“Hey, where in the fuck is Greer going?!” Choi demanded. “He’s our ride!”
“Wait, Greer is leaving?” Eason came through. “What’s going on?”
“Everybody shut up!” Herrera barked and then waited to make sure everyone was quiet. “Now. We have to block this bridge,” he said firmly. “If we don’t, this whole island is going to be at the risk of being overrun. So it’s either we face it now when we have a chance to stop it, or we fuck over not just us, but the entire mission.”
There were a few moments of radio silence as his words sunk in.
“Okay, that’s great and all,” Choi finally said, “but how in the hell are we supposed to do it? These trucks aren’t going to make it too far with that dense of a horde.”
Herrera sucked his lip for a moment. “We do it the only way we can,” he said. “Put the pedal to the metal and get as far onto the bridge as we can.”
“Then what?” Eason asked.
“We sit back and wait for reinforcements,” Gilbert replied.
Eason groaned. “Fucking hell.”
“When your truck starts slowing down, do what you can to angle it on the bridge,” Herrera instructed. “It isn’t going to be perfect, but we’re going to do what we can. Everybody ready?”
He didn’t get a vocal response, instead the truck horns blared in unison, bringing a smile to his face at the bravery of his team.
“Let’s hit it!” he cried, and all four trucks hit the gas, gaining speed as they approached the horde. Herrera was nearly at sixty miles per hour when they smacked into the mass.
The truck immediately lurched forward, losing speed as zombies splattered into the front grill. Soon after, the road grew bumpy as the wheels rolled over the fallen ghouls.
Herrera glanced over to the right, seeing Choi’s truck experiencing the same level of bumping. He refocused on the front, seeing that the bridge was only another hundred yards away, however the truck was really slowing down, barely cracking twenty miles per hour.
“Come on girl, come on,” Herrera urged. “You can do it.”
He floored the accelerator, gaining just a small bit of speed that allowed him to get to the edge of the bridge.
He grabbed the CB. “Choi, make a hard left just after to get on the bridge, but let me pass first!” he said. “We’re not making it much further.”
“Heard!” Choi replied, and the Corporal gripped the steering wheel tight, holding the truck steady as he hit the bridge.
When he made it about twenty yards in, he pulled the truck hard to the right, coming to rest hard on the concrete barrier. He looked out the side mirror, seeing that the truck was at an angle, blocking most of the road.
“Gonna have to do,” he muttered, and watched Choi, who was doing a good job of getting his own truck into position, leaving only a small gap for the zombies to work their way through.
“How am I looking, Corporal?” Choi asked.
Herrera shook his head. “Good as we’re going to get,” he replied.
“What about the gap?” Choi asked.
“We have enough ammo, we can create a zombie barrier once the sun comes up, and can aim better,” Herrera replied.
Choi laughed. “Be like shooting zombies in a barrel,” he said, “I love… oh shit!”
A loud crash boomed from the other side of the bridge, and Herrera watched as one of the trucks slid on its side, laying across the two lanes. Several zombies flailed in the wheel wells.
“Shit, they must have jammed it up,” he grunted, and watched helplessly as the zombies pounded against the windshield. He pulled his rifle and tried to aim through the window, but couldn’t get a good enough shot without potentially shattering the glass. “Whose truck was that?!” he demanded. But there was just silence. “Somebody answer me!”
“It was Eason’s,” Gilbert replied quickly. “I’m on it.”
Herrera watched as Gilbert moved his truck into position, grinding it up against the back of the fallen truck and getting it into a decent position that blocked off the majority of the bridge. A few seconds later, the windshield went flying and Gilbert climbed out on top of the hood.
He jumped to the back of the fallen truck and raced down it towards the other cab. He leapt over the few foot gap and slid down to the front of the truck. He looked down at the front windshield, seeing it was cracked and only being held shut by Eason’s feet pressed against it.
Gilbert quickly took out his rifle and began firing straight down, clipping several zombies on the top of the head and dropping them. He knocked on the passenger side window, motioning for his comrade to cover his eyes before smashing it in with the butt of his rifle.
“Can you move?” Gilbert demanded.
Eason nodded jerkily. “In theory, yeah,” he replied, “but as soon as I do, these things are gonna bust through.”
“We’ll get you out of here before that happens,” Gilbert said firmly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna hit these fuckers one more time, then reach in. When I do that, you move like your ass is on fire and take my hand.”
Eason nodded as he strained against the weight of the ghouls. Gilbert quickly hopped up, putting his rifle into three-round burst, and taking aim. He squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession and then tossed it to the side and reached inside the cab.
“Let’s go!” he cried, and Eason reached up.
Gilbert pulled as hard as he could while his comrade kicked off of the seat. The dead zombies at the glass bought him a precious few seconds, allowing him to get above the windshield before it crashed into the driver’s seat.
As Eason collapsed on top of the truck, Gilbert leaned over him.
“You okay?” he asked.
Eason nodded jerkily. “Yeah, just bruised up a bit.”
“Come on,” Gilbert said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get over
