Suddenly, Laura was yanked from his grip, and Alex stumbled to a halt. He looked back and screamed. An infected had hold of Laura, her tiny form hugged to his chest as if to comfort her. But comfort was the last thing on the zombie’s mind. His teeth dug into her neck, right where the shoulder connected.
“No!” Alex cried, his insides liquefying at the terrible sight.
The zombie tore out a hunk of flesh, chewing with relish. Blood spurted from the wound, a red mist that covered them both in a spray of crimson fluid. Laura screamed, and it was a sound that Alex never forgot as long as he lived.
Other infected reached them and latched onto the little girl. They dug into her with their teeth and nails, tearing her limb from limb in a feeding frenzy.
Alex found himself frozen in the moment, unable to move. Then a hand tugged at his arm, and a shrill voice commanded him. “Alex, move! You have to move!”
His limbs moved on autopilot, and he stumbled to the waiting car. Amy ushered him inside and slammed the door shut. “Wait right there.”
She dashed around the front and jumped in beside him. With a roar of the engine, she pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
Alex sat in his seat like a statue. He’d lost the little girl. She was just a child, and it was all his fault. In his mind’s eye, he relived her death over and over again until it ran on a loop.
Amy shouted something at him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Instead, a dark cloud descended over his eyes, and he leaned back in his seat without fighting it any longer. His body, weakened by infection and blood loss, gave up the struggle, and he sank into oblivion with a sigh of relief. Anything was better than hearing her screams.
Chapter 23 - Dylan
Dylan ducked her head as shots punched into her car. The windshield shattered, raining her with glass, and she swerved sideways to avoid the incoming hail of bullets. The front tire hit the pavement with terrific force and burst with a loud bang.
“Oh, crap, no!” Dylan shouted as she lost control and crashed into a fire hydrant. The nose of the car crumpled inward, and a jet of water shot into the air from the broken hydrant. The water poured back down onto the vehicle, drenching her within seconds, and obscuring her view.
Dylan twisted sideways and grabbed the duffel bag containing her food and water. She unzipped it with lightning speed and stuffed the rifle inside. Her empty Glock and one of the Beretta’s she took from Ray, and his buddies followed. With the second pistol in her hand and Ray’s gun in her holster, she jumped out of the car.
A bullet struck the tar next to her feet and ricocheted into the air with an ugly whine. Hunched low to the ground, Dylan ran toward the nearest shelter she could find. She wedged her body into a tiny gap between two recycling bins and took stock of the situation.
It was as bad as it could get.
Coming into Louisville had been a colossal mistake. She’d have been better off sticking to the back roads and bypassing the city altogether. But she’d been in a rush. The clock was ticking, and even now, she only had around forty hours left to make it to Fort Knox. While it might sound like a lot, getting out of the city was proving impossible.
The city was a war zone. Posters stuck to every lamp post announced that an evacuation would take place that afternoon from the Churchill Downs racetrack located on Central Avenue. That meant every single able-bodied person in the city was fighting to get there, and most of them were armed and trigger-happy. Undead roamed the streets in packs, causing random shooting to break out. The streets ran red with the blood of both the infected and innocent civilians.
“I have to get out of here,” Dylan muttered, searching for a means of escape. It seemed hopeless. Her car was totaled, and she’d never make it on foot.
A zombie spotted her and charged. Dylan raised her gun and fired three shots before scoring a head shot, and the thing collapsed mere feet away. A teen boy ran past with his skateboard tucked underneath one arm. He vaulted over the corpse without pause and continued down the street. A small family followed, the mother carrying her toddler on her hip with the father bringing up the rear.
Dylan jumped to her feet and entered the maelstrom, the duffel bag slung across her back. She couldn’t afford to hide any longer. A truck swerved past her, so close its wake ruffled her clothes, and a rough elbow hit her in the ribs. She stumbled and fell to her knees, one hand bracing her fall. A boot stepped on her fingers, stomping the delicate digits into the ground.
Dylan hissed and yanked her hand away. Suckling on the injured area, she shoved her way through the desperate crowd. Her ears rang from the noise, a hellish mixture of car horns, alarms, shouting, screaming, and crying. “Out of my way!”
From a side street, a group of infected attacked, and the people went wild, trampling each other in their haste to escape. Dylan fired at the zombies, missing as often as she scored. Within seconds, her gun was empty, and she shoved it into the top of her jeans with a curse. “Shit, I’m out!”
“Allow me,” a man with a thick beard said as he let rip with an AK-47.
Several zombies went down, but he missed the undead woman that crept up behind him. She pounced onto his back and sunk her teeth into his neck. Blood spurted in a fountain of red, splashing onto Dylan’s shirt. She aimed a quick shot at the zombified woman and hit her between the
