The zombie's enthusiasm is not matched by his speed. I guess, in its defense, it really is just a torso at this point. It's arms no more than chewed up stumps ending before the elbows, and nothing left of its legs at all, except the torn remnants of his blue jeans, trailing behind with ropes of intestine.
The more of it to emerge from underneath the truck, the harder it gets to look at it. Finally, I lose patience with its snail-like pace and chop it in the back of the head with my axe, putting it out of its misery. I probably should have waited though, because now it's up to me to drag the rest of its corpse all the way out.
I stare down at the creature, its head and shoulders are really the only part visible, and there isn't anywhere I can even grab that isn't crusted in gore. I go back inside the truck and start searching for a pair of gloves. It is winter, even if this is Kentucky and much warmer than I'm used to, besides, what self-respecting person doesn't carry a pair of gloves in the apocalypse? I have two pair in my bag, one is mine, and the other pair belongs to Silas, but I don't want to gum them up if I don't have to. I find what I'm looking for in the passenger side door, and nearly let out a shout of elation- but of course that would be extremely dumb.
Back outside I scan the parking lot for any sign of danger, but so far, my luck is holding. Then I throw on the gloves and grab the zombie underneath its armpits and begin dragging. He's surprisingly heavy for not being an entire whole of a person. I drag him a few inches before his stumps flip up and I lose my grip and land hard on my butt with the zombie practically in my lap. I resist the urge to scream in frustration and just general grossness and pull myself to my feet. This time I grab him by his shirt and pull, but one good tug and the shirt completely rips in half. It's already in bad shape where the zombies chewed through it to get to the guys insides. I manage to stay on my feet this time, but my anger is building. I take off the gooey gloves and leave them on the ground next to the body before I start digging through Silas' bag.
I cut a length of rope off the coil he always keeps in there, and then put the gloves back on and tie one end tightly around the zombie's neck. When that's accomplished, I loop the rope around my gloved hand several times and start to pull. The crunching and popping of the zombie's vertebrae makes my skin crawl, but I keep going and slowly he starts to emerge from beneath the truck-kind of like a butterfly coming out from its cocoon, but opposite and disgusting. I stop when I can see the pocket of his jeans.
It's a cool day but I'm sweating like crazy. I stare at him for a minute, nervous to even check, in case they aren't there. I can see from the bumped-up fabric that there is something in there and after a moment of staring at it assessing, I reach with the gloves and try to find out what it is. The gloves won't fit though, and now I have a dilemma. This zombie is head to toe covered in blood, some of it red, but most of it zombified black sludge, there is no way in hell I'm putting my bare hand into a zombie's mystery pocket.
I pull my knife from my hip as the idea hits me and slice his pocket open, careful not to stab the skin too much and create an even bigger mess. A black key fob falls out onto the ground, along with a bunch of loose change and I can't help but grin as I snatch it up. I toss the gloves down beside the body and grab my pack as I head back towards the truck.
This time when I open the door, it lets out a faint dinging sound that wasn't there before, and when I toss my bag into the passenger seat and press start. The truck fires right up. I let out a laugh, but it almost instantly turns into tears of relief that I quickly wipe away as I put the truck into drive and peel out of the parking lot.
I take a deep breath and push my stupid girly emotions to the side. First thing first, getting this truck and supplies was a huge win, but now I need to be smart and think like Silas. I'm basically driving along the main artery road leading into Louisville, it's probably the worst thing I could be doing. I could be spotted, taken hostage and robbed of all my newly gained goods. I turn off on the first road that comes up. If the clock on the dash can be believed, its already a bit past noon. My first instinct is to drive right through the gates of Louisville and bust Silas free, but that isn't something I could in reality pull off. I need to have some patience, pull over for the night, find somewhere to store all this stuff, and make a real plan.
