“Bro,” Luther said with a heavy breath, “let’s do this side-by-side.”
The grasses were tall enough to hide Justin on his hands and knees. Luther, twice his size, had to basically bellycrawl it. The annoying wind stirred up the foul odor of de-activated Zs, stuffing his nose. A not-so-faraway groan morphed into a bloodcurdling howl. Luther big-eyed him and grumbled something. But they kept on.
They detoured around a Blue Suit juddering on the ground. He—it—wasn’t alive. But it wasn’t completely undead. How long would it be stuck in that in-between state? He imagined the horror the man must be going through—waiting to die. To turn. Zombie.
Still, they snuck through the endless grassy sea like cursed characters lost in the cornfields of Children of the Corn. If they didn’t run into the van soon, they’d have to risk poking their heads above the grass line.
The swaying grasses revealed a patch of white. “The van!” Only a few feet away.
Luther reached the van first. “When I open the door,” he whispered, “climb over to the passenger side. I’ll be tailing your ass.”
Luther was right. Frisking the de-activated Blue Suits for the keys would take too long. Besides, the keys could be anywhere. Once Luther opened the door, Justin nimbly climbed to the passenger side. Luther took a seat behind the wheel. They stared at the ignition so hard it would have started if either of them had been gifted telekinetic powers.
Justin pulled down the sun visors. No keys. “Crap!”
Luther snapped open a pearl-handled switchblade trimmed in gold. It could have been an heirloom from Buckingham Palace. “Bro, this is some spookly shit. Keep an eye out while I do my thing.”
“Sure.” Justin wanted to watch, but now wasn’t the time. His eyes went spastic trying to pinpoint the source of the constant scratchy sounds grating on his nerves. Just the grasses chafing in the breeze. Right? He attempted humming an old nineties song to calm his nerves, but his throat had gone dry. Something was over there. Crawling through the grasses. Or was it the freaking wind? “Dude, hurry!” His hands went clammy.
The van started. Then stalled. Luther tried again, revving the engine. “Yeah, baby.”
“Over there!” Justin pointed. “I swear I saw—” A hand treading through the grass?
And then, swarmageddon! The horde lurched up from the grasses. Luther plowed right over them. Why was Luther going to the bunkhouse? They needed to de-activate the horde first.
“Uh, uh—” Justin understood why. “Faster, dude.” From the west, X-strains ran for the bunkhouse. There was no way Dean and Scarlett could handle that many.
“I’ll pull up to the backdoor.” Luther kept his eyes straight ahead. “Get Ella and the baby in the back of the van. And I’ll cover you.”
“Ye-ah, okay.” Gauging the X-strains’ speed, it was going to be close.
Dean and Scarlett stepped into view, firing at the horde. As the van skidded to a stop, Justin bailed out.
“Dean, get Twila,” Scarlett shouted. She fired into the charging horde. She must be getting back her groove.
Justin understood; hordes always kickstarted him out of a funk and back into survival mode.
“Onyx, run away!” Twila shrieked.
Justin did a double-take at the black horse racing back and forth in the distance. It went into a bucking and rearing fit. Was it the same horse that had followed him from the tunnel to the lodge? Way weird.
While Luther and Scarlett fired into the encroaching horde, Justin flung open the van’s rear doors. “Yikes!” There was no time to ditch the occupied body bags strapped to the driver’s side of the van.
Ella stood by the backdoor and stared at the body bags, shaking her head and rocking Mateo inside the knapsack around her neck.
“C’mon!” He met her halfway, nailing a Z in the brains as it hurdled for them. He practically had to carry her into the van, setting her on the floor. He spun around. Firing at the Zs within lunging distance.
Dean tossed Twila next to Ella with a thump. Scarlett, the awesome shot she was, kept them at bay while Luther hurled the supplies on top of the body bags.
“Justin! Scarlett! Get in the back,” Luther thundered. “Dean, up front!”
Justin hopped into the back of the van just as Twila scurried out of his way. He helped Scarlett in. He slammed the van’s rear door a nanosecond before Zs body-slammed it.
“Hold on!” Luther floored it.
Justin fell flat on his ass—onto the lumpy body bags. Gross! He struggled for his balance and struggled not to puke.
“What the devil!” Dean shouted. “Got a convoy of Enforcers headin’ our way. Keep out of sight back there.”
Through the caged-door separating the cab from the back of the van, Justin eyed the convoy. His brain raced, searching for something to cover them with. What was in that metal case? Sweeet, HAZMAT suits.
“Guys, get in the corner behind Dean.” He tossed the bulky suits over Ella and Mateo, Twila, and Scarlett. He sat on the floor behind the caged-door and covered himself with a pile of suits. From his viewpoint through the windshield, Humvees created a line of defense to stop the horde from gaining ground. Standard procedure.
“Any ideas?” Luther’s voice went gravelly.
“So, play it cool,” Justin said. “Blue Suits are like celebs of zombie America.” Nobody wanted the repulsive job; only cits with low gag reflexes were assigned to it. But it paid hella good.
Luther acknowledged them with a friendly honk and slowed down. Justin braced for interrogation, grinding his teeth until his jaw twinged.
“Good God!” Luther veered off to the right.
Gunfire took over. They better not be shooting at the van. “What’s happening?” Justin blustered.
“Son of a—” Dean started.
“Haha-haaa!” Luther laughed it off. “They waved us through the line of scrimmage.”
Dean exhaled heavily. “Looks like we got out
