Free Generation Dead by Joseph Talluto Page B

there,” Jake said, riding over the bridge.  The big tires made a humming sound as we passed it.
    “Want to go look?” I figured Jake was bluffing so I decided to call him on it.
    “No, thanks.  I promised Dad I would look out for you. Can’t do that when I put you in the vicinity of thousands of ghouls.
    I looked over at Jake.  “When did you promise him anything?  All you ever did was argue with him, fight over any training he wanted you to have, and bitch about him leaving.”
    Jake looked at me for a long moment, and I held his gaze.  I was starting to realize why our father left, and in part, understand it.
    “You wouldn’t understand.  You never understand,” Jake said, turning back to the road.  I knew by that tone the conversation had ended.
    We rode in silence until we reached the junction of I-80 and I-57.  The 80 side was fine, but the 57 side was a mess.  There were literally thousands of rusting cars jammed all over the road, and a single lane had been cleared for people to drive on.  And by cleared I mean a large fork truck had come through, lifted the cars out of the way, and dumped them in the next lane.  It was a weird sight, seeing cars just stacked on top of each other, flattened in some places, rusted together in others.  Many of the cars had skeletons still in them, and there were even a few that sported still moving zombies.  They were in awful shape, but the closed environments kept them protected from the sun and cold.  If they ever managed to get out, they would be as dangerous as ever.
    The bad part of this trip was the piled cars were on my side, so I had nothing to look at except mile after mile of rusted cars and dead flesh.  I only got a glimpse of the countryside when there was a brief space here and there where the cars were not piled on each other. 
    The exits were blocked by gate secured by concrete pylons, but you could get out and open the gate, as long as you closed it behind yourself.  The idea was to keep as many of the zombies that were still on the roads contained as much as possible.  Occasionally one would slip through, but they were dealt with quickly.
    “Zombie, dead ahead,”  Jake said, chuckling at his own joke. 
    I groaned.  We’d used that one to death, but it still drew a chuckle from time to time.  “All right.  I’ll deal with it,” I said.  Jake pulled up about twenty yards from the zombie and stopped the truck.  I climbed out, grateful for the chance to stretch my legs.  The zombie was slowly walking towards us, and it was just about the most awful zombie I had seen.  The flesh had been ripped from its torso and legs, hanging down in massive strips.  Its clothes were mostly gone, being torn down one side, and missing from the other.  Its head was fairly intact, in fact the flesh was only slightly ripped.  This one used to be a female, and her one good eye stared at me intently as she stumbled forward.  It was particularly gross to see her step on her own strips of skin, tearing even more of it off.
    “Ugh,” was all I had to say.  I went over to a rusty car and nodded at the zombie still trapped inside.  It raised a hand to gently touch the window, then watched me as I kicked and twisted its front bumper off.  If it hadn’t been so rusted, I could never had done that.
    Turning back to the skinless zombie, I took the bumper and shoved the jagged end straight into her forehead.  The sharp metal broke through her skull and killed her instantly.  I pulled out the bumper and reversed it, using the slightly hooked end to grab her under her chin and drag her out of the way.  I left the bumper with her and climbed back into the truck.
    “Nice one,” Jake said.
    “Thanks.”
    “I think that one wins the prize for most disgusting.” 
    “For sure.  You know how it got that way?” The solution seemed obvious once I thought of it.
    “Do tell.”
    “Twisting and pulling out of a seat belt.”  I was fairly impressed with