ZOMB-POCALYPSE BOOK 2

Chapter Six

The zombies let out a collective hungry moan and begin moving towards us like a slow wave. "Make some noise!" Silas yells from the front seat as he honks the horn again. Each blast of the horn makes my body shake with fear. To say you'll come out here and be the bait and to actually be out here with nothing between you and the dead are two very different things.

I look up at the house and see movement in one of the small side windows—Ryan—it gives me a bit of purpose, and I brace myself for the craziest thing I've ever done.

"Hey!" I yell, waving my arms in the air. It works. The zombies lock their gaze on me and put a little extra hustle in their step. I wait, watching as they get closer and closer, and still Silas doesn't move the truck.

"Silas!" I yell back through the window. "What's going on?" Terrible what-ifs flash through my head, like what-if the truck suddenly breaks down?

"Hold tight, Blondie, we have to let them get a little closer or the ones at the back won't move," Silas calls back.

I stare out at the herd, watching as they get closer, twenty feet, and then fifteen...

A snarl pulls my attention away from the main group, and I realize with a sickening jolt that a lone zombie has managed to walk right up to the side of the truck without my notice. He bumps his chest angrily against the metal and growls. I sidestep to make sure he can't reach me with his frantic clawing, and raise the Glock.

I aim carefully at his head and punch a new hole in it for him. At this distance, I would have been pretty ashamed of myself if I'd missed. He goes down hard, and I do a quick three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn to make sure I'm not going to get anymore smelly surprises. There are a couple zombies up ahead on the road, but they are still pretty far away, and I really hope Silas will take care of them for me.

I turn back, raise the Glock, and start firing wildly into the crowd. The zombies are only a couple feet away from the tailgate now. I let myself give in to my terror and let out a ragged war cry that turns into a girly shriek.

"Silas!" I scream, ready to turn my Glock towards the driver's seat if he doesn't get going. The truck finally starts moving, but he drives so slow that we are only keeping a couple feet ahead of the pack. I go and stand at the front of the box so I can lean against the cab for support. I take the time to aim more carefully and take down a couple more zombies. I don't want to use up all my bullets, just in case I need them.

Like the damn thing could read my mind and wanted to prove me wrong, a zombie comes snarling and snapping from the left. I act on instinct, raising my pistol to his ragged, ugly face and keep squeezing the trigger.

"Come and get me!" I scream, letting my rage at the situation come unleashed for a minute. Like why is it so hard for me to reach the cabin and find out if my best friend is still alive?

I dry fire and have to stop my carrying on so I can reload. The zombie I shot is a pile of gory pulp on the sidewalk. I look up and my breath freezes in my lungs. Silas and I are zombie pied pipers; the street behind us is lined with the dead. They moan and groan, following our slow moving parade like it's their only mission in life. Silas turns a corner and stops abruptly, making me pitch wildly in the box before falling flat on my face.

"Hold on!" he yells through the open window, a little too late since I'm already on my face! I feel him slam the truck into reverse and open my mouth to scream at him not to go backwards. That's where the biters are, but it's too late.

I feel the wet slap of bodies bouncing off the tail gate. "Silas!" I scream at him, but he doesn't answer. I dare a peek over the top of the box and then squeeze my eyes shut again. I don't want to see this.