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

the dirty ditch water. Once we were all in, we stood in a circle for a moment staring at one another.
    “You weren’t kidding,” Peaches said, standing in the knee-high water. “It’s cold. Why is it so cold?”
    “Don’t know,” Robinson said, starting to head off in the direction of the highway. “Not gonna get any warmer standing here.”
    We walked along slow and careful, cautiously measuring each step. Ted was right, the bottom of the ditch was slippery, covered in an inch of slimy muck. Taking our time, however, had the added benefit of reducing noise as the water rolled along at our knees, especially the closer we got to the highway. We had to cross under two arches, short concrete bridges for train tracks, before we reached the tunnel that led under the major highway. We stopped and stared into the dark tunnel—all of us except Bowser, who was more interested in his legs.
    “You know, I hope these cuts don’t get infected,” he said.
    Peaches turned to him and said the most amazing thing I’d ever heard come out of her mouth. “She swallowed some infected dude’s blood,” Peaches said, pointing at Naima. “If she’s fine, I think you’ll live.”
    “Burn,” Robinson said, cracking an uneven smile. “Look who’s tougher now.”
    Bowser shook his head and sighed. “Still, if I die, it’s your fault, asshole.”
    “Sue me.”
    “You swallowed infected blood?” Aamod asked his daughter, suddenly concerned.
    Naima nodded. “It was disgusting.”
    “Why am I just now hearing about this?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry.”
    “Well, I’m worried.”
    “So am I,” Naima said, hanging her head a bit. “But I feel okay. I’m sorry, daddy. I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
    “We need to keep it down anyway,” Ted said, pointing upward.
    From where we stood in the shade of the second set of train tracks, at the edge of the entrance to the tunnel, we couldn’t see the highway or the dead things walking along it thirty feet or so ahead. But we could hear them. The dragging of their feet. The dull grunting sounds they made. I prayed they couldn’t smell us. It would only take one to locate us, and then they’d all know.
    Ted motioned for us to continue forward, and then led us into the tunnel.
    The enclosure was encased in concrete, with plenty of clearance overhead (enough to drive a car through if it weren’t for the foot and a half of slimy water), and wide enough for us to walk side by side. Eyeballing it, I’d say the tunnel was roughly fifty yards in length.
    We were barely inside before losing much of the sunlight. With each slow step forward into the increasing darkness, I found myself wanting to reach for my knife, expecting something to pop out of the water—a zombie fish perhaps—and latch onto me. Once we were a good ways inside, I could barely see the water anymore. I could only feel it and hear it splashing up my pant legs. If there were something lurking in the water, it would certainly know I was there first.
    Peaches was breathing heavy next to me. I hoped she wasn’t having a panic attack. I reached out and took her hand in mine.
    “You okay?” I whispered. Even at a low pitch, my voice still echoed in the dark tunnel. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
    “No,” she said back. “Just want to get through here without falling.”
    “Just take your time.”
    One foot in front of the other.
    Left, right, left.
    And take our time we did, staying mostly quiet, never taking our eyes off the light opening at the end—the goal post—and aside from a few minor slips, no one took a full-on face dive in the water. We exited the tunnel on the other side of the highway a few minutes later, glad to be able to get out of the cold green water and back on solid ground.
    Peaches made a beeline for the grass.
    “No,” Ted whispered. “Stay down here for now. Let us get a little farther down…farther from the highway, before we get