And promptly regretted my decision.
Although I didn’t consider it wise to have a head-on collision with the oversized zombie child, I hadn’t anticipated the steep, rugged terrain of the slope descending toward our campsite. The gently curving driveway would’ve offered a much more pleasant descent.
Once I’d veered onto the slope, however, it was too late to turn back. In an instant, the cart doubled in speed. Additionally, I managed to hit every thorny bush and slender tree trunk on the way down, adding several scratches and bruises to my growing collection. At least the windshield offered some protection, and the seatbelt kept me from tumbling out on the way down.
I tried my best to steer through the untamed foliage, but it was a futile effort—like attempting to navigate a car that had plummeted into a river. Gravity did most of the work for me. I was just grateful the vehicle didn’t roll over during my cacophonous journey through the woods.
If not for the vehicle’s headlights—and the recent gunshots—my traveling companions might’ve thought a giant zombie was crashing its way toward them. As it was, they merely stared at me as I burst noisily through the tripwire and into the campsite. Clare and Casey stood beside the wide-open rear doors of the van, their arms full of gear, their eyes wide with shock. George hovered nearby, her rifle at the ready, but fortunately, she refrained from shooting me.
Clearly out of control, I zoomed past them and smashed into the battered station wagon with a bone-shaking thud. My thighs slammed painfully into the steering wheel, and my head smacked the windshield, worsening the ongoing ache in my skull but preventing my body from ripping through the flimsy seatbelt and launching itself into a tree.
Every part of me hurt.
But the crack of George’s rifle snapped me back to the painful present. Since I didn’t sense a bullet hole among my injuries, I figured she’d shot an encroaching zombie… which meant it was time to get the fuck gone.
Chapter
16
“It’s amazing how quickly things can go from bad to total shitstorm.” – Columbus, Zombieland (2009)
As I unbuckled the seatbelt, I heard footsteps thundering toward me. But I couldn’t move to greet them. My knees were jammed against the steering wheel.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered.
No broken bones, but both legs throbbed unmercifully.
Casey appeared beside me, his arms empty. I assumed he and Clare had been transferring all the luggage and tools from the totaled station wagon into the step van—our only remaining ride.
“Are you OK, Joe?”
“I’ve been better,” I grumbled.
Once Clare arrived, the two of them helped me extricate myself from the fucking golf cart. I was a bit shaky after the jarring collision. While George kept an eye on the perimeter of our campsite, and Clare gave me a worried once-over, Casey started lugging weapons from the cargo bed.
“Baby, are you sure you’re alright?” Clare’s eyes still filled with concern. “Why don’t you get inside the van? I can help Casey with the guns.”
“I’ll be fine,” I groaned, glancing toward the driveway. “Besides, we don’t have much time.” Then, remembering something I’d almost forgotten, I turned back to her. “Azazel?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head sadly.
“She’s probably hiding in the van.”
She sniffled. “I don’t think so.”
I shook off my own dismay. “OK, well, let’s not lose hope. We’ve gotta get these guns inside before those hungry little bastards arrive.”
With a reluctant nod, she moved toward the rear of the golf cart and gathered an armful of weapons. Like her, I was giving serious consideration to abandoning our duties to search for Azazel. But we had no choice.
I almost smacked myself for leaving the van doors wide open, but I couldn’t do anything about it now, and that pissed me off more than I could express. All the shit I’d gone through to keep my tiny tiger alive… and I ended up losing her because of a fucktard ranger.
I swear, if that asshole wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him all over again.
Moans drifted from the road, and despite my sore muscles, fresh bruises, and fatherly concerns, I helped the others transfer the weapons and pack up the van. A few guns had tumbled from the golf cart on my careening ride across the campsite. I scooped up those I spotted in the moonlight, assuming more peppered the zombie-laden road and wooded hillside, but I had no intention of searching for them.
A crash sounded near the road. My companions and I halted in midstride as we listened to the thuds, rustles, and groans headed down the same steep slope I’d just descended.
Lifting one of the shotguns I’d plucked from the ground, I targeted the darkened trees and focused on the sounds of mayhem advancing toward us. Suddenly, I spotted the obese girl somersaulting amid the foliage. Presumably, she’d decided to trail the cart and lost her footing along the way.
Not that her mishap had dulled her appetite any. Every time her head rolled upright, she eyed me with a hungry stare. I targeted her with my weapon, ready to shoot her, but before I pulled the trigger, she smacked against the pointy end of a broken limb, effectively impaling herself through the abdomen. Not a killing blow for a zombie, but certainly inconvenient.
No matter how hard she struggled and grunted with disappointment, she couldn’t free herself. Even as she wriggled and flailed, she reminded me of a giant, blue-and-brown marshmallow stuck on a stick, ready for the campfire.
Smirking, I helped Casey with the last of the guns, then glanced toward his busted pride and joy. The battle wagon spewed steam and antifreeze, and one of the back tires was completely flat.
“Sorry about your car, kid.”
“She served me well,” he lamented, “and died saving our asses.”
“That she did,” I replied.
As we dumped the remaining weapons onto the floor of my van, movement along the ground caught my attention. Fearing one
