“Let’s go, Erik!” She shot one of the things in the face. They were coming in force now. There was a trickle before, but now there were a lot more. I took off, her holding my hand and covering me as I ran for the car. There were a few ahead of us, but it seemed like most had been headed toward the cabin.
A few more appeared as we ran in the dark, but for the most part, it was a clear path. We dodged a pair that stumbled past, and then I shot one in the face when he drifted in front of us from a section of the road.
The Honda was just ahead. I could make out its shape as we ran. We put on a burst of speed. The car was soon surrounded by moving forms. We were in even deeper trouble. I raised the gun and shot one that was shambling in our direction, but, as I watched, more walked toward the vehicle, as if they were being driven. I glanced around from side to side and, sure enough, there was the green glow of that bastard. I wanted to peel away and run after him. Shoot him in the head and see if he could control anything with his brains all over the fucking forest.
Katherine must have followed my focus, because she emptied the magazine in the thing’s direction, then slammed in a replacement just as quick as a whip. She had one hand on me, on my shoulder, so I was guiding us in the dark. I had to rely on the poor moonlight as I pounded over ground covered in gravel and bits of wood. One wrong move and we would be eating dirt.
A shot rang out, and I felt Katherine stumble against me. She let out a cry. I slowed and turned to see if she had tripped on something, but she was holding her arm. In the moon’s faint glow, her eyes showed shock.
“What happened?”
“Shot! Someone fucking shot me!”
“That’s not possible. Those things don’t use guns.”
“Well, someone in the woods has my number, because I’ve been shot.” She groaned and stumbled against me.
“Shit!” I ran ahead and fired off a few blasts, dropping zombies as they staggered toward me. The smell of gunshot and blood was heavy in the air. The undercurrent of pine and spruce couldn’t disguise it. I wondered if I would be smelling blood tonight in a more intimate way. My own blood, as my flesh was torn from my body.
I hugged Katherine to me as I stumbled into the back of the SUV. The barrel of the gun clanged against the top of the vehicle. I had half a mind to dive in the back, grab the M249 and open up with it. I could take out dozens of them and every tree in sight.
A crash behind me told me they were in the cabin. Stuff smashed against the floor. They weren’t my things, but I still felt a sense of loss at the intrusion into our lives, into my new home.
I groaned and maneuvered Katherine to the passenger side seat. One of the bastards came out of the dark, so I lifted one leg and kicked straight out, smashing the undead man in the chest with about two hundred pounds of pressure. The kick was under control, yet panic rode my body like a wave. I felt it cresting in my chest and threatening to bubble to the surface. I knew how to react to it, how to hone and form it into nothing but pure violence.
I was around the car in a flash as she slammed the door shut. I heard the metal plate rattle from the motion, then more metal on metal as the gun nozzle was extended. She fired once, groaned, and then fired again. I was in the driver’s side seat in a pair of heartbeats, and I slammed the door in one of their faces. A man about my age, who was missing an eye and all of his teeth. From his gums hung strips of flesh that flapped when he opened and shut his mouth, making him look as if he chewed a piece of meat.
I shivered at the dreadful image, then slammed the door open into his face. He fell back, and I slammed the door again. I could see Katherine clutching her shoulder with one hand as she grimaced and tried not to cry out in pain. I took the keys from my pocket and found the big Honda key with ease. It slid in, and I waited for the inevitable part of the movie where the car won’t start. It always happened when two people were in a vehicle and creatures were closing in, but this time we were greeted by the small but powerful engine kicking over. I hit the headlights and gasped at the mass of zombies in front of us.
The front of the car was not covered by metal as the windows were, and I wondered if I would be able to make it through the dead. I counted three of them directly in front of the car and at least five or six more behind them.
Pushing the panic down again, I directed my energy toward a cool and calm violence—something at which I was becoming very good. I eased the car forward until the bumper pushed into the first pair of monstrosities, then gave it some gas to nudge them. One spun away to the right, but the other went down in an uncoordinated mass of limbs. I drove over him, his body responding with a sickening crunch. I pressed on, one body at a time, until we had pushed aside or flattened all before us, but a quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed a couple of them in pursuit.
They weren’t moving fast, but they were being driven. I noticed green and felt the urge to grab the machine gun, pop the top, and lay into him. I couldn’t risk it, however; not with Katherine bleeding next to me. With every bump, she groaned, and more than once cried out in pain. I reached over and put my hand on her leg, but she didn’t respond to my gestures.
We made it to the gate, and I ignored it, assuming we would never return, and this time punched the gas. I took out one more of the things and smashed through the wooden planks as if they were kindling. The green aura faded behind me as I swung the car to the right, so that the ghoul was no longer in my rearview mirror. I set it at thirty-five and, when the road was clear, took it up about ten miles per hour. I hadn’t gone this way and didn’t know what to expect. I had driven toward town before, and that didn’t turn out so well, so I went the other way. I had no idea where this led, except deeper into the mountains. I did look at maps the last time I was here, with Allison, but the memory of those was long gone.
“You okay?” I asked.
“It hurts,” she whispered. I could hear the pain in her voice but could do little for her. I drove on as indecision gnawed at me. After another mile, I pulled over to the side of the road and had a chuckle at myself—at my old habit of getting out of the way. No one was going this way except us. I bet I could have stayed there for a day and not have spotted another soul in an automobile.
“Let me see.” I turned on the overhead light, which barely illuminated the interior. It was dim and dull, as if the light bulb were going out.
“Just drive,” she said softly.
Turning, I took her bloody hand in mine. I pulled it down gently as I stared into her eyes. She held on at first, gripping her sweatshirt like it was her prized possession. Then, after a very brief battle of wills, she gave in and let down her guard. I tugged at the shirt as gently as I could, but she winced and gasped as I touched the wound.
Her pale skin was marred by the puncture. It puckered out above her shoulder blade, and I worried about fragments of bone exploding from the shot and causing more damage. I tugged her forward and verified that there was an entrance and an exit wound, so at least the bullet wasn’t stuck in her. How the hell had this happened?
“Did you see who shot you?” I reached for the glove box and found some old paper towels. Probably left over from the last time I cleaned the car, months and months ago. I tore off the first few and threw them in the back, then folded one into quarters and pressed it to the wound. She cried out and moved to push my hand out of the way, but I batted it aside.
“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m concerned about the blood loss, so please keep these packed close.” I tried to sound reassuring, but even a wound this small could be deadly. She needed antibiotics, a doctor, stitching at the very least. I would settle for a vet right about now.