He dug through the glove box, the center console, and the cup holder looking for keys, and was ready to scream when he came up empty. He sat in the driver’s seat and sighed. For shits and giggles he pulled down the visor and a set of keys slid out and fell to the floorboard. Bob sat and stared at the silver and black keys as if they were foreign objects. Nobody puts their keys up there except on television. Chuckling to himself he groaned as he leaned forward and pulled the key ring from the floorboard.
He sat back in the seat and considered his options. He was assuming the car would start, but he was so tired. He could feel his eyelids trying to fall and he wanted so terribly much to just curl up and take a nap, but he knew his exhaustion was due to blood loss and his overnight tromp through the woods looking for Lucky.
Bob pushed himself from the seat and slipped around to the rear of the car. He popped the trunk and rummaged around, looking for anything: more water, food, an energy bar, gum, anything he might could use to keep his energy up, stay awake, or possibly use as a weapon. He pulled his head away from the trunk in disgust. This was obviously a lady’s car. A very messy lady’s car. Old dry cleaning that was now covered in road grit, a bag of trash, old magazines, and a flat spare. Not much that might be of use.
Bob shut the trunk and stared out at the line of autos in front of him. He could use the little Jetta in front of him or he could ransack some of the others. The odds of finding a usable weapon were slim. Maybe a tire iron, a stray golf club, or a ball bat left by someone’s kid…if he was lucky. With a sigh, Bob wedged back into the small Volkswagen and slid the key into the ignition. With a twist of the key, the small engine purred to life and he pulled the door shut. He slipped the car into reverse and backed into the car behind him. He chuckled to himself as he considered leaving a note for the owner of the Audi, but, instead, he put the selector into DRIVE and pulled out of the long line of cars.
As Bob began the slow trip toward where the ranger station was located, he began noticing things. The smashed cars that were parked along the road. The dents and scrapes, the paint transfers…they all matched. Whoever it was was either hurt, blind, or a really bad driver.
Bob slowed down and rolled down the window of the Jetta. He shook his head slightly as he stared at the scrape alongside of a white car. Could Buck and Skeeter have done this when they left? He was stopped beside the white car, considering the possibilities when a scream broke him from his reverie. His eyes glanced about, but nothing caught his attention. Bob took off again, slowly increasing speed in the little Volkswagen, eyes darting about looking for the source of the scream, when something solid hit the side of the car, rocking it.
Bob nearly yelped as a shadow crossed his rearview and his head snapped around just as something large and dark came up the passenger side of the car. He instinctively floored the little car and watched as a bloody hand smeared the side window and down the side, a barely human voice screeching after him as he accelerated away.
Bob’s eyes continued to dart from side to side, his heart rate through the roof, his adrenaline peaked. He could hear his own breathing coming in short pants over the roar of the little engine as he gunned it down the rocky and twisting road. He happened to catch a view of a really nice chopper parked alongside the road and wished, for just a moment, that his shoulder wasn’t shot and he had a key to the bike. The idea of having a two-wheeled ride seemed somehow better; even though it offered zero protection from the zombies. Just the idea of quick acceleration and being able to maneuver easier gave him a sense of freedom that the little Jetta lacked.
As Bob took the twist in the road, he immediately locked up the brakes and nearly slid into a pickup that was practically laying on its side in the middle of the road. Somehow, it had gotten jammed between the two lines of parked autos and apparently rolled.
Bob could feel the bile rise in his throat as he realized he had at least one zombie behind him in the road, a stuck pickup in front of him blocking his path, and two rows of cars blocking his way on either side. He knew he was in no condition to outrun the hyped-up zombie. He looked to the rearview mirror and gritted his teeth. Tossing the gear selector intoREVERSE, he pressed down on the accelerator and began backing up as quickly as he dared. If he could only find a spot wide enough to turn around or get outside of the line of cars…he might stand a chance.
Bob navigated the little Jetta as best he could, the dust from his drive down the road still hanging lazily in the mountain air obscuring his view. As the dust began to clear, Bob sped up a bit more, doing his best to keep the rear bumper of the Jetta from smashing into either side of the rows of cars. He had just
