Free Arcadium by Sarah Gray

flash
on the road creeps toward me.
    Why is it that
whenever you do anything under extreme pressure it’s like the
faster you try to go the more mistakes you make? My fingers are
wet, shaking and slipping like I’ve no control. The metal bit is
coming loose in my teeth, but not fast enough. I look back again.
Oh crap.
    I don’t care if
my teeth are ripped out in the process this stupid jiggler thing is
coming off. I grip and yank.
    The tube flies
out, smacking against the road. I freeze. Just for a second, then
spit out the metal part.
    The area behind
the cars is clear but those infected are still wandering in my
direction, so this has to be quick. I slither out from underneath
and rise to my knees. I jam the tube into the Ford and pretend it’s
a straw. It happens quicker than I thought and petrol spurts
everywhere. I jam the other end into our car, watching the yellow
liquid flow through. I spit the fuel from my mouth and it feels
like I’m breathing fire.
    The moans are
so close I don’t even bother to look up; I dive straight under the
Ford, and wiggle all the way under. The Ford is lower and the metal
work presses up against my back. I keep shuffling so I can watch
the siphon. White, peeling feet slap against the concrete
everywhere. Left, right, front and back. There’s no clear ground
anywhere.
    I can’t get
back in the car from here; it’s wedged too tightly between the Ford
and the blue one. I can’t signal the other guys either. It looks
like there’s only one option.
    The liquid in
the siphon tube starts to bubble and finally it turns to whitewash
and the tube clears. Hopefully that’s enough petrol to get us out
of this mess. I want the siphon back but I can’t quite reach it. I
slide around to get enough space to move my shoulder, trying to be
quiet but my jacket is making tiny scraping sounds.
    Around me the
feet keep on marching. When they pause, I pause too. And when they
move again so do I.
    At last I can
reach the siphon. When I pull it out petrol dribbles down the sides
and I replace our fuel cap. I don’t know if it has to be on but I’m
taking no chances. Well, no more chances.
    My hands are
covered in petrol and it’s weird, icy cold and slimy to the touch.
I can’t click the cover back in place; I’m not brave enough. I just
know that noise will be the sound that signals to the infected
people. So I just drop down and commando crawl to the front of the
car.
    I don’t know
what’s going on with the other guys in our car. I’m kind of
surprised Liss isn’t screaming. Should I be proud that she’s being
brave or hurt she’s not terrified for me? For some reason I imagine
them all sitting safely in the car, playing cards, while the
infected roam around and I lie stuck under this car.
    I can see the
full bodies of infected people now, wandering in a scattered
formation, moving around cars and heading on. A few in front are
wandering in small circles and that’s not good for me. I’m poised,
waiting for a break and mapping out a getaway path, but everything
keeps changing. They move and shift and gather in small groups.
    My hands are
vibrating against the road; the car feels like it’s lowering
against me, crushing everything. Or maybe that’s because I’m trying
to get more air in my lungs.
    A gap opens up.
Infected people move to the left and right, creating a straight
path dead ahead if I clamber up onto the yellow car and go right
over.
    That’s it.
    I wiggle out;
jump to my feet and bolt with everything I’ve got.
    The moans and
groans follow me, rising with excitement. The infected people have
seen me. Each stride feels like an earthquake and everything shifts
into slow motion. The rain falls over me as I sprint. Legs and arms
pumping, I leap up onto the car bonnet in front. I lose my footing
on the slippery paintwork and use my hands to propel myself up onto
the roof. Decaying fingers brush against my boots and I have about
a second to map out the next part.
    I slam