tell, comes tearing around the side of an SUV up ahead—stampeding right toward you. The Army catches two of them in the back, dropping them. The rest keep coming. You try to get out of the way—no luck. The first guy knocks you aside. The second, a woman, rolls you onto your back. They trample you. You use one hand to cover your face and another to protect the family jewels.
    After a few brutal moments the game of doormat ends and you’re left bloody and bruised. Since they were running back to the city, the Army seems to have let most of them live. Up ahead, you see the soldiers, guns up, ready to unload on anything coming their way. You slide under the SUV, wipe the blood from your eyes, catch your breath, then slip discreetly out the other side.
    You’re about two-thirds of the way across the bridge. Only one football field to go. You have no idea what you’ll do when,
if
, you make it to the other side—but the United States Army still seems like a better bet than the army of the undead behind you.
    You continue your crawl. When the firing begins again, you slide back under the nearest car. When it lets up, you move. It’s slow going, but you see no other way around it.
    As you near the head of the bridge, the cars are no longer in any sort of order. Some point this way, some that.
    Fenders latched together, smoke pouring from hoods. Twisted metal.
    Then, just beyond the mess of vehicles is the Army.
    KRAK!!!
    A sound like nothing you’ve ever heard. Loud times infinity. An earthshaking blast. Cannon fire. Coming from a tank—one of four that guard the exit to the bridge.
    Another one fires. A huge explosion behind you rocks the bridge.
    While the smoke clears, you try to think. You’ve got one chance. One chance at survival. You’ve got to get to one of these soldiers—hopefully not some trigger-happy fool—and plead your case.
    You reach one of the tanks and crawl underneath. Make your way along the massive tread that covers the wheels.
    Up ahead, you can see feet. Boots. You crawl forward and reach out. There’s a scream, then the loud report of an automatic rifle, and the cement in front of you rips apart.
    You yank your hand back underneath the tank. “No! No!” you shout. “No! I’m not—”
    Bullets pelt the cement again. You skitter back underneath the tank and scramble out from the rear end.
    Here goes nothing. Slowly, arms up to the sky, you rise.
    Across from you is the biggest goddamn machine gun you’ve ever seen. Well, the only goddamn machine gun you’ve ever seen in person, but it’s big as fuck. You see the soldier’s eyes—wide, scared. Just about as scared as you.
    â€œI’m not one of those things,” you say.
    Artillery erupts around you. The world shakes again. You shout to be heard. You can’t hear a damn thing, but you can tell he’s waving you back across the bridge. Back the way you