Free Dead Wrangler by Justin Coke

head exploded. Virgil turned towards her, strange expression on his face. Then blood began to gush out of his neck.
    "You are fucking kidding me," he said as he fell to his knees.
    "What happened, oh my God what happened?" She yelled as she ran to Virgil. The blood was coming in tremendous amounts, just gushing out of him.
    "Ricochet. A fucking ricochet. Chester is going to be pissed. I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the Saints, and to you Father, that I have sinned exceedingly, in thought, word and deed: through my fault..." he said before his eyes rolled back in his head. He had fainted or died, she couldn't tell which. The wound gushed blood, then trickled, then stopped. Meghan cried this time, but she also tried to start the car. Her heart leapt when the radio came on, and died when the engine sputtered and refused to start.
    Virgil had died for a car on E. She looked back and raised her gun. She put one through his left eye. He would have wanted it that way.
    Weeping she took a big swig from her hydration pack and started running for real.
    She had about eight pounds of water and a rifle on her back, so she wasn't making personal best time. But after an hour she made it farther than she had in the three hours since the LeSabre died.
    An hour later she was still going strong when an SUV appeared on the horizon. When it got close she started waiving her arms and put a thumb out. It zoomed past. Her heart almost broke at that moment, but then the brake lights came on and the car pulled over. She sprinted in her joy.
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Hidden Treasure
     
    James could tell the guards were shitting themselves about the decision to let the prisoners loose. The guards were good at channeling fear into bravado and cruelty; it was how they controlled the prisoners. Even if the guards hadn't suffered any casualties they would have been outnumbered. But of course they had suffered about the same casualty rate as the prisoners. So there was maybe forty of them left. The four hundred surviving members of the 52nd Infantry Regiment was the only thing saving them from an epic revenge spree. They knew that in their bones. The regular soldiers didn't treat the guards with the respect they felt they deserved. They got treated worse than the prisoners. The prisoners had street credibility, even if they weren't to be trusted. The guards had managed to turn the prison yard into a cesspool and almost lost the place to the zombies before the Army had come to save them. James figured the soldiers’ first impressions of the guards had not been good. They were treated like mall cops. So the guards formed the disaffected minority in the political triangle. They resented the Army and loathed the prisoners. They felt they weren't getting the respect they deserved. Because they were the only ones with families to protect, they felt their opinions were of utmost importance.
    James could see them simmer and plot. Having seen them in action he knew they could be sly and cruel when they wanted to be. Even outnumbered they were dangerous. It wouldn't take too many fuckups by his fellow prisoners to put them back on bottom. God knew if there was one thing his brothers were good at, it was fucking up. If they had set out to fuck up, they wouldn't be as good at it as they were on accident. It was a natural talent, like charisma or perfect pitch. The more you tried to imitate it, the less you could do it.
    So he found some other prisoners, usually older men. Bricks was one; a fifty-five year old black guy who claimed his nickname was from his boxing days. His enemies claimed he was called Bricks because he was so dumb. James thought Bricks seemed quite a bit sharper than he appeared. His massive arms and scarred knuckles indicated Bricks was telling the truth. In any case he had influence, and he agreed that the situation was too