Deadland's Harves(8)

We were still waiting for a second break.

“Are the streets cleared?” I asked finally.

Tack shook his head. “The north and west has been mostly cleared, I think. But as far as I know, no one’s started on the east or south yet.”

“Avoid the east and south. Got it. We’ll see you back at the park.” I grabbed the extra bag of ammo Tack held out to me and headed back to the Jeep with Wes. We waited with Clutch while the attack-force with two Humvees checked their weapons. There were as many homemade machetes and spears as there were rifles. Next to food, ammo was the most valuable resource. We’d collected a couple hundred thousand rounds in Doyle’s stash, but we knew that once it was gone, there would be nothing left. So, we were careful with every round.

Tyler turned to us. “You’ve got a green light. Be careful and keep a safe distance.”

Wes started the engine and pulled out. Tyler waved as we headed past.

Two minutes later, we slowly approached the intersection closest to the white two-story house. It sat in the middle of a street surrounded by other houses. At the sound of the engine, the zeds turned in our direction. Some started heading our way. The disease that had taken everyone I’d known in my past life seemed to be slowly eating away at their bodies. Scouting patrols over the past month all reported the same: the zeds were definitely getting slower, smellier, and uglier. Now, if we could finally get a bit of luck, they’d all die out this winter. The poor souls deserved peace. Hell, we deserved peace. Until then…

“I’m ready,” I said. “Lead the zeds either to the north or west. The south and east might not be safe.”

“Let the games begin.” Clutch turned on the CD player. Heavy bass blared as Avenged Sevenfold blasted through the speakers. The zeds around the house immediately turned and began to migrate in our direction en masse. A man came to the second-story window and held out his hand, waving wildly. A little girl with golden hair came to his side. She was clenching a stuffed doll against her chest, and she watched us with big eyes.

The zeds became more and more frenzied as they moved in our direction. It had been nearly seven months since the outbreak. The zeds that had managed to avoid the elements and keep well fed were still in relatively good shape. Luckily, most of these had managed neither.

They stumbled, crawled, and shambled toward us.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “It’s working.”

Wes revved the engine.

“Not yet,” Clutch said.

Wes gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

I got up on a knee, supporting myself against the roll bar in case Wes hit the gas, and I readied my spear. The first zed was less than ten feet away.

“Now,” Clutch said.

The Jeep lurched forward, then Wes slowed down somewhat.

Over the next block, I watched as the zeds behind us grew smaller. I yelled to Wes over the music, “Slow down! We’re going to lose them. Three miles, remember?”

I kept my spear ready for any coming at us from the side, but it seemed like every zed in town had been at the house.

The Jeep came to an abrupt stop, and I was thrown against the back of Clutch’s seat.

“The road is blocked!” Wes shouted.

I jerked up to see what looked like a nasty car accident blocking the entire street and debris littering the front yards. The wreckage was dusty, and the bodies inside the broken windows were little more than bones. The roads weren’t anywhere near cleared enough. Shit.

“Then turn around and take the last intersection,” Clutch said.

Wes did a hard U-turn, which put the zeds at our twelve o’clock. He stepped on the gas and sped toward the herd.

“Don’t turn left,” I said, noticing the dead end sign at the upcoming intersection.

Wes cranked the wheel hard left. Wheels squealed.

“I said don’t turn left!” I yelled.

“You said turn left!” Wes yelled back.

I hollered out a string of profanity.

Clutch killed the music, and winced, grabbing his ribs. “Get us out of here, Wes. In one piece would be nice.”

Wes whipped the Jeep around again. The zeds had come around the corner, blocking our escape route.

“Try that yard,” I said, pointing to a yard without a fence that looked wide enough for a Jeep.

Wes jumped the curb, and Clutch yelped in pain.

“Careful!” I yelled.

Wes kept driving, maneuvering between a garage and a neighboring house. He knocked off a side mirror on a wood play set in the backyard. He narrowly missed the trampoline in the next yard, drove through two more yards, a chain link fence, and plastic deer. I clung onto the roll bars, unable to do anything except to keep myself from getting thrown out of the Jeep.