The zombie game

Chapter 11

The man continued to drive the car at a high rate of speed. “My name is Lewis,” he said.

“Tom,” Tom said, hold out his hand. Lewis removed his hand from the wheel and shook Tom's hand.

“What brings you here?” Lewis asked.

“It's a long story,” said Tom. He almost had to shout over the roar of the engine.

“I'm all ears.”

“I'd prefer not to discuss it right now,” said Tom.

“Oh alright,” said Lewis. “There are bound to be even more zombies around here somewhere. They must've heard the gun fight.”

“They probably did.” Tom looked around and saw his world in hell; dilapidated buildings stretched on either side of the street, cars lined up on the sides of the streets like soldiers, people were lying on the sidewalks, piled on top of each other, dripping with fresh blood. Tom saw destroyed military vehicles jutting from the ground like gravestones, and small, fallen and destroyed planes lying splayed on the ground, wreckage scattered all over the place. They stayed in silence for quite awhile, when Lewis slammed his foot on the breaks. The car skidded to a stop.

“What?” asked Tom.

“Look,” said Lewis, pointing. A large group of zombies, hundreds and hundreds of them, were congregating in the distance, blocking the road, waiting for their next fresh kill. Lewis pushed the stick forward, put the car in reverse, and slammed his foot on the gas pedal, causing the car to backward at a high rate of speed. The Mustang continued going backward at nearly one hundred miles an hour when he turned around, looking where he was going, and seeing thousands of more zombies blocking out the skyline like a formation of soldiers. Lewis knew what he had to do, so did Tom, and Tom didn't like it. Lewis turned the wheel a little bit, swerving the car from the side to side. Then, the car slammed into the army of zombies. Gore splashed the back windshield.

Thumping sounds could be heard as the car ran over the zombies; bones were snapping, and flesh being embedded with the tire tracks. Blood and gore smeared the tires already. They continued smashing through the ranks of zombies, some of the walking dead smashing into the windows and being flung over the tops of the cars, as well as zombies flying backward on black jets of blood. Blood was completely soaking the back window like wet paint, so much blood that nobody could see anything from behind them. Lewis flipped on the back windshield wipers, smearing the blood everywhere, clearing off the windshield. Lewis turned the wheel rapidly, spinning the car around, fishtailing into zombies, blood and clumps of hair flying. The window cracked as a zombie slammed into it, smearing the window in gore. Tom was afraid. He ducked down to the floor. The car then skidded to a stop, and when the zombies were converging, angry, moaning, snarling, Lewis smashed his foot on the gas pedal, the back wheel doing a burnout on a zombie body that was under the wheel. The car accelerated forward this time at a high rate of speed, smashing into more and more zombies, blood and gore splashing onto the front windshield. Lewis put the windshield wipers on and watched as more and more zombies were hit brutally, sending blood, brain matter, spinal fluid, and even some bone splashing into the windshield.

Lewis could finally see a clearing in the mass of zombies. The car slammed into even more of the walking dead, causing there bodies to explode in blood like sacks of meat, the blown and bloody bodies being tossed over the car by the force of the speed. A thin light illuminated through the tunnel of zombies. Blood smeared the entirety of the car. Lewis plowed through more and more zombies, tossing the limp bodies behind him, watching as they tumbled over the blood smeared hood of the car, getting tossed back like old trash. He smashed through the last few zombies and was finally out in the open, out of the blood clogged streets and reaching undead arms, as well as the heads and teeth and brains of zombies. The car sped into the distance. The remaining zombies turned their heads to follow the moving car, but the car was moving so fast, the zombies lost sight of it. Lewis was panting, as was Tom. Tom sat back up in the car seat.

“What the hell?” asked Tom. He was still scared.

“That was quite something,” said Lewis, “it is unlike anything that has happened to me yet. Just terrible.”

“What are we gonna do now?”

“I think we should find a safe house,” said Lewis. “I heard there is some kind of safe zone—or a help center or something. We need to get help.” The windshield wipers were swiping across the glass rapidly, wiping the blood off. Tom was just sitting there, in the passenger seat, looking out the window at his surroundings. The world had gone to hell; Tom knew this. Everyone did. He just sat there, wondering what his life would have been like if this wouldn't have happened, when Lewis nudged him in the shoulder shattering his thoughts.

“What is it?” he asked, turning his head.

“I think I have a radio signal,” said Lewis. He was flipping through radio channels and sure enough there was a bit of static, followed by small voices. A woman was reporting about something; her voice was loud and clear, maybe even broadcasting from somewhere close by, but that seemed impossible after what they had just done.

“Yes!” shouted Tom.

“Shh.” The woman was talking about places on the other side of the world where the government was going crazy, like here, and the creatures dubbed zombies were attacking people and ripping their flesh off. She said that innocent people who hadn't been infected, and who hadn't been killed by the zombies, were being shot down, dead in the streets, by the rogue military's that were slowly going crazy. Tom listened intently. But then sounds could be heard from the broadcast area on the air. A door breaking down. A couple of screams. And gunfire. Silence.

“Damn,” said Tom, “we lost them. Was that the only signal you found?”

“Unfortunately yes,” said Lewis. “Damn it all to hell!”

“Why were you looking for a signal?”

“To get news about the outbreak—where it has spread, and if the government has even attempted to stop this outbreak.”

“It seems to me that nothing will stop it and the world will end,” Tom replied. They were driving down the street, momentarily fallen into silence. The car sped through the street, disturbing some of the living dead, causing them to turn toward the noise and lumbered and traipse forward, the moans drifting on a current of wind. Tom placed his head against the glass and he fell to sleep.