Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
“He’s on the move,” their spotter shouts, and the assault continues. Bullet holes punch through the wall like angry hornets and I immediately drop down into a crawl, squirming my way under tables and past foosball tables and pool tables. The windows all around the room are shattered, with the blinds hanging limp, providing me with a marginal amount of cover. “Bring up the truck, bring it up, damn it!” the spotter shouts before another horn blast ripples through the air.
They found me. How the hell did they find me? I immediately wonder if they found the woman and her kid. Did they track me that well? I make my way to the far side of the building and lean my back against the wall, listening to their vehicle rumble over the lawn and park right at the entrance to the lobby. I can hear them shouting orders and before I can think of a plan, they’re throwing open the doors and I can hear footsteps crunching glass as they flood into the building. There’s no time to see what’s waiting for me outside. I throw my full weight over the windowsill and land on my back in the dirt below the window.
In a crouch, I rush to the corner of the dormitory, peeking around the corner. I can see the truck, and between the truck and the building there is a white pickup truck with a large black cross painted on the hood, waiting with a very large machine gun mounted in the back of the truck. The driver is still in his seat and a man in the passenger seat has a shotgun pointed out the window, covering the men who entered the dormitory. I don’t know how they tracked me across the state, but I’m sick of these idiots.
I have no idea where the spotter is, but I might be able to make it to the truck. The gunner is in the back of the truck bed reloading the gun, and the moment he starts firing, I’m going to make a run for it. Dropping down in a crouch, readying myself to run as fast as I can, hopefully fast enough to avoid bullets, I hear a voice. “Circle around the building,” the spotter shouts. I follow the sound of the voice and see that he’s in the dormitory across the street, somewhere on the second floor. I still can’t see him.
The driver throws the truck in reverse and they back up, maneuvering the truck around the opposite side of the building, opening fire on windows, filling the building with bullets, completely ignoring the men that they dumped into the building. While the truck disappears around the corner of the other building, I make a run for it.
“I see him! He’s on the outside! Hurry! Get that fucker!” I hear the spotter shouting as I run as fast as I can. He clearly doesn’t have a gun or I would be dead right now. I run, pounding my feet against the ground, the keys in my hand and ready. I reach the driver side door and push the keys into the lock and unlock it, peering through the window and out the passenger window at the doors where I see five men throwing open the doors and charging the truck. Leaping up and through the door, I slam it shut, locking it and forcing the keys into the ignition. As the engine roars to life, I reach over for the gear shaft as one of the fanatics climbs the step and swings his axe, smashing the window in a single blow. As I slam my foot on the gas, the vehicle lurches forward, the fanatic reaching for the lock, trying to hold on as he tries to get the axe into the window. In the rearview mirror, I see another truck emerging from around the street corner. Two fucking trucks? My heart is pounding as I slam the side of the truck into the corner of the dormitory, smashing my tag-along against the building, relieving him of his arm. It falls into the passenger seat, covering my map with blood as it lays there motionlessly.
I floor the gas, heading for the road as I hear the thumping of bullets along the bed of the truck. They’re after me and I’ve got a long way to go. I round the corner, trying to take it as sharply as I can with just one arm turning. Heading south, there’s no way I’m going to make it to Val’s dorm to see if she left anything. I have to go with Lexi’s map. That will have to be my guide for now. But I have more pressing concerns. Particularly the two trucks behind me, hot on my ass.
Lindsay, that’s how they found me. I know it like I know that they’re going to kill me if I slow down even the slightest. I smash through the military barricades and watch as the buckled, metal fences swing close, banging against the hood of the truck directly behind me. They’re relentless, unwilling to let me go. I can’t say that I blame them either. Their entire city has probably burned to the ground now because of me and I did end up killing the majority of them. But that was because they had fired the first shot. Killing a Zombie is not a sin, nor is it an abomination against the Almighty. They killed Lindsay. They stuck a knife through her and they expected me to nod silently as if this was justice. No. They got just what they deserved and they’re not going to get a single apology from me. In fact, if they want to kill me, then they’re going to have to really work for it. They’re going to have to take me down fighting.
I keep on the gas, roaring through Gainesville, smashing into cars and hurling barriers out of my way as I push this oversized piece of crap to its limits. It isn’t really fast, but the trucks behind me are keeping out of sight. I think they’re scared and they should be. They both have a bunch of guys in the bed of the truck, no doubt they’re worried about crashing and sending them flying. We’ll see about that. I fly past buildings, wondering if there’s anyone in this city watching this and wondering what the hell is happening. I shake my head, I’ve been so stupid, so reckless.
Of course, it was Lindsay. I had stuffed the maps into her pack in hopes that she would leave me behind, that she would escape and that she would find a way out of the city while I held back and kept the zealots at bay while she made it to the girls. I had put both of my maps in there. The first had Gainesville circled on it and the other had Jason’s house marked on it for my return journey. Jesus, if they find Jason’s house then everything is fucked. The future of the world cannot be held in the tyrannical hands of these psychopaths. No, it’s not enough just to escape these bastards. I have to kill them. I have to get my map back.
I weave past a truck and listen as the bumper smacks into it, causing me to fishtail. I should have taken Lindsay’s pack. No, I should have made Lindsay run when she had the chance. I shouldn’t have let her linger with me. We weren’t that kind of a team. We were a ‘survival at all costs’ sort of duo. If she had just run, then these idiots would still be in Atlanta living in their freaky weird utopia, not threatening everything that I had worked so hard for. I have come too far for it to end like this. I have lost and suffered too much to let them kill me here and to take Jason’s house. I round a corner, high centering the truck for a moment before it slams back down on all four wheels and continues speeding. I’ve got to stop them, but how?
There are no divine signs, no indicators from God that I’ve got help from above. I’m on my own, just like I always have been. The key is to head south. I need to get to the A1A, and if I have to take these assholes with me for a while, then so be it. We reach the outskirts of the city and I see that they’re still behind me. The muzzle flash of the one machine gun that they have reminds me that they still have guns too. If only I could summon a ton of Zombies to knock over their cars and eat them. God, that would be helpful right about now. I slow down, narrowly avoiding a bus and a semi-truck that have choked the southbound lane of the highway pretty well. My last remaining side mirror is ripped off and I’m driving blind now. I don’t know if they’re still behind me or not. It doesn’t matter. I have to keep going.
I have to act. I have to stop them now or I’m going to never get a chance. I slow down as I see that I’m approaching a bridge. The bridge is choked with cars and it’s going to take a measure of finesse to navigate it. I slowly take my foot off the gas, prompting the bastards to catch up to me. I take a deep breath. This is suicide, but it’s my only viable offense. I can hear them approaching, both of them on each side of me. When I can see the white of their hoods on both sides of the truck, I swerve.
I slam into the truck on my left and force it off the road just as we’re coming onto the bridge. It veers, screeching its brakes as it slams into the concrete safety wall and I crash into the back of a Volkswagen Beetle as everything in the cab leaps forward. I don’t know if it did the trick, but the truck to my right is the one with the machine gun and opens fire on me. Everything is banging and rattling as the truck is peppered with bullets in a violent attack that makes my ears ring. I’m afraid that one of the bullets is going to rip through the side of my five ton as I push a coupe out of my way and into the path of my attackers. Their truck falls back, taking position behind me, and I’m veering and swerving to avoid the cars now, trying to thrown them off for a moment longer. We’re almost across the bridge, but they’re still behind me and I have no clue where the others are.
On the other side of the bridge, the road divides with a median of concrete and water barrels to stop anyone who doesn’t see it or loses control. The right lane is clogged with an overturned truck and a bus that has smashed into the wreckage. The left hand lane is free for the most part. There are half a dozen scattered cars, abandoned and left for dead. I slow down and listen as the truck comes around my right again. I veer left, and the truck accelerates next to me. I can see the gunner in my passenger window, grinning like a fool with the other fanatics as he waves goodbye to me like a jackass. I wave back to him and crank the wheel to the right, smacking into the side of his truck and forcing it into the water barrels and the concrete wedge.
We’re going fifty miles an hour as I slam into the back of an old half ton Chevy, watching as they reel into the barrier. I’m jarred forward, hitting my head on the steering wheel, watching as bodies go flying past me, smacking into the concrete barrier, other parked cars, and skidding across the street. They leave a trail of blood and skin in their wake. One of the bodies slams into the side of a van head first. His entire body crumples against the vehicle, blood and gore scattering as he is stuck there on the indented side of the van. Another is screaming in the street, twitching and trying to pull himself up. His face has been ripped off by the road, along with most of his skin and muscle on his arms and chest. How he’s still conscious is beyond me, but he won’t be much longer. He won’t even be alive much longer. I myself am bleeding from the gash in the bridge of my nose and my ribs feel like they have shattered into a spider web of agonizing fractures. Leaning back in my seat, I cough and try to get it together. There might be survivors.
I should put the truck in reverse and get the hell out of here, but I don’t want them hanging on to my maps. I don’t want them to have that sort of knowledge. I want to be the only one who knows about Jason’s house until I can find someone trustworthy of joining me in my little crusade of trying to save the planet. I reach over to the glove box and open it, looking at the medical kit and the flare gun. I grab the flare gun and put it in the seat next to the severed arm. There’s an extra cartridge in there, I scoop it up and stuff it in my pocket. Grabbing the gun, I push open the door and step down into the street. Looking around, I see that the first truck is nowhere to be seen. I must have forced it into the river. Good, fuck them.
From the wreckage of the second truck, I can hear movement. There’s someone still alive. He’s in the bed of the truck. The hood and the grill are smashed in and the passenger is stretched out across the hood, eyes wide open, blood running out of his shredded face. He’s been dead for a few seconds. The driver is still alive too, the airbag saving him, but he’s not without his cuts and broken limbs. No immediate threat. That other survivor in the back of the truck is pretty banged up, but he’s in the best condition. I decide to start with him.
I pull down the tailgate and grab onto his ankle, dragging him out from the back and throwing him onto the street. His head hits the pavement pretty hard and I’m worried for a second that I knocked him unconscious, but he coils his fingers and I can see blood pooling under his head. “Shit! God damn it!” the man shouts angrily at me.
“Turn around,” I growl.
The man slowly does as I say, looking up at me with a broken nose and an enormous cut on his forehead. He looks at me and sees the barrel of the flare gun and laughs. “What is that, a toy?” the man chuckles against the pain of his situation. “Man, you’re a little too far gone, ain’t you?”
“Do you know what a flare gun does to a human body?” I ask him. The man squints against the sun and blinks a few time, looking at the gun and realizing that it is, in fact, a flare gun. His eyes widen and his comical demeanor vanishes. “How did you find me?” I ask him.
“Your bitch,” the man answers coldly. We both know the truth here. We both know that he’s not getting away from this situation alive and he has no motivation to play civilized with me. That’s alright. He can be a hard ass and a loyalist to his cause all the way up to his bitter, bloody end. I’m fine with that. I just want answers. “We found the maps in her pack. When you set those things on us, you made a real mess of everything. Shit got weird, but we knew exactly where you were headed. We knew exactly where you would be.”
“You weren’t tracking me?” I put my foot on his chest. His hands clamp down on my ankle and he squeezes, trying to twist my foot off of him, but I just keep applying pressure. His ribs are going to start cracking soon and it’s going to get very hard to breathe. “Were…you…tracking…me?” I say real slowly so he can make out every word I say. I don’t want him overly confused.
“No!” The man shrieks before I apply full pressure. He lets go of my ankle and his face twists with agony and pain. That’s my mark. I lift my foot from his chest and kick at his face with my foot, grinding my heel into his already damaged face. He screams at first, but with the second kick, he goes silent and I lean down to finish the job. After seven jabs to the chest, my bladed stump drips with his blood, and I figure that he’s not going to recover.
Now it’s time to speak with the driver. I know that he’s heard everything that transpired with his friend. He’s going to be hostile or maybe he’ll play along nicely, hoping that I don’t end up killing him like I just killed his friend. The man in the driver seat throws open the door before I can get to it and before I know what’s happening, he dives from the door, shooting at me with a pistol. I duck, trying to avoid the shots, and I don’t feel like he’s hit me. The man’s shoulder slams into the street and he squeezes off two more shots until the revolver starts clicking and I’m standing there, still very much alive.
The man’s left arm is broken and he’s favoring it as he stands up. I think it’s really broken, as in he can’t even move the thing. I look at him and I hold out my flare gun. “You’re all that’s left,” I tell him.
“All things are as God wills it,” the man says, as blood runs down his face into his pale brown beard. His eyes are peaceful, understanding. “You killed my wife, stranger. You killed my daughter and my two boys. They were eaten alive by those abominations.”
“God’s creations,” I correct him. I can’t help it. “You killed my friend.”
“Your wife?” the man asks calmly.
“No,” I shake my head.
“Then she was your whore?” The man spits blood at my feet. I’m very tempted to squeeze the trigger and watch this man burn alive. “What do you want with me, unbeliever?” the man asks me finally, after a moment of tense silence.
“Where are the maps?” I ask him.
“They are in there,” the man answers.
“Are there any more of you?” I ask him.
“No,” he shakes his head. “Atlanta has burned and the brothers and sisters who survived your murderous rampage have fled or given over into debauchery and madness. They no longer hear the words of the Prophet or of God. We were the last of the Faithful. We swore an oath to God to kill you as an offering for forgiveness of our sins. Your head was to be our salvation.”
“Not looking so good right now,” I shrug at him.
“I have no doubt that you will die,” the man says confidently. “Those who live by the sword shall surely die by the sword. You are a man of the sword, unbeliever.”
“So are you,” I point out the hypocrisy to him.
“Yes,” is all he says. “The only difference is that my wife and children will be waiting for me in Paradi—”
I squeeze the trigger and hear the loud pop followed by the short hiss of the flare as white smoke fills the air, flickering with the bright, luminous red light of the flare before the man starts screaming. I let the fires burn and ravage him, the glowing flare igniting the man’s clothing and covering him in fire as the blazing core of the flare eats away at his chest. He screams for longer than I would have expected before the burning hole in his chest is too much for him. I let his body burn, watching it as it lies there, consumed with fire.
I find Lindsay’s pack in the back seat of the truck cab, where food and water have been stored for their journey. I reach out for the pack and realize that something really hurts in my side, remembering my sore ribs. Perhaps they’re broken again after all. I look down and that’s when I see the growing patch of blood on my side. I look at the bullet wound and shake my head. The bastard shot me. He got me. Slinging the pack over my shoulder, I curse myself for entering Gainesville. Of course this was going to happen if I enter a town or a city. I’m not supposed to deviate from the course. I know that I had to stop here, but something inside of me, something superstitious, claws at me, taunting me as I walk around the truck looking at the burning man and hoping that he finds hell. I hope that he finds his family there and all of his other friends and I hope that Lindsay is there. I hope that she continues lighting that bastard on fire for the rest of eternity.