Buck seemed to pale even more. “Being caught off guard by the zombies can get you dead.” He shivered involuntarily and settled along the rail between the two. “I feel like I let my guard down.”
Hatcher placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can. At least for now. We got your back, Buck.”
He shook his head nervously. “Old habits and all that.” He glanced at the chili mac Hollis had refused to eat. “You gonna eat that?”
Hollis tossed it to him. “Have at it, kid. Just make sure your gut can handle it.” He watched the wiry teen tear into the bag and practically inhale the food. Hollis dug in his ruck and pulled out another MRE. “Slow down, kid. Maybe chew it a little. It will come out a lot easier if you grind it up first.” He shoved the MRE into Buck’s hand and shot Hatcher a knowing grin.
Hatcher sighed and stepped away from the rail. “I think I’m gonna catch a few winks myself.” He turned to Buck. “Don’t stay up too late. We might have a big day tomorrow.”
Buck nodded slightly as he inhaled everything edible in the plastic bag.
Hollis walked back inside and caught Hatcher just as he was entering a rear bedroom. “Tomorrow will be all about survival. We’ll need to find more water, possibly provisions.” He glanced back down the hallway and lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t count on help coming for at least a couple of days.”
Hatcher nodded knowingly. “We can break into groups and check the other houses for supplies first thing in the morning if you like.”
“Sounds good to me. Try to rest. We’ll start at sunup.” Hollis turned and left, and Hatcher peeled his outer shirt off. He tossed some of the junk off the bed and laid down. It took him a moment to relax and enjoy the softness of the mattress. Being stuck with an old Army cot at the warehouse had gotten him used to sleeping stiffly and he caught himself smiling at the cloudlike feel of the mattress.
“Ah, heaven…”
Roger rode slowly through the narrow streets, his headlight causing shadows along the edges of the road that unnerved him. Besides being wary of another attack from the infected, his mind kept turning back to Candy.
He enjoyed trying to get under her skin. He liked that he had an effect on her. He knew she did the right thing in telling him to leave, but he never thought that it would bother him. For the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself to gravitate to a new woman, and it wasn’t until now, as he rode Simon’s men away from the warehouse, he began to feel guilty.
His hand automatically went to his pocket where he kept the last physical reminder of his wife. He slowed the bike and was tempted to pull the photograph out. He felt the need to look at it and remember a time when the world wasn’t trying to kill each other off. He paused just short of unzipping the pocket when movement in the corner of his eye snapped his attention back to the here and now.
The quiet street that he and the men travelled was suddenly alive with screaming infected. He locked up his brakes and slid to a short stop. The road ahead was quickly filling with the rage-fueled monsters and he could see they were about to be surrounded.
He kicked the bike into gear and opened the throttle, spinning the bike around in the other direction.
“Move it!” Roger shouted as he accelerated through the group of bikers behind him. As he approached the screaming mass closing in their exit, he suddenly wished that the bike was smaller. Small enough he could effectively pop a wheelie and use the undercarriage as a shield. Instead, he ducked low against the tank of the bike and twisted the throttle full open.
Unexpectedly, the thin crowd widened and stepped aside, letting the Indian Chief slip past their trap. Roger glanced behind him, expecting to see the others shoot through the closing gap, but there was nothing.
He slowed the bike as he approached the next turn and stopped at the intersection. He stared behind him and saw the crowd closing further and further in on itself. He knew what was at the center of the formation and he shuddered at the violent end his men were now suffering.
They wouldn’t suffer long.
Roger stared at the crowd for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to the road. He kicked the Indian into gear once more and was about to let out the clutch, when he spotted something at the edge of his headlight beam.
Across the street, standing on the hood of an old Buick was a lone infected. He held a pipe in his hand.
Roger stared hard at the man, his mind trying to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. Could it be the same Zulu that attacked him earlier? He didn’t consciously decide to act, but he found his arm rising into the air. He gave the infected an open-handed wave and the man reacted.
He jumped to the roof of the car and shook the pipe over his head, much like his previous attacker had. Roger lowered his hand, feeling much the fool for thinking that the creature might respond in any fashion other than anger. He revved the engine and released the clutch.
He had someplace to be.
Jason stood over Bren’s still form, his eyes taking in the movements of her breathing. Each time she exhaled, he waited, hoping she would inhale again. He couldn’t be certain, but it seemed like the gap between breaths was growing longer with each rise of her chest.
He tore his eyes away from her and spotted Dr. LaRue. He approached her quietly and motioned her to the side. “Tell me she’s going to make it.”
He could see her
