Zompoc Survivor: Exodus by Ben S Reeder Read Free Book Online Page B

speed, and then we were fishtailing our way onto Kimbrough. The shrieks of the infected followed us as she wrestled with the wheel to stay on the road. An intersection loomed ahead, and the headlights illuminated the profile of a man in slacks and a suit jacket in the middle of the road. I felt the truck slow as Porsche took her foot off the gas pedal. In the split second before she could hit the brake, the man turned his head toward us. Blood covered the lower half of his jaw, and thick strands of gore dripped from his chin. A sound of disgust came from Porsche, then the truck surged forward as she hit the gas again and I found myself sliding along the bed of the truck on my side. Pain blossomed in my right shoulder as I hit the tailgate, and a microsecond later, I was bouncing off the floor of the truck as the bed bucked underneath me. My left hand grabbed the tailgate and I pulled myself up in time to see the mangled body of the infected man rolling along for a few seconds in the glow of the tail lights before the darkness swallowed him up again.
    My shoulder and back hurt like Hell as I grabbed the M4 and crouch-walked back to the rear window. More shrieks came from either side to our rear as we flew through another intersection.
    “Where in the Hell are we going, anyway?” she yelled over her shoulder to me.
    :Sunset and Fort,” I called back. “Willow Gardens.”
    “Campbell’s gonna be a bitch,” she said.
    “Probably,” I said. “Get on the north side of Sunset. We’ll cross the ditch at Jefferson and get on the Greenways trail to avoid traffic.”
    “You are completely insane, did you know that?”
    “It’s one of my more endearing traits,” I said as I stood up again. This time, I made sure I had a good grip on the lip of the window. Street lights cast an orange glow on the street in front of us, and I could see headlights and tail lights in front of us. It looked like they were all pointed west, but it wasn’t until I saw the blur of lights going the opposite way across the intersection that I was sure. We sped through the last stop sign and came up on Sunset. Like Battlefield, Sunset was backed up headed west. Going east, it was pretty much clear. Aside from the one car that we’d seen, no one seemed too interested in going back into town. I didn’t blame them. Porsche stopped for a second, then turned right onto Sunset.
    “What are you doing?” I ducked down to ask.
    “Getting on the other side of Sunset,” she said with a smile. “Trust me, I’ve got plan B covered.” She headed down Sunset, and beyond the last of the cars, then took a left turn onto a short maintenance road. Once we were past the curb, she turned back to the left, and followed the sidewalk toward a thicket of trees that came to the edge of the concrete. While we bumped along over the grass, I grabbed one of the pistol belts and pulled the Beretta from its holster. The magazine that dropped into my hand had a reassuring weight to it, but I changed it out anyway and chambered a round just in case, then thumbed the hammer down.
    “There’s a round in the chamber,” I said to her as I passed the belt into the cab. “Fifteen rounds of nine millimeter bang-bang in that. Just aim for the head and pull the trigger.”
    “What about you?” she asked.
    “Already got one,” I said in an outrageously bad Monty Python accent. “It’s verra nice.” As I was making hash of British humor, I buckled the other belt around my waist. Her laugh was quick, and I could hear the first hints of hysteria in it. We passed the trees, and Porsche cut across the field that opened up to our right toward Jefferson Street. Luck must have been with us, or maybe we’d managed to fly under its radar, because there weren’t a lot of cars on Jefferson. We crossed the bridge that ran over the creek, and she followed the concrete trail as it led behind the trees and sheltered us from sight. Behind us, the shrieking of the infected sounded, and we