Both trucks lurched forward at the same time, ruining Max's next shot and causing Ruben to tumble onto the floor on his back. With a sickening crunch Javier side swiped the back of the diesel and was shoved off of the narrow gravel road into the camping area, where the truck smashed over a picnic table and a solid metal grill. The entire truck lurched upwards as they drove over the debris.
"Fuck! I thought I was going first!" Javier yelled to Max.
"I don't know, I thought we were too…Hey!" Max yelled at the zombie who had grabbed onto the end of his rifle barrel. Shaking it didn't deter the creature, who clung to the weapon with both hands and practically dragged Max out of the truck. The rifle's strap was wound around Max's shoulder and he could not shake the zombie off.
"Help! He's got my gun!" Max screamed as he was pulled from his seat halfway through the window.
Javier responded by swerving the truck from side to side, which almost threw Max out the window. Ruben's hand clawed up from the floor in the back seat and had a firm grip on Max's pants, holding him tenuously in place. Ruben couldn't raise himself up to get a better grip and Javier was staring at Max's behind as the man slowly lost the battle with the zombie.
"Stop driving son!" Ruben called, "You gotta stop and pull him back or I am going to lose him."
Javier slammed on the brakes and Max disappeared into the fog as he was pulled out.
"I didn't say, slam on the goddamned brakes!" yelled Ruben, finally rising to a sitting position in the back seat. "Pull forward. Slowly! And put the fucking lights on so we don't run him over!"
Sweat was pouring off of Javier's face as he struggled to do as the old man said. He drove the truck forward no more than ten feet and stopped when he saw a body on the ground.
"Ruben?"
"What is it? Do you see him? Is he hurt?"
"It's just…a body." Javier could tell the body didn't belong to Max, it was dressed in casual clothing, sweat pants and a t-shirt. Max was outfitted like the rest of them, in fatigues. "It's not Max, I don't see Max, only his gun."
"Oh shit. Turn your radio on, try and contact Bill."
Javier did just that while Ruben climbed over the seat to the front, "I am too old to be doing this sort of stuff. Humping my ass over seat backs. Crawling under cars. Shooting, goddamned horror movie monsters. I swear the only time I ever climbed over the seat back, there was pussy involved and this is a damn site less fun than that."
Ruben peered into the fog and said, "I'm going out to get the rifle. You keep trying to raise Bill on the radio. As soon as they know they've out distanced us, they will turn it on and try and talk to us."
Hopping out Ruben felt a twinge in his knee, "Too gawdamned old." He muttered as he bent to collect Max's rifle. Off in the distance he heard gunfire, it sounded like two rifles firing in a constant barrage somewhere ahead of him. "Damnit." In a soft voice he called, "Max? Max, buddy? Are you out there?"
His old hands cocked the rifle and wound the broken strap around his wrist, taking a knee he slowly spun a half circle in front of the truck. The fog was too thick. Bending he examined the ground by the body. The zombies head was smashed in, it was dead for good, there were scuffle marks in the dirt that may or may not have been made by someone crawling away. "I ain't an indian tracker. How am I supposed to figure this out?" Ruben was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "But if I lose Max I better not show my face to Bill or Stewart again…" Bending he followed the scuffles up into another camp area. Behind him the truck followed at an idle.
The rifle fire continued for several more seconds and then cut off abruptly. It was followed by a crackling from the radio in Javier's hand.
"Is it on?" Bill's voice asked.
"Of course it's fucking on! See if they are there!" came Stewart's voice, oddly echoing from the radio and the fog in front of Ruben.
"Hello? Ruben? Max?"
"This is, um, Javier."
"Good…" Bill began only to be cut off by Stewart.
"Where the fuck are they? First he side swipes us, then he stops. I mean did you have to give him instructions on how to drive the truck too?"
"Javier, where are you guys?"
"The zombies got Max. We stopped to get him."
"What? I didn't quite hear you."
"The. Zombies. Got. Max." Javier said, annunciating each word slowly.
"You got him back, though, right?"
"We're working on it."
"We're coming back."
"Don't drive too fast, we can't be that far away from you."
Ruben heard the sound of the truck starting up and in seconds saw the headlights pierce the gloom. He waved on arm and Stewart stopped. There was blood on the front grill of the truck. When it stopped a slow trickle ran down the chrome and pooled in the dirt.
"Where is Max?" Stewart demanded, slamming the door as she left the driver's seat.
"A zombie pulled him out. We stopped, we can't find him." Ruben said, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.
"What do you mean a zombie pulled him out of the truck?"
"He had his rifle pointing outside of the vehicle shooting zombies and one of them got close enough to grab his gun. They fought, he got pulled out. It happened right back there. The zombie he was fighting is still there, only dead for real now. Stewart," Ruben said, holding up one hand, "Max's rifle was there too."
"Max!" Yelled Bill into the gloom. "Max! If you can hear me, yell back!"
Silence was their only answer.
Chapter 22 — Max
Max heard Bill call out for him. Answering was impossible with the zombie's hand clamped tightly around his mouth.
"I know you want to answer him. But just simmer down. Relax. Ain't nothing you can do to change what is happening right now." The zombie, one Stewart would quantify as an 'Einstein', continued carrying him down a ravine through the fog.
After he was pulled from the truck Max remembered hitting the ground hard and landing on top of the zombie who had grabbed him. Then things became a little blurry as the hands of the dead pulled at him, lifting him up and away from the unmoving form of the zombie that had cushioned his fall. Now he was being carried like a trussed pig by a large African American man, and there were zombies all around them. In fact, when Max concentrated on his friends he could tell that the zombie attack had been called off of them. The shamblers were dispersing from the glowing sparks that Max had come to see his friends as.
"I'm Lucas." The zombie offered by way of introduction. Turning to his nearby friends, fellow Einsteins, Lucas said, "You truss him, I'll hold his mouth."
When Max had his feet on the ground he tried to make a break for it. The other zombies were not expecting his strength, but Lucas was ready for it. He kept one hand pressed against Max's mouth and used his other to grab him around the back of his head. Max's scream was an aborted muffle that hadn't carried more than a few feet. Lucas lifted Max into the air by his head, held him there and shook him with an almost tenderness.
"I know your kind." Lucas said, giving Max another gentle shake. "You might take more shaking to break your neck than most living, but I could do it. And now you know it. So? You got no choice in this. Come along with us. Either quietly or not, but either way you are coming along."
Max had wrapped his hands around Lucas's arms so all his weight was not balanced on his neck. He couldn't communicate in the position he was in, so he just let the rest of his body go limp. The other zombies quickly closed in and tied his legs, using what looked like metal cuffs on his legs. They put one set on and after a moment's hesitation, snapped a second set into place.