“You gotta keep your foot on the gas,” Bretz said firmly into the radio.
“Trying to Corporal,” Short replied, “engine isn’t too happy about it, though.”
Bretz shook his head, his stomach sinking at their situation. He perked up a bit at the sight of the front edge of the bridge a few blocks ahead. There were zombies there, but it was mostly clear, nothing like the streets they were currently on.
“Just keep pushing,” he urged, “the bridge is just ahead.”
Bretz floored it, giving the truck everything it had. He made it to the bridge, obliterating a group of zombies at the front of it, shaking the truck violently. The impact caused him to briefly lose control, smacking into the concrete barrier on the two-lane bridge.
He struggled with the wheel but regained control, breathing a sigh of relief at the close call. He slowed down a bit, as the bridge wasn’t as packed as the street, Short doing the same thing once he was up.
Bretz checked the side mirror, seeing the front of the big rig covered in blood, several rotted limbs sticking out of the grill, and a few creatures jammed up into the wheel wells.
“How’s your truck doing?” he asked.
“Not too good,” Short admitted. “I don’t know if she’s going to make the bridge or not.”
Bretz muttered obscenities under his breath and then looked in the mirror again, seeing smoke furling out from beneath the hood. “Dammit, no way that’s making it to the bridge,” he said to himself.
He made a westward turn towards the target, reaching a street along the waterfront. When he turned, he glanced to the right, seeing a college campus jam packed with zombies.
“How you doing back there?” he asked into the radio.
“With the way this thing is chugging, I’m going to be dead in the water in under a minute,” Short replied, voice rising.
Bretz frantically looked around for some sort of solution. Finally he spotted a grocery store on the edge of campus.
“Get to that grocery store on the right,” he barked into the radio. “Get as close to the building as you can.”
“See you there,” Short replied.
The two trucks veered off of the road and into the lot, with easily a hundred zombies strewn about. They turned, moaning, arms reaching for the trucks. Bretz drove down the outer aisle, smacking into the occasional ghoul before making the turn to the front of the store.
He bumped it up onto the sidewalk, scraping up against the wall and crushing some zombies as he went. He looked in the side mirror to see Short follow suit, parking just behind him.
Bretz rolled down the window, looking out to see outstretched arms less than a foot below him. There were a dozen creatures right there, with more headed his way. He carefully climbed out the window, pulling himself up onto the hood and climbing on top of the trailer. He strolled to the back, and watched Short kick out the front windshield to get out.
The Private stood on the front of the truck, a few feet away from Bretz’s, and tossed over his bag and a container of water. The Corporal held out his hand to help him climb over the rotted chorus below.
“One last check for a truck, I take it?” Short asked.
Bretz nodded. “Figured we’re here, might as well, right?” He spread his arm like a game show host, presenting the roof of the grocery store to his companion.
Short took a run at it, leaping the several foot height and pulling himself up. He turned around and reached down to help Bretz climb after him.
They walked towards the back of the store, the sun warming their skin as they strolled.
“I know we’re almost in November…” Short began, and then paused. “Or heck, we might already be. Kind of lost track of days lately.”
Bretz snorted. “No kidding.”
“But this weather reminds me of being back on the farm,” Short continued. “Bright sun, blue skies, and a nice breeze to keep it from getting too hot.”
The Corporal cocked his head. “Spend a lot of time on the farm, did you?”
“Oh, yes sir,” the Private replied. “Started helping my dad pick eggs up from the chickens when I was four years old. Every summer, every vacation and weekend, I was out there bright and early with him.”
“Well, I hope you took good notes, because when all this is over, we’re going to have a lot of mouths to feed,” Bretz replied.
“Dang, I hadn’t even thought about that,” Short mused. “Gonna be a long winter.”
Bretz shook his head. “Can’t have a long winter unless we get to it, first.”
They approached the back of the store, looking down on the loading docks and seeing nothing but empty pavement.
“Well, that’s a bit of a letdown,” Short said with a sigh. “Not sure how much we’re going to be able to block off with only one truck.”
Bretz shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to find out,” he said. “Come on, let’s get back to the truck and head out.”
As they walked, they passed by some skylights that looked down into the store. Curiosity got the better of Short, and he paused to look down inside. There were dozens of zombies roaming about, walking up and down the aisles like undead shoppers.
He let out a low whistle. “Man, it looks like a bunch of folks took refuge in the store,” he said. “And it didn’t turn out too good for them.”
Bretz turned and joined him at the skylight, staring down. “I feel bad for the clear teams,” he admitted. “Can you imagine how many buildings are going to look just like this after we clear the streets?”
“Thousands easily,” Short agreed. “Probably in the tens of thousands. Those boys are going to be busy for months.” He broke away from the window, but Bretz stayed put.
“Hang on a minute,” the Corporal said, raising a hand.
“What do you see?” Short asked, rejoining him at the skylight.
Bretz pointed to a big display of vodka bottles.
Short raised an eyebrow. “I’m
