Bones cracked under pressure.
Both opponents screamed.
Her leg bowed back and sent her tumbling to the ground.
Steve rolled into the threshold, grabbed his gun, and fired three shots into her head.
“STEVE!” someone called. “STEVE!”
“I’m ok,” Steve gasped, heart thundering in his chest. “I’m ok, I’m ok.”
“What happened?” Erik asked, falling to his knees.
“She jumped me,” he said.
“You’re bleeding.”
Steve looked down. Fresh blood slicked through his fingers and onto the floor. He uncurled his fingers to find the key still in his grasp, the jagged tip embedded into his palm. “Fuck,” he laughed. “I still fucking have it.”
Ian hoisted Steve to his feet. “Can you get it out?”
Steve pulled the metal object out with a simple tug. He grimaced as a fresh bolt of pain bloomed in his hand.
Erik clapped Steve’s back. “We’ve got some stuff. Let’s go get it and get the fuck out here.”
Minutes later, they were loading the contents of the pulley into the back of an SUV when Ian gave a cautious glance back at the school.
“What?” Erik asked.
“I thought I heard something,” the big man said, muscles tensing in his upper arms.
“Was that the only one in there, Steve?”
“I don’t know,” Steve said, grimacing. His hand was still bleeding, despite the makeshift bandage Erik had made out of a piece of his torn shirt. “If there were more, I didn’t see them.”
“I don’t like this,” Ian said, heaving the last box into the back of the vehicle. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Agreed,” Erik said.
Steve gave the pulley one mighty shove and watched it roll off into the deeper part of the parking lot, then as it curved along the incline in the hill and stopped, only for it to begin to slowly turn.
Its front wheels shifted. The pulley reoriented itself, then began to slide down the hill, toward where a group of brand new cars sat parked in front of the school.
“Oh fuck,” Steve said.
“What?” Erik asked.
The pulley slammed into the back of a car.
The alarm went off.
A zombie long-rotten from the effects of the sun peeked over the back seat and screamed.
“FUCK!” Ian screamed. “FUCK!”
A chorus of screams went up into the air.
“Shit shit shit!” Erik said, running around the side of the car. “GET IN! GET IN!”
Steve threw himself into the backseat. Ian slammed the passenger door shut.
A group of infected came around the corner and threw themselves at the screaming vehicle.
“Shit,” Steve said, breathless at the sight before them.
“They didn’t see us,” Ian laughed. “The fuckers didn’t see us.”
“They’re gonna see us in a minute,” Erik said, sliding the bloodied key into the ignition. “We have to get out of here before more of them come.”
A second car alarm went off, followed by a third. Steve caught sight of the infected bouncing into the cars in their struggle to attack the first one, only further adding to the chain of events that drew dozens upon dozens of infected. A zombie would try to attack one car, get pushed back by the horde, then fall back into another, triggering its alarm before one of its brethren would repeat the same process.
In the front seat, Erik twisted the key in the ignition and the truck fired up.
Almost all of the infected in the lot raised their heads to look at them.
“Shit,” Erik breathed.
The mob roared as one.
Erik changed gears and slammed on the gas.
The first wave of infected bounced off the vehicle. The second lurched around the rear and started clawing at the bumper and back windows, while the third threw themselves behind the second and lurched the vehicle forward. Erik barely had time to switch gears and slammed into drive before two more waves tried to hurl themselves at the vehicle.
The SUV sped forward.
Both opposing waves of undead slammed together, knocking each other to and fro.
The vehicle slid forward, skidded, and slammed into another car, triggering its alarm before Erik tore out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“Shit!” Ian cried. “Those stupid motherfuckers!”
“No kidding,” Erik breathed, face pale as a sheet.
“You ok?” Steve asked.
“Y-yeah. I’m good.”
They sped past town and toward the interstate.
A sign reading I-90 winked back at them.
CHAPTER 8
Dakota, Jamie and Desmond rolled their vehicle into a parking space outside a massive log cabin and exited the vehicle with a sigh of relief. Behind them, the Native American who’d introduced himself as Eagle slowly made his way up the road, occasionally pausing to look behind him and back down at the wooden gate that marked the property line.
“We got lucky,” Jamie said.
“Very lucky,” Desmond agreed.
Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn’t remember ever being in a place so dark.
Don’t let this get to you. You’ve gone through too much hell to be scared of the dark.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped in response.
Dakota laughed to hide his nerves. “I’m fine,” he said, anticipating the question before it would be asked.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Eagle stepped forward. Dakota wouldn’t have even known he was there were it not for the pale beam of light piercing the darkness at waist-level. “Just makin’ sure nothing followed you here.”
“Have you had problems before?” Jamie asked.
“No. We’re too far out from the city to have anything just stumble upon us. I do worry about them following people though.”
“They wouldn’t have followed us here. I mean, I don’t see how they could have—we were making too many turns for anyone paying attention to keep track.”
“It’s easy to lose yourself out in these woods,” the Native agreed. “I’m surprised you made it here.”
“It was an accident,” Desmond said. “We saw your light.”
“As did I, but I thought my eyes were deceiving me.” Eagle reached up to finger a spread of grey stubble on his chin. “It’s bad luck to conjure such things upon yourself.”
“Sorry?” Jamie asked.
Eagle shook his head. He gestured them to follow him up the slight path that led to the front porch. “Don’t worry yourself over it. Come, let’s get out of this weather. It’s too cold and miserable for us to remain here any longer.”
Taking place alongside Jamie, Dakota mounted the steps and followed Eagle to the front door. He turned the knob, pushed it open, then leaned into the cabin to speak with someone in a hushed tone before stepping inside and beckoning them in.
“Gentlemen,” Eagle said. “This is Mr. Kevin Partridge. He’s the one who owns this farm.”
“Welcome,” Kevin Partridge said, offering his hand.
“Jamie,” Jamie smiled, accepting the bony man’s grip. “This is Dakota and Desmond.”
“Where did you come from?”
“South Dakota. We’re trying to make our way to Idaho. The interstate’s blocked off.”
“As we noticed,” Kevin said. He looked over his shoulder at three boys sitting in the living room, who each watched the newcomers with wary eyes. “These are my boys. The oldest there is Jessiah. You’ve probably already seen him though. He went out to check on Eagle when he didn’t return.” Jessiah nodded in response. “This one,” Kevin said, pointing to a red-haired boy, “is Arnold. Mark’s my youngest.”