Free Escape by T.W. Piperbrook Page A

rounds left, at best—certainly not enough to combat all of them.
    She leaned her head out the window and screamed.
    “John! Are you in there? Yell back so I can hear you!”
    She paused, giving him a chance to respond. The noise from the infected increased in volume, and several of them turned to face her. She saw several feet starting to trudge toward her, and she transitioned her foot from the brake to the gas.
    “John!”
    There was still no sign of the man, and no response.
    A handful of the creatures were running in her direction now, and she stomped the gas, kicking up gravel behind her. The truck rolled across the loose stone; the infected grew closer.
    Maybe if I can lure them away…
    She flung the rifle on the seat and hit her horn. Once. Twice. Three times.
    More of the infected peeled themselves from the walls of the furniture shop, joining the others in pursuit of the pickup. She hit the horn again, but this time she held it down, the tone blaring into the air and drowning out the sounds of the creatures.
    The forerunners of the group were within feet of the vehicle, and she hit the gas and sped back toward the road, keeping one step ahead of them. The things faltered and fell as they lunged for the bed of the vehicle.
    “Come on!” she screamed as she diverted them from the building.
    She stared in the rearview at the furniture shop, but there was still no indication that John had heard her, or even that he was alive. Almost all of the creatures had fled the structure.
    Having successfully gained their attention, she toggled the gas and brake, leading them step-by-step away from the premises and back into the road.
    As she watched them in the mirrors, Meredith realized that she recognized many of the faces. Jerry Winsted. Harold Coleman. Mary Beth Cooper.
    All of them were snarling and red-eyed, mouths agape. She glanced back at the rifle. Even if she had enough bullets, could she really shoot these people? She didn’t think so. A tear slid down her cheek.
    Everything seemed so unreal. How could this have happened so fast? And how had she escaped it? Was John was one of them already?
    The pickup hit the pavement, entering the main road. The creatures—all of her former friends and acquaintances—were still in tow.
    Meredith glued her eyes to the lone, deserted building behind her, waiting for a sign that the man she loved was still alive.
    But there was nothing.
    “I’m sorry, John,” she whispered.
    All intentions aside, she must’ve gotten there too late. Maybe there’d never been time at all.
    A second later, just as she’d given up, she saw something in the driver’s side mirror.
    The door of the furniture shop had opened to a crack, exposing a bloodied hand, and a man’s voice was screaming her name.

12
    D an crashed the Buick through a café window, shattering the glass and sending shards of debris over the hood of the vehicle.
    “Get down!” he yelled to the two frightened girls in the backseat.
    As soon as the vehicle came to a stop—the front half wedged in the store’s entrance, the rear exposed on the sidewalk—he flicked on the headlights, brightening the store’s interior, and opened the driver’s side door.
    Dan glanced over the seat behind him. Sandy and Quinn were huddled together, their lips quivering. Through the rear window he saw a flurry of hands pawing at the vehicle.
    “Climb over the seat! Hurry!”
    He reached out and grabbed the girls, one at a time, helping them over. Then he ushered them through the open front door and got out himself. He withdrew his pistol. Several of the creatures had made their way to the side of the vehicle, and he squeezed off a few suppressive shots, knocking them back.
    “Run!” he shouted.
    Sandy and Quinn took off to the back of the store. After firing a few more rounds he followed suit.
    Dan weaved through a maze of chairs and tables, doing his best to ignore the groans and shuffles of the creatures behind him. He glued his eyes