Free Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord by Richard Brown Page A

now?”
    I nodded in agreement, considering it vetoed. I glanced over at Aamod, expecting him to propose another hero campaign, but he remained silent, listening. Crossing that six-lane highway safely would require more than a clever diversion and a huge helping of good luck, as it had went down twenty minutes earlier, it would require a miracle of God. And given the current conditions of the earth, the big guy in the sky wasn’t handing out many miracles these days. If anything, he’d send another flood.
    “We don’t even know how deep it is,” Peaches said. The hesitation to jump into the nasty water was still very apparent in her voice.
    “Well, let’s go see,” Ted said, wandering off toward the ditch. He scaled a short concrete wall and disappeared on the other side. The rest of us followed him, stopping at the short barrier. We looked down at Ted below, wading through the knee-high water.
    “Look at that. Not deep at all,” Robinson said.
    We stayed quiet, waiting as Ted carefully stepped out of the water and climbed out of the ditch. “It’s fine,” he said. “A little cold, but I’ve been in much worse before.”
    “What about his leg?” I asked, speaking of Bowser. “Is he gonna be able to walk in that?”
    Ted shrugged. “The bottom is kinda slick, but I think if we take it slow, everyone should be fine. Even him. Worst case scenario someone slips and takes a cold dirty bath.”
    “Might not be such a bad thing,” Naima said.
    I thought about the last time I’d had a real shower, how nice it had felt. Something so simple and easily taken for granted like washing my body had become a luxury. We all carried around layers of dirt and grime, along with varying levels of body odor. Peaches had deodorant and wet wipes in her backpack, along with a cherry-scented body spray that she’d often blast me with when I wasn’t prepared. But the chemicals could only mask my stinking sweat for so long, and in no time I’d be back to smelling like a wrestler’s jockstrap. Out of everyone in the group, Naima was usually the cleanest, mostly due to her being least involved in the killing. No weapon and all that jazz. But while we all wore a little extra DNA from the incident on Claiborne today, Naima had gotten it the worst—the zombie who had nearly eaten her face had made sure of that. Stuck to her shirt were chunks of his pale flesh and thick, syrup-like blood—that which she hadn’t swallowed. The good news was she looked to be feeling better; she hadn’t keeled over and died on us yet. The bad news was she smelled like the inside of a closed coffin.
    “Too bad we don’t have a canoe,” I said.
    Ted chuckled. “We don’t need a canoe. It’s a foot and a half deep. Just try not to drop your guns in the water, or your ammo.” Ted turned to Aamod. “What about you?”
    “What about me?” Aamod asked.
    “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Ted continued. “Any thoughts. I know you got something to say.”
    “Not this time,” Aamod replied. “If this is the only way, then fine. Let’s go.”
    “Sure seems like it,” Ted said. “I could check the map one more time—”
    “No,” Robinson growled. “We don’t need to check the map. Is there another way around? Sure there is. There’s always another way. But we almost died a mile south. We’ve been through some serious shit already. Who knows what we’ll come across backtracking. No, I’m not going back and I’m not going out of my way.”
    “Settle down, bro,” Bowser said.
    “Don’t tell me to settle down. We’re almost there. I’m tired of debating. You all can stay here and wait for me to return if you want, but I’m going with or without you.”
    “Chill the fuck out, we’re going.”
    Robinson relaxed his posture. “We can help you walk through if you need it.”
    “I don’t,” Bowser replied. “Let’s just get this over with.”
    One by one, we climbed over the short concrete barrier and slowly dipped our legs into