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Authors: Steve Wands
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his weapon several times, only half his shots hitting
anything of worth. Frankie, Eddie and Joseph climbed out of the
truck as Damian kicked one of the creatures back and down. He put
his foot on the creature’s throat and fired three shots into the
dead things head. Boone shot one that was creeping up behind them
and Frankie fired his shotgun and took down three more that were
approaching the truck.
Frankie ran around the front of the vehicle
to see why he lost control of his truck and when he did he almost
lost control of his stomach. He fought to hold back the vomit that
was climbing his esophagus as he aimed his gun at a creature that
was wrapped up and mangled in his truck’s wheel-well. A mangled arm
reached for Frankie and he shot it, though he couldn’t imagine how
the thing would ever get itself unwound and mobile. The axle was
wrecked and Frankie punched his truck, twisting his wrist in the
process. The three of them gathered what they could in the frenzy
and ran toward the van as Ben popped out of the window again to
give them some covering fire.
With the van full, Jon-Jon pressed down hard
on the pedal and sped up to the rest of the convoy. Ben kept
himself half out of the van and tried to shoot a few more of the
lurking creatures but each shot failed to reach its intended
target. His shots were as wild as his eyes. He hung out of the
window like a dog, even his tongue hung out slightly.
The convoy drove for nearly an hour, passing
what had become the usual wreckage of abandoned cars and ransacked
strip malls. Occasionally a lone lurking flesh eater would stagger
into view and quickly vanish in a trail of dust and exhaust fumes.
Eventually the road forked and they would have to decide on taking
route 287 (a surefire suicide solution) or taking route 519 into
Union County and hope for the best. Shorty and Chung-Hee had been
in the lead and pulled to the side of the road leaning toward 519,
they waited there till the rest of the convoy was gathered. After
very little discussion route 519 was chosen and Jon-Jon led the
procession into Union County.
CHAPTER 5: Good intentions
It was getting darker out now, and the heavy
foliage made it even darker. Jon-Jon eased the van down the road
and took the exit for Mill Creek and continued to head west on Dry
River Road. They drove past a ‘Welcome to Mill Creek’ sign that was
in desperate need of repair or replacement.
Under light of the moon, buildings became
visible. First up was some sort of print shop that looked more like
a warehouse. The parking lot was empty and there was a wire fence
separating it from the woods behind it. They drove past it and soon
found themselves in the middle of what looked like the main street.
But it wasn’t called Main Street, it was called Broadway and it was
littered with newspapers, and glass from the broken windows of the
storefronts.
Beyond the ruined storefront windows were the
ransacked innards of what could’ve been fancy shops and quaint
corner delis at one point. Calmly parked cars still remained on the
street and some shops which, according to the window signs, were
open for business.
There hadn’t been any lurkers, or survivors,
or even a stray dog, only the emptiness. It was a ghost town
plucked from the pages of a western yarn with a modern aesthetic.
The convoy passed several cross streets and didn’t bother to turn
down any of them. Instead, they continued to the end of Broadway,
which was marked by the post office. The road then formed a circle
around a statue of a firefighter carrying a hose over his shoulder.
It looked like copper or tarnished brass, was very large and had
benches surrounding its foundation. They too were covered in
newspapers and other garbage. The circle opened in the back to
reveal a park and the rest of Broadway which looked like a quiet
little chunk of suburbia that you’d see portrayed in a television
sitcom.
They continued traveling down the road, past
the park. Just
anything of worth. Frankie, Eddie and Joseph climbed out of the
truck as Damian kicked one of the creatures back and down. He put
his foot on the creature’s throat and fired three shots into the
dead things head. Boone shot one that was creeping up behind them
and Frankie fired his shotgun and took down three more that were
approaching the truck.
Frankie ran around the front of the vehicle
to see why he lost control of his truck and when he did he almost
lost control of his stomach. He fought to hold back the vomit that
was climbing his esophagus as he aimed his gun at a creature that
was wrapped up and mangled in his truck’s wheel-well. A mangled arm
reached for Frankie and he shot it, though he couldn’t imagine how
the thing would ever get itself unwound and mobile. The axle was
wrecked and Frankie punched his truck, twisting his wrist in the
process. The three of them gathered what they could in the frenzy
and ran toward the van as Ben popped out of the window again to
give them some covering fire.
With the van full, Jon-Jon pressed down hard
on the pedal and sped up to the rest of the convoy. Ben kept
himself half out of the van and tried to shoot a few more of the
lurking creatures but each shot failed to reach its intended
target. His shots were as wild as his eyes. He hung out of the
window like a dog, even his tongue hung out slightly.
The convoy drove for nearly an hour, passing
what had become the usual wreckage of abandoned cars and ransacked
strip malls. Occasionally a lone lurking flesh eater would stagger
into view and quickly vanish in a trail of dust and exhaust fumes.
Eventually the road forked and they would have to decide on taking
route 287 (a surefire suicide solution) or taking route 519 into
Union County and hope for the best. Shorty and Chung-Hee had been
in the lead and pulled to the side of the road leaning toward 519,
they waited there till the rest of the convoy was gathered. After
very little discussion route 519 was chosen and Jon-Jon led the
procession into Union County.
CHAPTER 5: Good intentions
It was getting darker out now, and the heavy
foliage made it even darker. Jon-Jon eased the van down the road
and took the exit for Mill Creek and continued to head west on Dry
River Road. They drove past a ‘Welcome to Mill Creek’ sign that was
in desperate need of repair or replacement.
Under light of the moon, buildings became
visible. First up was some sort of print shop that looked more like
a warehouse. The parking lot was empty and there was a wire fence
separating it from the woods behind it. They drove past it and soon
found themselves in the middle of what looked like the main street.
But it wasn’t called Main Street, it was called Broadway and it was
littered with newspapers, and glass from the broken windows of the
storefronts.
Beyond the ruined storefront windows were the
ransacked innards of what could’ve been fancy shops and quaint
corner delis at one point. Calmly parked cars still remained on the
street and some shops which, according to the window signs, were
open for business.
There hadn’t been any lurkers, or survivors,
or even a stray dog, only the emptiness. It was a ghost town
plucked from the pages of a western yarn with a modern aesthetic.
The convoy passed several cross streets and didn’t bother to turn
down any of them. Instead, they continued to the end of Broadway,
which was marked by the post office. The road then formed a circle
around a statue of a firefighter carrying a hose over his shoulder.
It looked like copper or tarnished brass, was very large and had
benches surrounding its foundation. They too were covered in
newspapers and other garbage. The circle opened in the back to
reveal a park and the rest of Broadway which looked like a quiet
little chunk of suburbia that you’d see portrayed in a television
sitcom.
They continued traveling down the road, past
the park. Just
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