As the menacing roar of engines moved closer, the last words Sam said echoed in Jack’s head: “We’ve got company!”  Sam was their fearless leader.  The man had faced hordes of the undead, he had been around when marauders attacked the settlement, and before that he had been a police officer. He had seen the worst humanity and the undead had to offer, yet his voice wavered and his hands quivered.  Jack had no idea what Sam had seen back in the dormitory, but it shook him up, pretty bad.

            Sam regained his composure, and leaned out of the jeep window to talk to everyone over the looming doom.  “Okay, let’s just sit tight.  They don’t know we’re back…”  Before Sam could finish his sentence, a thunderous explosion rocked the ground.  “Fuck,” Sam said, “time for plan B… FLOOR IT!!”

            Both drivers did as they were instructed, with Sam’s jeep in the lead.

            Sam leaned over to Tom and said, “Keep the lights off.  I don’t want to make us an easy target.”  He then turned to the back and said, “Zach, Jack, don’t fire till their right on our ass, you got that, and make every shot count.  We don’t know how many bogies we’re up against.”

            Jack and Zach both nodded.

            Less than a minute after the jeeps cleared the alley, Jack heard gunfire, and bullets whizzed by the jeep.  As Zach hunched low in the rear passenger side seat, Jack turned around to see where the shots were coming from, and saw three black jeeps closing in on them.  Though they were outnumbered and probably outgunned, Jack was glad that they were being chased by crazies in the same kind of vehicle he was riding in.  If was just about anything else was after them, there would have been no contest.  Not turning to face Sam, Jack yelled: “We got three bogies closing in!  They’re about two hundred yards back.”

            “Make a sharp left at this intersection,” Sam barked, pointing to a point about a hundred yards ahead.  It was marked by a traffic light which had been long dead.  “Hold on!” Sam shouted, just before the jeep made a sharp turn at forty miles an hour.   The tires screeched as the jeep whipped around an extra thirty degrees, and nearly flipped.

            Jack was thrown against the door, and Zach on top of him.  His stomach was in knots, but at least they were still alive.  But for how much longer?

            When Zach worked his way back to the floor on the passenger side, Jack looked back again, in time to see that the other jeep had made it.  As the jeeps sped up again, Jack moved up, just high enough so he could see behind, but still low enough to use the seat as cover.

            “You idiot!  Do you want to get shot, stay down!” Zach yelled at him.

            For the first time, Jack realized just how exposed he was.  This was the first time he had been in danger of being shot.  When engaging zombies it was actually better to fight in an open space, because they had no place to hide, and zombies did not know how to use guns.  Fighting people, however, was a totally different ball game.  Staying out in the open was a sure way to catch a bullet.  Jack worked his way down, with his knees to the floor and just high enough so his eyes could peek out of the back if he needed too.

            “When they get on us, try to aim for the tires,” Sam yelled to the back, “and if you can’t shoot the tires, shoot the engine.”

            “Got it!” Zach yelled.

            “Yeah,” Jack replied.

            Jack peered through the rear window again, just in time to see the first bogie round the turn, followed by the second.  The third did not quite make it.  Jack watched as the doomed jeep skidded into the ruins of an adult video store, smashing the front window.

            All of the commotion must have attracted the local populace, because now Jack could see movement in the shadows in all directions.  Jack felt a hard bump as the jeep slammed into a figure standing in the road, followed by another, and another.  Behind, the flesh eaters must have been storming the video store to get a taste of the bandits stuck inside.

            The jeep slowed down, as it plowed through the thick population of mobile worm buffets, but so did the bandits.  As they swerved to avoid hitting more zombies, and thus further damaging the jeep, Jack’s window shattered.  One of the damn ghouls had a crow bar, and was swinging it wildly at the Jeeps as they passed.  In fact, as he looked back a bit longer, he could see several zombies armed with tire irons, crow bars, furniture legs, and bricks, wildly swinging at their escaping dinner.

            More bullets whizzed by, and Jack ducked low just as the back window shattered.  The enemy jeeps were picking up speed, and were now only one hundred and fifty yards back.

            Jack could feel the jeep pick up reckless speed as bullets struck the frame.  The bumps, as they plowed through the undead, became more and more violent as the jeeps sped through the night.

            Sam picked up the radio receiver, “let’s split off into two separate directions.”  There was no reply on the other line, but Jack could see the other jeep make a hard right.  “Left.  Now!” Sam barked.

            There was another stomach wrenching turn, and Jack held his breather as the jeep tilted off of the passenger side wheels.  A moment later the jeep tilted back onto all four, but Jack did not exhale until they stopped skidding.  There were fewer ghouls in the middle of the road in this straight away than in the other, but the road was still sparsely crowded.  The jeep behind them rapidly gained speed, closing the distance.  Without thinking, Jack pointed his rifle through the shattered window and fired several rounds at their attacker.  The bullets shattered the windshield, but did not appear to do any more damage than that.  The bogie backed off a few yards and the passenger began shooting again.

            This time, Zach aimed his rifle and fired.  Jack could see sparks where several of the rounds hit the grill, and the road around the tires, but no major damage had been done.  Jack opened fire again, this time puncturing the front driver’s side tire.  For a moment, the driver lost control of his vehicle.  After swerving for a second or two, he regained control and continued his pursuit.

            “Shit,” Jack said.  “He’s still after us.”

            “He’ll never catch up to us now,” Zach said, and gave out a loud cheer.

            Zach ate his words as soon as he heard Sam yell “shit!”

            The two gunmen in the back peered through the windshield in time to see that three more of those bastards were heading straight for them.

*

            As the tires screeched through the turn like rabid banshees, Gerard held onto the seat, and kept looking back.  With any luck their pursuer might slam into a building like his buddy had.

            “Peter,” Gerard shouted, “If the zombies get too thick ahead blow a few of them away, if not hold steady.”  He then looked ahead at Mike, who was driving.  “Just keep going fast, and make some sharp turns.”

            As more shots rang out in the night, Gerard and Paul ducked down in the back seats.  Paul crossed himself and started praying.  Gerard could hear several rounds striking the frame, like fiery hail.  The engine roared mightily as Mike pressed hard on the gas pedal.  Gerard looked over to Paul who was still low to the floor, praying.

            “Harker, there is a time and a place, and this isn’t it!”  Paul’s head snapped up.  There was a twisted look of shock on his face, and he began to say something, but Gerard interrupted him.  “Listen, I need you to back me up here.”  He looked back, and saw the death black jeep behind them closing rapidly the distance.  “When I count to three I want you to lean out of your window and start shooting, I’ll lean out of mine, okay.”

            The jeep made another hard turn, and Gerard held steady as the tires skidded onto the sidewalk.  After Mike regained control, Gerard peered out as their jeep rocketed back towards sixty miles an hour.  There was a violent bump, as they ran down a zombie.  Mere seconds later, he saw the black jeep round the corner after them.

            “Three!” Gerard shouted as he poked his rifle out of the window and opened fire, Paul did the same.

            A few of their shots struck the frame, but none did any real damage.  They needed a new plan.

            “Harker, when I tell you, I need you to give me some cover fire.”  Paul nodded and Gerard turned his attention frontward.  “Mike, let them get close, but not up on out ass!”

            “Got it,” Mike yelled, and stomped on the break pedal.

            The tires screamed as the jeep’s speed dropped about twenty miles an hour in under three seconds.  As the enemy behind closed the gap, the driver shined his high beams at his quarry, making the hunter nearly painful to look at.  As the blinding white light shined through the back windows, Paul put his right hand to his eyes as a shield, and ducked for cover, Gerard followed the other soldier’s lead.  Though the light made it impossible for the gunmen in the fleeing jeep to get a clear view of the murderers behind, the killers almost certainly had a perfect view of the jeep in front, making Gerard and Paul ideal targets.

            Staying as low in the seat he could, Gerard looked over to Paul and shouted, “I still need you to give me some cover fire when I tell you.”  Without waiting for a response, Gerard reached over to the seat between him and Paul, where his bag of explosives lay.  Before they had left the safety of the base, Gerard had been sure to pack a bag full of dynamite and packs of C4, just in case they had needed to move a car or if they ran into a large mob of zombies.  There was just no telling when explosives would come in handy, but he had never dreamed that he would be using the stuff on other living people.  He had never imagined that if there were any survivors left that they would be hostile, not in this world anyway.  In a world where the dead didn’t stay dead you need all the friends you can get.

            As Gerard unzipped the bag, he felt the jeep speed up, followed by a metallic thump, and the chime of shattering glass.  Moments later the back window shattered under the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic gun fire.  Peter grabbed his arm and yelled “shit!”  The jeep picked up speed, and Gerard heard another violent thump, and more broken glass.  This time though the bump came from the front, and was more of a solid wooden thump.  They must have mashed a ghoul’s skull with the headlight.   Gerard did not look to find out.  Instead he fished one stick of TNT and cut the fuse to only three inches, so it would explode about five seconds after he lit it.

            Gerard peaked out of the back window, just long enough to see that the killers were still too close for comfort.  “Give me a few more meters!” Gerard yelled.  In the brief moment he looked front, Gerard could see that Peter had torn the sleeve off of his injured arm, and tied it around the wound.  His arm was covered in blood, and as Gerard focused forward, he could see that the radio had been converted to Swiss cheese.  Smoke flowed from the communications machine as freely as blood from Peter’s wound.  As the jeep rocketed forward, Gerard turned to Paul and said, “I need cover now!” then lit the fuse.

            As Paul opened fire on the jeep, Gerard began counting.  Throwing as soon as he lit the fuse was too soon, but it would explode when he reached five, so Gerard leaned out of the window when he got to two, and threw the thunder stick on three.  The killers were a perfect hundred yards behind, and closing in fast.  As soon as Gerard threw the stick, gunshots erupted more violently from the pursuing jeep, and Paul quickly ducked back behind the cover of the seat.  With a grin on his face Gerard only ducked back a little, giving him the opportunity to see the thunder stick arc perfectly in front of the enemy, and it exploded right under them.

            “Yeah, scratch two!” Mike yelled in triumph.

            “Don’t celebrate yet,” Peter said, pointing out of his side window.

            Gerard looked out of the opposing side window.  In the moment that they passed the intersection, he saw two, no three pairs of headlights barreling through a zombie infested side street at a reckless speed.  It looked like they wanted to do a lot more than say hello.

*

            As the three new adversaries approached, Sam felt his lunch begin to rise in his throat.  He swallowed and leaned out of his window as the jeep mad a hard left.  They were now being pursued by more diverse means.  Rather than another jeep verses jeep battle, they were now being pursued by a corvette, with a white skull painted on the front, and two pickup trucks.  Without hesitating, Sam aimed his rifle out of the window, and fired.

            Just before the jeep rounded the corner, Sam saw that his stream of bullets had shattered the windshield of one of the trucks, and had killed the front passenger, in a clean shot to the head.  Though it had possibly been the shot of Sam’s life, he would have rather taken out the driver.

            Shortly after the jeep safely made the turn, the two trucks followed, but the corvette was no where to be seen.  The two soldiers in the back aimed and fired at the approaching killers, and Sam turned his attention front once more.

            “Tom, I don’t see the corvette back there, it’ll probably try to cut us off at the next side street,” Sam warned.

            “Got it,” Tom said, as the trucks began to shine their high beams at the jeep.

            Tom seemed to be crushing the gas pedal as if it was a hideous cockroach, but no matter how fast the jeep flew, the two trucks behind kept pace.  It was odd that they were not trying to bump their prey off of the road.  Sam assumed there was trouble ahead.  Rifle shots erupted from one of the trucks behind.

            “I took out one of the gunmen,” Sam shouted, “keep your eyes on the one that’s shooting.”

            “I saw, that was one hell of a shot!” Zach yelled, then answered the swarm of bullets in kind.  When Zach ducked back for cover, Jack began to fire.  The kid was a natural at this sort of thing.  It almost gave Sam hope that they would get out of this, but almost was not absolute.

            As more bullets whizzed past the jeep, Sam turned his attention front to see if he could find the sporty corvette.  The sports car would not make much of a road block, but it could easily out race, and out maneuver the jeep.  Not only would the corvette be inadequate as a road block, but it would not be as able to plow through the zombies as the trucks, which were large enough to batter a rabid mob of ghouls into mush.  One of those trucks would be able to stop the jeep dead in its path.

            Sam looked frontward again.  If the corvette was not any good as a road block, Sam wondered what in the hell they were up to.  As they approached the next intersection, the corvette cut in front of them, from the right, and pulled a perfect ninety degree turn to the left.  Sam nearly leaped out of his seat.  Tom swerved to avoid the skull decorated wheels of death, but the killer’s goal was not to block their path.

            As the corvette sped in front of them, and shot past them, a gunman stood in the front passenger seat, and aimed his rifle over the roof at the jeep.  Sam ducked to avoid the barrage of bullets.  Before he was all the way down, the windshield shattered, and blood splattered all over the front.

            Sam had not been hit, so where in the hell was all the blood coming from?  To his horror, when Sam looked up he immediately saw that Tom, their driver, had several hideous wounds in his chest, his throat had been completely shredded, and his head was half missing.

            “Shit!” Sam yelled.  “There’s nobody driving the jeep!”

            Jack had not noticed, and was still firing at the corvette.  Zach, who apparently heard the new depth of their plight, had paused in his firing to shout every obscenity in his expansive vocabulary.  Sam immediately unbuckled Tom’s seatbelt, and with one hand on the steering wheel, maneuvered for the driver side door.

            Luckily, Tom’s foot had locked onto the gas pedal, so they would not slow down to become easier prey.  Unfortunately the jeep was harder to control with one hand on the wheel, from the passenger side at speeds greater than sixty miles an hour.  The occasional collision with a blindly wandering zombie made the situation worse.  Sam almost let go of the wheel three times.

            Finally the door swung open.  As the jeep weaved drunkenly, Sam yelled to the back, “Keep those fuckers back there, I don’t want them getting a clean shot when we slow down.”

            Jack and Zach both replied by firing relentlessly at their attackers.  As Tom’s dead body tumbled out of the jeep, never to rise as a flesh eater, Zach yelled out “I’m gonna introduce these assholes to my pal Remington,” laid his rifle on the floor, snatched the shotgun from the floor, and loaded it.

            With no foot on the accelerator, the jeep’s speed dropped dramatically.  Sam heard the heavy thunder from the shotgun blast as Zach leaned out of the window, and began pumping rounds at the killers.  Sam managed to swing his left leg over the console, and pressed down on the gas pedal as he gripped the steering wheel with both hands.  The door still hung open, but there was nothing Sam could do about it at the moment.

            Another loud shot exploded from the back, followed by Zach cheering, “Got one!”

            Sam glanced into the rear view mirror to see the truck, whose gunner Sam had shot swerve out of control, and the other two vehicles take evasive maneuvers.  That was one less pursuer they had to worry about, but they were far from out of the woods.  They still had two more attackers, plus however many reinforcements they might have on stand by.  They may very well have over a hundred tanks and helicopters pursuing them in a matter of minutes.  As far as Sam was concerned, his post apocalyptic world had turned upside down.

            Sam eased his left foot off of the gas pedal momentarily, so he could slip his right side over without a drastic shift in speed without control.  As he did, a hail storm of bullets hit the rear of the car, and Jack cried out: “shit, shit, shit!”

            Finally, Sam was fully in the driver’s seat.  He leaned out with lightning speed, and closed the door.  For the first time since he had been on the police force in 1979, Sam was involved in a high speed pursuit.  Though he hated himself for loosing one of his men, a part of him felt alive, exhilarated like he had not felt in years.  He almost felt invincible.

            Now fully in control of his vehicle, Sam gunned the engine, and rocketed past seventy miles an hour.  After he shot forward about four hundred yards, Sam slammed on the break, and drastically slowed down.  After almost overshooting the intersection, Sam cranked the wheel violently left, and took the turn at an impossible speed.  The wheels cried out in agony, and the jeep tilted a bit, but they had made it.

            “Hold on back there,” Sam yelled, and pressed the accelerator all the way down to the floor.

            As the corner rapidly shrank in the rear view mirror, Sam saw the corvette round the corner first.  A few seconds later, the truck rounded.  As the corvette began to close the distance, Sam honked the horn, with three loud blasts.  He wanted all of the flesh eaters know exactly where dinner was.  The masses of undead would not only slow down the sports car, but it would also complicate things if one of the vehicles was run off of the road.

            Though the ghouls mobbed the street, the thickening crowd of the undead slowed the jeep as much as it did the corvette, and the hungry mob hardly slowed the truck.  Sam quickly made a right onto a thinner back road, and made a sharp left onto another.  In the busy metropolis that the shambled ruins used to be, his actions would have been enough to lose any group of thugs who might try to tail him, but without the cover of other automobiles to drown out the noise of the jeep, they would be able to catch his trail rather easily.

            About ten seconds later, and too close for comfort, the truck rounded the corner with the corvette riding close behind it.  The damn truck was being used as a battering ram to get through the crowd.

            Sam honked the horn again, and made another sharp turn.  This time, when he rounded the turn Sam could see three other pairs of headlights barreling straight toward him.  The six gleaming eyes of death were chasing something else with the lights out.

            “Shit!” Sam yelled out as the other jeep swerved to avoid him.  “Hold on back there!”

            As he passed their comrades, Sam briefly made eye contact with Mike, who drove the other jeep with a look of pure terror on his face.  In the back seat Gerard and Paul were still firing at their pursuers, and did not notice their brush with death until Sam had passed them.  In the rear view mirror, Sam saw Gerard do a double take, and quickly pull himself back inside of the other jeep, probably bracing himself for a collision.

            Sam had to weave to his right, all the way onto the side walk, but he had no trouble avoiding the three ongoing carloads of killers, for they were all absorbed in chasing the other jeep.

            As Sam once more gunned the engine, he heard a loud crash but kept driving.

*

            As the old saying went, they were out of the frying pan, and into the fire.  They had managed to demolish the jeep which had earlier chased them, only to be hunted down by a formidable looking pickup truck with a plow in front of it, a smaller pickup truck with no plow, and a rather large Buick.  Mike had taken the jeep through so many twists and turns that Gerard could not tell where they were going, and the rapid gunfire coming from behind grew more and more intense with every second, striking the back with a ferocious malevolence, like a fire storm in Hell.  Whenever they could, Gerard and Paul returned fire.  Gerard could not yet see another opening to toss a stick of dynamite, under the constant rain of bullets, but he kept alert.

            Suddenly, the jeep lurched violently to the left, though he could not discern why, Gerard kept firing, until he spotted a jeep speeding by.  Taken by surprise, Gerard quickly took another look, then pulled himself inside.  They must have gotten turned around somewhere because that was Eagle One.

            Gerard quickly yelled over to Paul: “brace yourself.”  Paul ducked down in the seat, and began to cross himself.  Gerard had told Paul earlier that the time to pray had not yet arrived, but now seemed as good a moment as ever to have God on their side, so Gerard did nothing to stop Paul.

            As they passed the sports car and truck which had been chasing the other jeep, Gerard looked back.  The plow and the Buick were safely on the side walk, but the smaller truck collided head on with the oncoming truck.  The sports car quickly pulled around the wreck, and continued to chase its prey.

            “Yeah!” Gerard shouted.  Now they only had two enemies to worry about.

            The jeep kept speeding ahead, but soon after, the stretch of road was densely flooded with the undead.  Behind, the Buick had fallen in line behind the plow, which was quickly bashing its way through the crowd.

            Attempting to find a side street or secondary highway with fewer zombies roaming around, Mike made several sharp rights and lefts.  Finally, when they were on a desolate, and lonely stretch of road, being chased only by killers in motorized vehicles Mike called out, “Bingo!”

            Not close, but not far enough back for comfort, the plow and the Buick rounded the last turn, and dropped out of single file.  As they hogged the back road, the gunmen in both vehicles began a harsh spray of automatic fire.

            Gerard gritted his teeth to the discomfortingly familiar metallic clang, and though about using another boom stick.  The killers were dishing out enough fire power now, that he and Paul were unable to lean out and fire their rifles.  However, all it took to throw a stick out of the window was an arm, and the distraction would allow Paul to shoot for a second or two.  Gerard looked over to Paul, and said, “I’m gonna toss another boom stick.  After it goes off, I want you to start shooting.  The distraction should give you some cover.”

            Paul nodded.

            Gerard picked back through his bag, and fished out another red stick of death, then reached into one of his shirt pockets, and snatched his lighter.  With his thumb, he struck the flint once, twice, and on the third time… victory.  With orange might a flame stood up, proud in the air, and began to dance in triumph.  Before lighting the fuse, and sending another bomb to its destiny, Gerard peaked back to see where their attackers were.

            At about one hundred yards back, and still firing intensely, they were in perfect position.  Gerard grinned, and let the burning flame mingle with the fuse.  At first nothing happened, then another flame was born quickly, puffing smoke, and it quickly turned into a sparkling show of might.  With pleasure in his eyes, Gerard counted down from seven as the spark crawled downward, eating the fuse.

            When he was down to about two seconds before detonation, Gerard quickly whipped his arm outside, and arced the stick of TNT back.  There was a moment of silence, and Gerard waited with anticipation.  There was a squeal of breaks, and tires, but it came too late for the stick exploded.  As soon as the thunderous roar finished its battle call, Paul aimed his rifle out of the window, and began to shoot.

            His assault only lasted for about three seconds, then he retreated back into the cover of the jeep.

            Gerard looked over, and asked, “How much damage did I do?”

            “Not much, but the plow was on fire for a moment,” Paul said.  “I didn’t do much either.”

            “That’s okay, I might have to toss another, but let’s just wait and see,” Gerard shouted over the striking bullets.

            Gerard did not have an endless supply of explosives.  If he used them up trying to cause diversions, they would not be there later, when they would be needed for even more dire circumstances.  Gerard had the feeling that, even if they escaped the motor club, this whole fiasco would get a lot worse.

            Suddenly, the assault lost half of its intensity.  Perhaps one of the gunmen was reloading.  Perhaps they were about to switch tactics.  The gunfire was concentrated mostly on Paul’s side of the jeep, so Gerard leaned out of the window, and aimed his rifle at their attackers.  As Gerard looked back, he noticed that the shots were all being fired from the plow.  The Buick had stopped shooting entirely, which some how seemed like a bad omen.

            Before the gunman in the plow noticed that he was about to be assaulted, Gerard opened fire in that direction.  Though his shot was not neat and clean, the windshield shattered, and the gunman in the plow grabbed his shoulder for a moment.  Gerard continued to fire, striking the plow on the front, and taking out the left headlight.  Then he noticed movement from the Buick.

            As Gerard turned his fire at the other vehicle, the gunman in the plow apparently recovered from his flesh wound.  He got off a short burst of fire, nearly hitting Gerard, but Paul leaned out of the other side, and began shooting.  Gerard dared not take his attention off of the Buick, but he had not been quick enough to stop the front passenger from tossing something out of the window.

            As it arced through the air, Gerard could see the spark moving down towards a metallic looking cylinder.  Who knew what in the hell was in that thing.  Could have been TNT, C4, liquid nitrate, napalm, or any number of explosive or flammable materials.

            “Incoming!” Gerard shouted as he pulled himself back into the jeep.  “Incoming!”

            Paul had apparently pulled himself in faster than Gerard, and was already bracing himself.

            In the front, Mike just yelled: “shit, shit, shit!”

            Peter was silent.

            The explosion rocked the jeep, but it had not landed close enough to do any major damage.  The jeep sped on, and the gunman in the plow, who was miraculously still alive, began to shoot at Gerard’s side, and swept over to Paul’s, and moved his fire back and forth, then he ceased.  Gerard sensed that if either he or Paul were to lean out and shoot, they would be picked off by the trigger happy gunman, so they both stayed in the back with their heads down.

            “Shit, he’s got us pinned, and the next explosion probably won’t be as far off the mark!” Gerard yelled to the front.

            “This just keeps getting better and better!” Mike shouted.

            Peter yelled, “Look out for that jeep!”

            Gerard peeked forward, and saw a black jeep slowly moving in their direction.  Whenever it surpassed thirty or forty miles an hour, the oncoming jeep would lose control.  It probably had a flat tire.

            Mike Slammed on the breaks and swerved to avoid it and Gerard braced himself for a crash.

            There was another explosion, this time directly under the jeep.  As the jeep flew into the air, Gerard cursed himself for not shooting at the Buick.

            In the next moment, the jeep was upside down, and Gerard was alone in the back, lying on the ceiling.  Orange and red murky light glowed around him.  Though smoke was not flooding into the jeep, blinding and suffocating Gerard, there was an intense fire near by.  He tried to pull himself out of the burning vehicle, but found himself crying out in agony.

            As he looked down, Gerard noticed that the bone in his left thigh had broken through his pants.  He bit his lip and held back a scream.  Now was not the time to lose his head.  There might have been survivors, and they might need some help.

            Gerard turned his head, and looked out the back.  The black jeep had crashed into a building, and the surviving passengers were rushing away from the crash, shooting at ghouls, unconcerned with the other wreckage.  To Gerard’s front, Mike was still strapped into the driver’s seat, but the whole driver’s side had caved downward, and the driver’s skull had been crushed.  Out of a tiny portion of the front that had not completely caved, Gerard could see ghouls dragging away a body.  Peter had probably been thrown from the vehicle.  The ghouls where now intensely occupied by their meal, and would not notice the other canned snacks for a few minutes.  On the passenger side, there was a fire, and Gerard could not see anything past the smoke and flames.

            He could however reach a backpack that was lying on the ceiling, so he grabbed it, and pulled the bag onto his broken body.  Gerard was compelled to quickly toss the as much extra ammunition and food into his bag as possible.  Only half would fit, and Gerard groaned in frustration.

            At the driver’s side window on the back, a pair of feet emerged.  Gerard quickly aimed his rifle, but did not shoot.  There was no telling who the owner was.  He just kept aim, and let the sweat roll down his face.  The owner of the feet crouched down.

            “Shit, you okay?” Paul asked.

            “I feel like shit,” Gerard said and passed the half empty pack into Paul’s hands.  “Harker, we don’t have much time.  I need you to fill your pack with as much of this stuff as you can.”

            Paul quickly did as instructed, leaving his rifle leaning against the jeep within reach.  When he was finished loading, Gerard fished a stick of dynamite out of his pack, and stuffed the back pack with all of his spare ammunition except for one magazine, then he put his knife in the bag, and extended his arm out as far as he could.

            “Take my bag, you’ll need it,” Gerard said.

            Paul accepted the bag, and then placed it on the pavement.

            “Hold on, I’ll get you out of there,” Paul said.

            “We don’t have time, Harker” Gerard said rather harshly.

            “Jesus Christ, I just can’t leave you there.”

            “Harker just take the bags and go!”

            “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do,” Paul said with a look of pure anguish in his eyes.

            Their attackers had abandoned them, but the jeep would soon be surrounded by the undead.  Gerard could not move in his condition, but Paul might be able to get to the others.  They would need the explosives and extra supplies, but Gerard would be useless to them.  He would only slow them down now.

            He twitched, and hissed in pain.

            “I’m not asking you to do anything.  I’m giving you an order!” Gerard said, and Paul nodded.  “Here,” Gerard ejected the clip from his pistol, and handed it to Paul, leaving one bullet in the chamber.  “I’ll give you some cover.  Then I’m going to blow this jeep.  If any thing goes wrong I’m just going to shoot myself in the head.  It’s better than getting eaten alive.”

            “Okay,” Paul said, “I’ll pray for you.”

            “Go!” Gerard shouted, as Paul ran away with the two back packs awkwardly on his back, a flaming torch in one hand, and a rifle in the other.

            Gerard quickly raised his rifle, and waited.

            As he heard the anguished moans of hunger grow closer, Gerard looked out of the rear, and the back driver’s side windows.  He knew the flesh eaters would not dare go through the fire on the rear passenger’s side to get him, and they did not have enough room to crawl through the wind shield, or anywhere from the front, so there were only two windows Gerard had to worry about.

            To his dismay, Gerard did not have any clean head shots from his position.  Instead he would have to shoot at the feet and knee caps to slow the zombies at a distance.  When they got closer he was going to have to do the same, then take the head shots.  He hoped that he would be dead in a roasting jeep by the time they had a chance to just bend over and reach in.  He looked at the lighter and stick of dynamite in his lap.  He would have seven seconds, but Gerard was going to have to wait until the flesh eaters were almost on top of him to use the explosive.  He wanted to distract the ghouls for as long as possible.  He also wanted to destroy as many of them as he could.

            When the crowd was thick enough that he could shoot without aiming and always hit something, Gerard fired his rifle out of the back window.  Bullets shredded several knees or struck the undead low enough in the legs that they would have to crawl for the rest of their existence.

            Quickly, Gerard checked the other window.  There was nothing there now, but there would be in less than a minute.  He looked back the rear, where the flesh eaters were rapidly advancing, but they would not be on top of him soon enough to justify lighting the TNT yet, so Gerard waited.

            Anguishing seconds passed by as Gerard fired his rifle at more undead knee caps.  The ghouls who could still walk either trampled over the crippled ones, or they were courteous to walk around their broken comrades, but they were advancing fast.  Gerard kept firing on them.

            Click, click, click…

            Gerard checked his rifle, and found that he had exhausted the ammunition.  With much haste, he ejected the spent clip, and loaded his only spare.  Hopefully this would last him until the end.

            Once again he opened fire on the ghouls as they approached the overturned jeep.  As the rapid chugga-chug-chug sound of the rifle filled the confines of the wrecked automobile, Gerard glanced at the other window, and noticed that there were shadows moving by the open space.  The zombies were getting very close to the jeep from the rear as well.  Within seven seconds, they would be able to swarm him.

            “Alright, it’s show time,” Gerard said as he momentarily ceased fire.

            Again, he fired up his lighter, and lit the fuse.  As the light from the spark filled the cabin, Gerard could hear his life’s clock ticking as it counted down.

            Seven.

            The shadows moved closer, and now Gerard had a clear view of their shins, so he began to shoot in that direction.  Though his shots were good, the crippled zombies were close enough that Gerard had to destroy them.  The zombies began to hit the ground.

            Six.

            As the fallen ghouls crawled closer and closer, Gerard opened fire.  He did not take the time to pull his finger from the trigger, but waved the gun back and forth.  There were about four zombies down, and Gerard exterminated them all.  More hit the pavement.

            Five.

            Gerard fired on the others that hit the ground, then heard loud noises from the rear of the jeep.  The other approaching crowd was getting much closer.  Gerard turned his attention back that way, and shot more shins.

            Four.

            One of the zombies at the side managed to get a grip on Gerard’s injured leg, and yanked hard.  Gerard squealed in anguish and kicked the zombie in the head, still shooting out of the other window.  Pain shot up and down the injured leg, and filled his entire body.

            Three.

            Unable to bear the pain any longer, he turned his rifle to his tormentor.  The zombie took a bite out of Gerard’s leg, and more pain tore its way through Gerard’s body.  He kicked again as he took aim, and fired.

            Two.

            Blood splattered all over the cabin, and the ghoul collapsed on top of Gerard’s leg, but two more of the ghouls emerged from the door and began to pull on Gerard’s leg.  He fired again and again, but only hit their chests.  Again he felt more pain ripping through his injured leg, and tormenting the rest of his body.

            One.

            As the zombies began to tear Gerard out of the jeep, and he lost his grip on the rifle, Gerard thought about shooting himself.  No not yet.  He only had to hold out for another split second.  He made sure the stick of dynamite stayed near him, with the pistol in the other hand as the ghouls pulled him out.  One was chewing on his bad leg.

            Suddenly, with a white flash it was all over.

*

            Now several yards away, Paul heard the explosion, but kept running.  Paul got the idea.  He was supposed to find the other jeep, and make sure the others got the explosives.  The only problem was that he didn’t know how he was going to do it.  The satanic flesh eating ghouls were all around.

            Awkwardly, Paul fired his rifle one handed at a group of approaching zombies.  He nearly dropped it, but through the grace of the lord, managed to keep his grip.  He shoved the flame of his torch into the face of another ghoul, and kept running.  He could afford to lose the rifle, but there was no way he’d be able to get through this crowd (short of divine intervention) without exploiting their fear of fire.

            He looked around, trying to figure out where to go, but all he could see was a maze of brick walls, unfamiliar roads, and ghouls approaching him from all directions, drooling in hunger, greedily reaching for Paul, and cowering away like frightened children when he moved the flaming torch towards any of them.  He needed to make his way out of the alley and to the main roads.  However, Paul could not do this blindly, for when he reached the street he would have two problems.  The main streets, with their stores, housing, and more space would likely be more crowded with the undead.  What concerned Paul most though, were the killers.  If the hostile roar of engines grew closer, Paul would have no good place to hide.  He was bound to make a scene while fighting zombies, and even if he didn’t, he could only last for so long before he ran out of ammunition, or the torch died.  He had no choice.

            Now was the time for quick prayers, swifter action, and faster running, which left no room for thought.  Paul decided to go for broke, and charge his way to the nearest street.  The fired his rifle at several zombies, shooting some in the head, and some in the knees.  Some times his aim was not true, and bullets crashed into the ghouls’ chests, abdomens, or strayed away from their targets entirely.

            Not daring to look back, Paul thrust his torch at several zombies, who were brazen enough to make a grab for him.  Though the move was effective, it was hampering his aim, so Paul slung the rifle over his shoulder, and used both hands to swing the torch like the flaming sword of Gabriel with all the fury and might that heaven could spare.  Several of the zombies turned and ran, some slowly backed away, others seemed oblivious to the fiery club, and fell before its mighty blow.  The flame came in contact with one especially fiendish looking ghoul, lighting it up in a blaze of hellfire.  All the while, Paul kept running to the street.

            Finally he broke through the last of the undead in the alley, and hauled ass into the moonlit night.  The sounds of engines, and gunfire could be heard over the constant moaning and groaning of the population of the city, but Paul could not tell if they were getting closer, or shrinking in the distance.  Paul quickly glanced down both sides of the road, but could not see the chase.  The pursuit must have been running along another street close by.  By the time Paul got there, the chase would probably reach this street.  If he stayed where he was, the chase could go to another street all together.  It was a risk either way.  Paul decided to stay on this street until it became too thick with zombies.

            The alley Paul had just ran from was now about thirty yards behind him, and the ghouls were pouring out of it, like water from a bucket, but that was not the only refuge the undead were abandoning.  The ghouls were coming from everywhere.  Some were still exiting shops.  Others were flocking from side streets, and there was even a steady crowd stumbling at him northbound along the same street where Paul was running south.  There must have at least been a thousand of them.

            His eyes widened, and Paul exclaimed “Shit!”  Then he turned in a one hundred and eighty degree angle, and hauled ass northbound.  At the other direction, hardly any ghouls lumbered in Paul’s direction.  He could outrun the horde behind him, so he dared not look back.  The insignificant few approaching Paul from the front were manageable, so as he ran for his life, Paul listened for the engines, and prayed “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus….”

            The ghouls approaching his left were closer, so Paul stuck his torch out in that direction.  As the attackers scattered, Paul swung the torch to his right.  As those ravenous attackers backed away, Paul looked forward again in time to notice another alley flushing its undead into the street.  There must have been at least a hundred ghouls heading in his direction, blocking his escape.

            Paul’s prayer turned into an incoherent battle cry as he raised the torch high over his head, and charged the undead.  He might not get out of this, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to give up.  As the crowd of decomposing corpses enveloped Paul, he began striking the masses with his torch.  One of the ghouls grabbed Paul’s left arm, so he used his right to swing the torch straight at the fiend’s head.  The blow had not been hard enough to cave the ghoul’s skull, but catching fire was enough to make the flesh eater forget about the hunt, and switch into panic mode.

            As the undead human torch ran into the night, Paul set another on fire with the same result.  Several others approached, so Paul swung the torch in their direction.  As they backed away, Paul turned in time to see another ghoul approaching him from the rear.  This time, Paul swung the torch with all the strength he could muster.  With a loud crack the zombie hit the asphalt.  Paul quickly set the dead corpse on fire, and turned his attention to the ghouls on the other side.

            Suddenly, Paul felt a pair of cold, clammy, skeletal hands grip his right arm.  As the ghoul tried to bite, Paul yanked his right arm out of the grip, and quickly shoved his elbow back into the ghoul’s face, knocking the teeth out of the flesh eater’s mouth.  Paul kicked another zombie away, and began wildly swinging his torch again.

*

            Sam pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and shot through the night.  Twenty-two years ago, on a night like this, the part of the city they were in might have been pretty much dead.  Everyone would be out on the other side of town where the clubs where, asleep, or closing a shop.  Most of the people outside at this time of night would either be working night shifts, homeless, or criminals.  Now, the streets were packed with activity.

            In front of him, behind him, to the left, and to the right were the once living population of the city, scratching and clawing at the jeep as it left them in the dust.  The undead denizens of the night who were unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the jeep were either crushed like grapes, or flung through the air like dirt at the horse tracks.  With each collision, the jeep bumped violently.

            There were a lot more zombies out than there were a minute ago, and now Sam and his two survivors were being chased not only by the corvette, but the Buick and plow, which he spotted chasing the other jeep only a little while ago.  It seemed like an eternity.

            Bullets still whizzed by the jeep, but they had lost their intensity and frequency.  Sam wondered if it was because the murderers were running out of ammo, or if it had to do with all the zombies.  In his rear view mirror, Sam could only see the plow.  The corvette and Buick must have filed behind it, as they had done earlier.

            Only moments ago, Sam heard a loud explosion which must have come from the other jeep, and Sam wanted to see if there were survivors.  The problem was that he had to put some distance between the jeep and the attackers.  The other problem was that if there even were any survivors, they would need help soon, as in five minutes ago.

            Sam braked, and made a hard right towards the sound of the explosion.  The plow was still a good hundred yards back, and through the undead mob, the speed of the pursuit had dropped dramatically.  Judging from the density of the crowd, any survivors of the crash were already dead, but Sam was going to be damned if he would leave without making sure.

            As he drove south down the road, Sam noticed something peculiar.  The ghouls had their attention focused on something.  Then he saw a torch swinging at several zombies.  One corpse was lying on the ground, with flames sprouting from its clothes, and consuming its flesh.  The other ghouls were not approaching from that side, but they had enveloped their intended victim on a two hundred and thirty degree angle, and were closing in.  That had to be one of Sam’s men.

            “Jack, guns front, give him some cover,” Sam shouted, “Zach, unlock the passenger door, and do the same, we only have a couple of seconds to make this pickup!”

            As Jack aimed his rifle ahead, and began picking off ghouls up front, Zach leaned forward, and unlocked the passenger door, then he aimed front, and began shooting zombies as well.  While the corpses began to fall, Sam could clearly see the quarry of the worm feasts.  Bathed in light, Paul began setting more ghouls on fire as he made a mad run toward the passenger side of the jeep.  With one fluent motion, Paul hurled his torch into the drooling mob as if it were a spear, yanked the passenger side door open, and dove in headlong.

            With Paul’s feel still sticking out of the passenger side, Sam began to move the jeep again, and Paul turned over onto his back, kicking at several rotten corpses who grabbled his feet, and tried to pull him back out into the street.  In response, Paul unslung his rifle, and began shooting.  He hit several worm feasts in the heads, putting them down for good.  Others he hit in the chest with just enough force to knock them away from the jeep.  Paul quickly pulled his feet inside, and slammed the door.

            By the time Paul was all the way into the jeep, Sam had it going forty miles an hour, and their pursuers had rounded the corner.

            Though Sam had not noticed before, Paul was carrying two backpacks.  The extra supplies and ammo would come in handy, but Sam wished that all of his troops had been able to walk away from the chase unscathed.  As the bullets began to fly again, Paul had unslung his back packs.  He placed one on the floor by his feet, and the other he tossed in the back, with Jack and Zach.

            “Be careful with that one,” Paul said.  “It has the explosives.”

            “Were there any other survivors?” Sam asked.

            “Just Gerard,” Paul gulped, “but he was hurt pretty bad.”  Paul’s continued to speak slowly, and with much effort.  “He took one stick of dynamite, a rifle with one spare clip, and a pistol with one bullet…”  Paul broke off, and sounded as if he were about to choke.  Sam did not need to hear the rest of the message.  Gerard and all the others were dead.  If they didn’t move their asses, and move them smart, the four survivors would be joining them.  “There’s one more thing you should know.”

            “What?”

            “The Buick has explosives.”

            “Shit,” Sam grunted. “You hear that back there?  To hell with the corvette and the plow, aim for the Buick.”

            “This just keeps getting better and better every minute,” Zach said, “I don’t know if I can stand any more fun.”

            “Just can it and start shooting, Henderson,” Sam said.

            Suddenly, the Buick pulled out from behind the plow and matched the jeep’s speed.  Jack began to shoot at it, but gunfire from the other two vehicles pinned him back inside of the jeep.

            “Shit,” Jack yelled out.  “Fire’s getting too heavy.”

            As the plow pulled closer, Zach pulled out his shotgun, and opened fire.  The pellets ricochet harmlessly off of the plow.  Zach cursed, and switched back to his rifle.

            “Shit, we got incoming!” Jack yelled from the back, and braced himself for a crash.

            There was a lot of swearing coming from the back, and praying from Paul, but Sam remained silent.  He saw the stick flying through the air, with a sparkling fuse.  He swerved as far away as he could before it exploded to their left.

            The deafening eruption sent a barrage of shrapnel flying through the night, which could have assaulted the jeep with enough force to stop a tank.  Luckily they had gotten away from the bomb, and only sustained mild damage.

            “There’s more fun coming our way!” Sam shouted as he saw another flaming stick fly at the car.  This time they weren’t going to miss.

            The stick hit the ground about three feet away from the jeep, and exploded, again dishing out hell’s furry in shrapnel.

            The jeep momentarily lurched into the air, and Sam could hear one of the tires burst.  He nearly lost control, but kept the jeep moving in a straight line.  But now there was no way in hell they could out run any of the killers.

            After the jeep stopped swerving, Sam saw Jack lean out of the window, firing his rifle at the Buick.  Though he needed to concentrate on the road, Sam was compelled to look back again when he heard an explosion, followed by cheering in the back seat.

            Behind them, the Buick was spewing flames, and pulling left, right into a building.  Anyone inside was barbecue, so Sam did not have to worry about being blown to smithereens.

            However, they still had a monstrous plow behind them, which could run them off of the road at will.

            As if the driver had read Sam’s mind, the plow began to move faster, and faster.  Sam stepped on the gas, but found that he could only control the jeep at speeds less than thirty miles an hour.  Now the bastards were getting sick of toying with their prey, and were moving in for the kill.

            Shortly after the image of the malevolent plow filled Sam’s rear view mirror, the jeep rocked forward, then moved to the side.  As Sam regained control, Jack and Zach both aimed, concentrating their fire on the plow.  The corvette pulled beside the jeep, boxing them in, and the gunman opened fire, pinning the two soldiers behind Sam down to the floor boards.  This was it, they were going to die.

            Suddenly, the plow lost control, and turned right.  It kept turning until it plowed right into a china shop.  A second later, the corvette also lost control, and crashed into a building.

            “Nice shooting,” Sam said.

            “Wasn’t me,” Jack said.

            “I wish,” said Zach.

            “The lord works in mysterious ways,” Paul answered solemnly.

            “Let’s just get the hell out of here and figure out things then,” Sam said, and began to drive away.

            After he pummeled the jeep through the mobs of undead at a turtles pace, the night became rather lonely.  There were no motor bound killers, gun toting psychos, and hardly any ghouls roaming the streets.  Most of the undead were probably still congregating around the barbecue Sam and the others had left behind.  Though the nights were almost always dead, there could have still been thousands of ghouls inside of their apartments mimicking sleep.  A loud racket would wake them, sending the ghouls out into the night in a voracious frenzy.

            Aside from the sputtering, and coughing of the engine, the survivors made no sound.  Aside from the visitors moving through the streets, the town was as dead as a grave yard.

            After perhaps an hour of wandering being pushed through the ruins, the jeeps engine finally let out a cough, and died.

            “Shit,” Sam said.  “Come on, looks like we’re going to have to find some place to haul out for a little bit.”

            If they stayed out in the street, they would be an easy target for any attackers or scavengers wandering through the city.  Around the survivors were cheap apartment complexes, small shops, bars, and strip clubs.  Though the town had not been the safest place to wander before society had collapsed, it was one of the safest places to hide.  Not only was every shop boarded up from the inside, but the windows were protected by metal bars.  Ghouls would have a hell of a time getting into one of those buildings, and they would be concealed from any patrols.

            There were only two problems with hiding in the town.  They were going to have to hide the jeep, so nobody could find it.  If a raiding party knew their quarry was hiding in this town, the search would be thorough, and all the steel bars, and plywood in the world would not be able to stop the killers.

            The other problem was that they were either going to have to fix the jeep or find something else to drive.  Sam did not know how bad the damage was, but he did know that the jeep would not be any help to them in its immobile condition.  Sam hoped that the battery was still intact, because batteries did not last for over twenty years.

            Sam fought back the urge to curse, and said, “I think we can hide out in that liqueur store, but we’ll need to push the jeep in that alley over there.”  The liqueur store was across the street, and a few stores down.  “Keep frosty.”

            They all got out, and Sam shifted the jeep into neutral.  Into the dark alley they pushed the jeep.  This was perfect.  Not only was the alley dark, with several abandoned, and stripped cars inside, but there was a large pile of junk towards the back of the alley, which was a dead end, sealed off by a brick wall.

            Sam carefully eyed the fire escapes and windows to each side, just to be sure that there was no activity.

            As the jeep passed the mountain of junk, a skeletal hand, jumped out and grabbed Sam’s leg.  The hand was attached to a skeletal body.  Badly damaged, dried out, and decomposed, the creature was missing everything below the chest.  There was hardly any flesh left anywhere on the corpse.  It looked almost as though after being torn to pieces, the dead body had been gnawed on by rats.

            Sam quickly grabbed his rifle by the barrel, and clubbed the pitiful creature in its head, putting it out of its misery.  He then stood still, and listened.

            When Sam was sure that there was no more activity, he and his men finished hiding the jeep.  Then instructed his men to grab everything they could carry.  He could see Jack grab three backpacks.  One had been Gerard’s, one had been Tom’s, and the other was his own.  Zach grabbed his stuff, and two spare torches.  Paul grabbed his bag, and the rifle which had once been Tom’s.  Sam snatched the road map, his items, and a crow bar.

            The door was chained shut from the outside, but there seemed to be no other locks.  Like all the other establishments, there were black, vertical steel bars protecting the windows from thieves.

            “Any of you got a key?” Zach asked.

            “Right here,” Sam said.

            He took hold of the crow bar with both hands, and broke the chain.  With any luck, they would find something inside they could hold the door closed with.

            Sam opened the door, held it for his troops, and said, “ladies first.”

            His troops gave his grudging smiles, and stepped in.  Sam followed, and shut the door.

            In a hushed voice, Sam said, “make sure we’re alone.”  Then he inspected the front door.  The work on the boarding was solid.  No undead would be knocking the boards down through the steel bars, but that wasn’t what Sam was looking for.  He noticed at the top, middle, and bottom of the door were vertical handles.  No that wasn’t it; more like braces.  To the side of the door, three steel rods were leaned against the wall.  Whoever had owned this establishment had been ready for anything.  The steel rods would be able to hold the door in place under anything the zombies could dish out.  This place was a certified fort… and a death trap.

            It suddenly occurred to Sam that he had no clue what to do next.  The sturdiest fort was only good until the food ran out.  They only had enough between them to last a day or two.  Sam doubted that the store owner left anything behind.

            “We’re alone in here,” Jack said from behind.  “The bad news is that there’s no running water, and no food.”

            “I didn’t think there would be,” Sam said.

            “There’s a bathroom in the back, but…” Jack started.

            “…no running water,” Sam finished.

            “Yeah.”

            “Okay,” Sam announced, “I want to do a full weapons check.  We need…” Sam stopped talking when he heard an engine in the distance.  It was getting closer.  “Shit.”

            The engine drew closer, and closer, until it stopped near the liqueur store.  Sam heard a door slam.  There was only one engine, and only one door slam.  After a few seconds of silence, there was a knock on the front door.

            “Okay,” Sam said in a low, conspiratory voice, “Zach, you open the door when I tell you.  Jack and Paul give me some cover, I’ll answer it.”

            The three soldiers did as instructed.  Sam did not want to leap out of the store shooting, because he didn’t know who was on the other side.  The killers did not seem like the type to just knock on a door and shoot whoever answered.  More likely they would burn every building in the town, and shoot at anything that ran outside.

            Sam nodded, and Zach opened the door.

            There in the frame of night stood an attractive girl around seventeen years old.  She was shrouded in darkness, so Sam could not make out much of her features, but she was wearing black jeans, a light black button up shirt, and blue denim jacket.  Her long raven hair waved around in the night breeze, perhaps to say hello, or perhaps they were snakes like those of Medusa.

            She stood in the door frame, holding a long rifle with a scope over her head, as if to show that she meant no harm.  Still, Sam and the others kept their rifles trained on her.

            “It won’t be long before they search here, I know a better place to hide,” she spoke.

Table of Contents

or

This web page is property of Josh Thompson and any violation will result in a severe crack in the skull! Have a nice day : )