Life After Death (#1)

Chapter Six

It had been a week since the events at the house and Max had been driving endlessly and randomly ever since, stopping each night to sleep in the car. He had been able to siphon gas from abandoned vehicles along the way, leaving the nasty taste of petrol plaguing his taste buds. He had no idea where he was or where he was going; he just wanted to be as far away from home as possible. He still couldn't quite believe that things were this bad across the whole country, but from what he had seen so far, the future was bleak.

Max was finished driving for the day; the sun was setting and his eyes were drifting shut. How ironic it would be to be killed in a car crash in the middle of an apocalypse. He found an empty, secluded street and parked up. He jumped down from the car and fetched the vast black sheet he had found a few days ago from the back.

He had taken to draping this sheet over the car when he slept to keep himself hidden from the undead. He had no idea if it worked, but somehow it comforted him anyway. Clambering back into the driver's seat, locking the doors, and reclining the seat, Max quickly slipped into a deep slumber.

He awoke later that night to the sound of tapping. Light, repetitive tapping. Max felt for the door handle to investigate the noise, but halted immediately. He was far too cautious for mistakes like that these days. He instead opted to flick on the windscreen wipers, which caught of the sheet, ripping it off the car. It was clearly still deep into the night, as the pitch blackness prevented Max from seeing the source of the tapping.

The noise was soft, it didn't fill him with immediate fear or any sense of danger. Yawning and stretching, Max twisted the ignition key and turned on his headlights. His vision was tired and blurred, and he rubbed his eyes to wake himself up.

Max peered out of the windscreen and flew back in his seat, scrambling for some kind of purchase. Surrounding the car from all sides was a group of twenty undead; the sudden petrifying realisation sank in that the soft tapping sound was in fact the noise of a series of chilling, muffled clicks.

"Oh shit," Max whimpered. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He bolted upright and fumbled for the keys as his hands shook uncontrollably. The undead, now alerted to Max's presence, began to swarm around the car. Everywhere he looked was a sea of rotting flesh and biting yellow teeth. Dozens of wrinkled dead hands clawed and smashed at the windows, desperately trying to break their way into the vehicle, all the time never taking their eyes off Max. Their eyes were locked onto him, already tasting his living flesh. Max turned the key, immediately realising that the engine was already running.

The undead bodies were now completely covering the car; all he could see out of the windscreen was skin and blood. He wrestled the gear stick into first and hit the accelerator as hard as he could, desperate to escape the hellish situation he was in. The whole car jolted forwards and Max smacked his head on the steering wheel as the car stalled. Sweat was gushing down his face as he scrambled to restart the engine.

He eased onto the accelerator more carefully and drove off, still carrying the disgusting creatures on the front of the car. He heard an ear splitting crack as he ran over a fallen undead, and the car swerved violently to the left as the broken bones and carcass of the body jammed in the wheel arch.

Max braced himself as the car veered off the road and crashed with a sickening metallic crunch into a thick lamppost by the side of the street. The evil scene before his eyes was temporarily shielded from him as his vision blurred from another hefty whack to the head. Max rubbed his eyes and clutched his pain stricken neck, as smoke poured out from underneath the bonnet.

He desperately searched for a way out, but the undead were already upon him and the windscreen was now a shattered mess. The passenger door was blocked by a brick wall next to the lamppost, with the front and driver's side now overrun with bodies. Hands and arms flew into the smashed windscreen, clutching the air and straining to rip their nails into him.