accordion under the cab of a truck.
Those who weren’t killed in the collision had died in the fire that followed. The heat was so intense that pieces of asphalt had melted. A couple of blackened skulls stuck out from the charred frame of a car. The scorched remains of several more bodies were visible here and there. A shocking scene, right out of hell.
This was not a highway. This was a graveyard.
Six miles later, we saw undead again, reeling down the road. Prit said this meant we were getting closer to an urban area, so we’d better be prepared. My frowning friend ordered me to buckle my seat belt, and then he floored it. Bad idea. Something under the hood exploded with a thunderous bang, causing a sizable dent. Thick black smoke poured out of the engine. My heart almost flew through my mouth.
The Ukrainian looked at me, chagrined. “A rod,” he said laconically, as we came to a standstill. “The engine kaput.” He let the dying van roll slowly down an exit ramp.
I couldn’t read the highway sign, so I didn’t know where the hell we were. For the first time, I was totally disoriented.
We were wondering how the hell we were going to make it without the van when chance smiled on us again. The ramp was steep, so the van coasted to the bottom of the hill, right in front of a small industrial park with fifteen or twenty warehouses. There, in front of us, as if it were expecting us, was a huge car dealership with the familiar logo of the three-pointed star enclosed in a circle.
This was fucking great. I smiled and asked Prit how’d he like to drive a brand-new Mercedes. The Ukrainian’s beaming smile spoke volumes. We’d be traveling in style.
Momentum had carried us about 150 yards from the dealership. We could see several undead in the distance, but we’d passed by them unnoticed, since we’d driven the last half mile in neutral.
We got out of the battered, smoldering van and grabbed everything we could carry in one trip. We couldn’t risk coming and going, drawing unnecessary attention. I put the soldier’s knapsack on my back and the speargun across my chest and held Lucullus’s carrier tightly in my arms to keep him from escaping. The last thing I needed was to chase after my cat through an unfamiliar industrial park full of monsters eager to sink their teeth into me.
Prit carried the AK-47, the heavy box of ammunition, and some of the food from the Russian ship in one hand and the notorious briefcase in the other. The rest, unfortunately, we had to leave behind.
Loaded down like that, we didn’t think we’d ever reach the dealership. When we finally got there, we were out of breath. In the shade of the huge entrance gate, I collapsed exhausted against the giant glass window. Prit glided along like an eel, pressed against the building, searching for a way in.
As I waited, I took a swallow from the canteen and rummaged around in the backpack. At the bottom, I found a pack of crushed Chesterfields. I remembered putting them there when I left home. Kicking back a little, I lit a cigarette. After all this time, the first puff was like a shot of heroin to a junkie. Everything seemed simpler.
The muffled sound of breaking glass shook me out of my trance. I jumped up like lightning, the blood pounding in my temples. I gripped the speargun, braced for whatever might come next.
Suddenly I heard the metal door open behind me. I was terrified. But then I saw Prit’s amused smile. He’d slipped inside through a bathroom window. Hot damn!
I lumbered through the entrance to the dealership, loaded down like a mule, with Lucullus scampering around at my feet and Prit standing guard. Once we got inside, he closed the gate again and threw the bolt to secure it.
Prit and I stood still for a long minute, trying to determine if anyone—or anything—was in there.
I stood there dumbstruck. The interior was dark and cool. Somehow, this dealership had been spared by looters. I could make out neat rows of vehicles in the shadows. I smiled. Time to go shopping.
That darkness felt really good. After a long day on the run, my muscles relaxed for the first time in hours. I’d started the day on the
We quickly checked out the dealership. Nothing. All the doors and windows were closed and barred, except for the bathroom window Prit had broken. It was too high and narrow for those things to sneak in, but we wanted to take every precaution.
We wrestled a panel from one of the cubicles against the broken bathroom window. It wouldn’t withstand a heavy blow, but it would do for the short time we’d be there.
Bone tired, we collapsed in a room that adjoined the manager’s office. It was a room with no windows, stacks of files, a tiny bathroom with a shower and, surprisingly, a fold-out bed. What the hell was that bed doing there? Prit snooped around the room like a bloodhound. He picked up something from underneath the cot. With a sly smile, he held up some wadded-up lacy burgundy panties.
Well, well. This must be the manager’s bachelor pad. Way to go, you bastard. It’d been some time since that guy got laid. If he were still alive, he had better things to think about.
Overflowing with newfound energy, Prit tossed every drawer. I stepped into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Out of habit I turned on the tap. To my surprise a stream of rust-colored water gushed out, popping with all the air built up in the pipes.
I figured the dealership had its own water tower, so it still had running water. Running water! If there was water, there had to be a gas or battery-operated water heater somewhere. I went back to the bachelor pad, where Prit was stretched out on the bed, leafing through a pile of old magazines. I left my friend comfortably settled there and started my search, armed with a flashlight.
Behind the hallway that connected the offices to the garages were some steep stairs that disappeared into the darkness underground. I got up my courage and started down the steps, my back pressed to the wall, a cocked speargun in one hand and the flashlight in the other. The basement was cold and dry. It looked like a very old repair shop that had been completely renovated.
Surrounded by a thicket of cobwebs and tons of boxes of old brochures was a large modern water heater hooked up to an orange bottle of butane gas. Once I was sure the basement was safe, I climbed down the rest of the way. I shook the bottle. Empty. The pilot light had been on for weeks and used up all the gas in the bottle.
Disappointed, I turned around in the dark. As I started back up the stairs, I hit my knee so hard I saw stars. I shone the flashlight on what I’d run into. It was a mesh cage containing half a dozen sealed bottles. Fucking great!
Parting the cobwebs, I replaced the empty bottle with one of the full ones and pressed the button to purge the system. When I pushed the power button, a flickering blue flame appeared. I shouted for joy. We had hot water!
I raced up the stairs as Prit came walking out of the office, carrying a box full of keys to the Mercedeses. In a cheerful mood, we went into the showroom, where dozens of vehicles waited, neatly parked, ready to drive out the door.
As we strolled around looking for our new car, Prit and I had a little argument. He had his heart set on the fire-engine-red CLK cabriolet. He said it was a rocket, perfect for escaping at full speed. I finally convinced him that even though that convertible was fast, it wasn’t the wisest choice for driving on roads infested with undead.
I pragmatically chose a huge GL, the largest SUV Mercedes made, with four-wheel drive and lots of horsepower. We could drive off road in that beast if we encountered an accident blocking the road. Plus, it could push aside more undead than the sports car.
Prit grumbled and accepted my reasoning, casting a longing look at the convertible. We set to work and exchanged its battery for a brand-new one we found in the garage. Then we loaded our stuff, including an increasingly restless Lucullus.
A sudden, loud noise made us jump out of our skin. I threw myself on the floor, feeling around for my speargun, as Prit cocked the AK-47. We looked around for the origin of the sound. A couple of yards from us, beating on the armored glass window, were two undead, watching us with empty eyes, roaring with rage.
It was a gruesome sight. Since I’d offed my poor neighbor, I hadn’t had an opportunity to study those monsters up close when I wasn’t running or fighting for my life. I eased up to the glass, an arm’s length away. That drove them nuts. They wanted me. They wanted my life. My blood. Fucking bastards.
Something dawned on me. A newly transformed undead, my neighbor for example, had
