both hands. If Hollywood was still in business I had
the perfect Wonder Woman for them. The tire iron connected with a sickening
crunch and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings, bloody head bouncing on
the concrete a few inches from mine, dead red eyes staring at me. Rachel spun,
dispatched the infected chomping on my shoe in the same fashion and grabbed my
shirt, screaming at me to get in the truck.
Scrambling to my
feet I followed her bare ass into the truck, slamming the door behind me.
Before I could even hit the lock button, fists started pounding on the window
trying to get to the prey that was escaping. I dropped the tranny into
reverse, hit the gas and roared backwards a few yards, then into drive and
swung around the VW, crushed a few infected in the process and turned back east
onto the road with a skittering of tires.
I headed to the
toll road ramps, bounced over the median, and turned onto the southbound off
ramp heading north against the direction of travel for those lanes. I hadn’t
seen another vehicle moving since the evening before and driving against
traffic seemed a better idea than driving closer to Atlanta. My breathing
finally slowed down as we settled into a steady 40 mph on the toll road.
Rachel took a couple of deep breaths also. I could feel her body shaking as
the adrenaline drained off. After a mile or so she picked through the bags on
the floor, pulling out a bottle of water for each of us.
“I don’t suppose it would be too
much to ask for you to get me a shirt the next time we stop, would it?” She
asked with a perfectly straight face, handing me a bottle of water.
10
The water
revived us as we drove, and we devoured several of the protein bars I had
liberated from the gas station market. Even with all of the sugar and protein
I was exhausted and started to get concerned about finding a place to spend the
night.
We had driven
north on GA400 for a few miles before heading west on surface streets. We
didn’t really have a plan other than getting away from the inferno that was
Atlanta. We soon found ourselves in a residential neighborhood with neatly
maintained lawns and tree shaded streets. Some of the houses we passed had
obviously been abandoned in a hurry, garages standing open and empty, others
looked buttoned up with blinds drawn tightly. Some of these were occupied,
blinds twitching open as the sound of the truck’s big diesel rattled down the
quiet streets as we passed.
I slowed as we
approached a four way intersection where two police cruisers completely blocked
the road, roof lights flashing. No one was visible and one of the cruiser’s
doors was standing open. Easing to a stop 50 yards short of the intersection I
scanned the area looking for any threat. Despite not seeing any danger the
short hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. I rolled my window
down as I scanned the neighborhood, but all I could hear was the idling of the
diesel. Not wanting to turn off the engine I eased the transmission into
reverse and backed into an empty driveway as the street was too narrow to make
a U-turn with the big truck.
The sound of
roaring engines reached me as I was shifting back into drive and two sedans,
both Toyotas I think, screeched out of adjacent driveways and slid to a stop in
front of me. I was blocked in, a closed garage door only feet from my rear
bumper but I didn’t hesitate to floor the throttle.
The diesel
engine roared and the rear tires screamed in protest as the truck lurched
forward and crunched into the sedan on my left. Time seemed to slow down and I
saw the white oval of a face behind the wheel of the car as the big Ford bulled
it aside. From the corner of my eye I registered movement to my right and then
bullets were smacking into the cab of the truck.
“Down,” I
screamed to Rachel as the path in front of us opened with a rending of sheet
metal.
Rachel dove
the perfect Wonder Woman for them. The tire iron connected with a sickening
crunch and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings, bloody head bouncing on
the concrete a few inches from mine, dead red eyes staring at me. Rachel spun,
dispatched the infected chomping on my shoe in the same fashion and grabbed my
shirt, screaming at me to get in the truck.
Scrambling to my
feet I followed her bare ass into the truck, slamming the door behind me.
Before I could even hit the lock button, fists started pounding on the window
trying to get to the prey that was escaping. I dropped the tranny into
reverse, hit the gas and roared backwards a few yards, then into drive and
swung around the VW, crushed a few infected in the process and turned back east
onto the road with a skittering of tires.
I headed to the
toll road ramps, bounced over the median, and turned onto the southbound off
ramp heading north against the direction of travel for those lanes. I hadn’t
seen another vehicle moving since the evening before and driving against
traffic seemed a better idea than driving closer to Atlanta. My breathing
finally slowed down as we settled into a steady 40 mph on the toll road.
Rachel took a couple of deep breaths also. I could feel her body shaking as
the adrenaline drained off. After a mile or so she picked through the bags on
the floor, pulling out a bottle of water for each of us.
“I don’t suppose it would be too
much to ask for you to get me a shirt the next time we stop, would it?” She
asked with a perfectly straight face, handing me a bottle of water.
10
The water
revived us as we drove, and we devoured several of the protein bars I had
liberated from the gas station market. Even with all of the sugar and protein
I was exhausted and started to get concerned about finding a place to spend the
night.
We had driven
north on GA400 for a few miles before heading west on surface streets. We
didn’t really have a plan other than getting away from the inferno that was
Atlanta. We soon found ourselves in a residential neighborhood with neatly
maintained lawns and tree shaded streets. Some of the houses we passed had
obviously been abandoned in a hurry, garages standing open and empty, others
looked buttoned up with blinds drawn tightly. Some of these were occupied,
blinds twitching open as the sound of the truck’s big diesel rattled down the
quiet streets as we passed.
I slowed as we
approached a four way intersection where two police cruisers completely blocked
the road, roof lights flashing. No one was visible and one of the cruiser’s
doors was standing open. Easing to a stop 50 yards short of the intersection I
scanned the area looking for any threat. Despite not seeing any danger the
short hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. I rolled my window
down as I scanned the neighborhood, but all I could hear was the idling of the
diesel. Not wanting to turn off the engine I eased the transmission into
reverse and backed into an empty driveway as the street was too narrow to make
a U-turn with the big truck.
The sound of
roaring engines reached me as I was shifting back into drive and two sedans,
both Toyotas I think, screeched out of adjacent driveways and slid to a stop in
front of me. I was blocked in, a closed garage door only feet from my rear
bumper but I didn’t hesitate to floor the throttle.
The diesel
engine roared and the rear tires screamed in protest as the truck lurched
forward and crunched into the sedan on my left. Time seemed to slow down and I
saw the white oval of a face behind the wheel of the car as the big Ford bulled
it aside. From the corner of my eye I registered movement to my right and then
bullets were smacking into the cab of the truck.
“Down,” I
screamed to Rachel as the path in front of us opened with a rending of sheet
metal.
Rachel dove
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