Free Justice by Gillian Zane Page A

to see had my palms sweating.  

    Nigel and Blake, the drivers, were sporting night vision, so they could see where they were going. The rest of us were blind.  

    After a few moments I noticed a glow in the distance. It was the bikers stationed at the Orleans Canal floodgate. Our intel told us it would be two of them. They were using road blocks, nothing more than large plastic bins filled with sand and water, to stop people from plowing through.  

    We neared the canal and the glow became brighter and I could make out the shapes in the distance. We were at an advantage, we could see them, but they couldn’t see us, blinded by the light of a campfire they had started. They had also parked their trucks close and were using the headlights to illuminate their area, instead of the area around them. It was a novice move, but it showed they were more worried about zombies than a human attack.  

    Nigel pulled off his goggles as one of the men stood up in the first vehicle, it looked like Zach. The sound of our engines had the bikers jumping to their feet and raising their guns, peering into the darkness, but unable to see anything.

    “Party’s over gentleman, hands in the air and come out slowly,” Zach called. The biker closest to us raised his gun and fired.  

    Zach didn’t flinch, he opened fired and two bodies fell to the ground, as our vehicle came to a stop.

    Far off in the distance I heard another burst of gunfire. Another team had taken out an entry point.  

    The bikes came screaming around us, their sound muffled, but not enough for stealth. The riders jumped off and went straight to the road blocks. It took two men to move the water-filled impediments, but they got them out of the way and were back on their bikes in seconds.

    Team One clicked on their high beams and tore into Lakeview, our vehicle close on their tail. They would know we were coming now, alerted by the gunfire and the sound of the bikes. There were no surprises from here on out. We were going in hot, how I liked it.  

FOURTEEN | Shotgun Morning

    An explosion of gunfire had me shooting up to a sitting position and reaching for my piece. Two more shots and I was surging to my feet and yanking on my boots. I had gotten into the habit of going to bed in my jeans and at least a t-shirt since this whole end of the world thing. Couldn’t be caught with your pants down, you might trip, fall on your face and get bit.  

    It took a moment to orient myself. My head was throbbing for some reason and I still wasn’t used to being in the gym with the kids. I had to stop and take a deep breath before I took a step. My positioning was off, but soon my inner compass kicked in and I realized where I was and where the shots had come from.   I found a bottle of water on my makeshift nightstand, and I guzzled it down. My throat was on fire like I had slept with my mouth open and it had dried out.

    Another round of gunfire rocketed through the air, it was loud and close. It was coming from Robert E. Lee.   I heard the children crying and the sound of small feet heading in my direction, fast.

    “Rebel, something’s happening,” one of the younger kids, Tina, an eight year old, whined at the entrance of my sleeping area.  

    “Come here,” I said and exited my berth. I pulled her close to me and reassured her by holding her hand.  

    “Let’s all get behind the counter, get down and stay quiet,” I shouted. More little feet on the carpet came toward me. It was dark in here, only one lantern was still lit, but it was on the counter I wanted them to hide behind. It would be easy for them to find their way.  

      The sniffles of a child crying had me gritting my teeth. I had no idea what was going on. Were we under attack by the biters? Or by humans? There was no way to know, unless I went outside. I couldn’t go outside. I couldn’t leave the children. I was in charge and no one was going to come in and relieve me. If I left there would be no