Free The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) by J. Steven Butler Page B

miles per hour. Really, they couldn’t get us something better than this for our getaway? I’d take a minivan over this piece of dung.
    Harbin moans in the back seat as Mira tends to his wounds with a small med-kit she was able to fit in her jump pack. So far he hasn’t said a whole lot, and even if he did, I don’t know if it would make any sense. Electrocution marks, infected lacerations, and bruises galore are evident on his body. Who knows what all they did to him in there?
    Mira leans forward and sticks her head between the seats. “He’s stable for now, but they really put him through the ringer. He needs real medical attention, a lot more than I can do.”
    I glance at her in the rear view mirror. Her expression is terse. From the corner of my eye, I can see Harbin slumped against the passenger side window. “Is he conscious?” I say.
    She shrugs. “Maybe. He's in and out.”
    “Be straight with me. Is it common for The Council to treat people this way?”
    She sighs hard. “I don’t know. I heard rumors from time to time, but nothing more. I really thought we were better than this now as a country. I guess I’ve still got a lot to learn.” I can hear the heaviness in her voice, the same heaviness I feel.
    Ahead, two Festers emerge from the woods lining the interstate, drawn by the lights and noise of the car, but we're past them before they can even reach the shoulder.
    Harbin stirs a little and mumbles something, his head lolling back against the headrest. I think again of his reaction to me in the holding cell. He acted like he knew me, but that couldn’t be possible. Could it? My name is well known as a Sweeper, but The Organization doesn't plaster pictures of us everywhere for the public. Any of us could go out in daylight and remain completely anonymous.
    The more I think about it, the more unsettled I feel. There’s something just under the surface of this whole mess, and I don’t like being in the dark. But for now, there's nothing I can do, so I drive.
    A short while later I turn the Ford off the interstate and speed down the off ramp. To our right, several drive-thru restaurants and an old grocery store sit in disuse, windows shattered and dark. A spattering of equally lifeless gas stations mark the highway on either side, and a hotel sits directly across from us, an Econo Lodge with a couple of trees lying against its sides, downed by weather or age.
    At the end of the ramp, we take a left for a couple of miles. A right and another left, and we pull through the dilapidated gate of the old airfield. It hangs loosely from rusted hinges. The rest of the place isn't much better. Several small, abandoned aircraft lay scattered about the area, most with flat tires, broken wings, and other various forms of degradation. What's left of a small control tower sits off to the left, nearly stripped of its paint. A few small hangars finish out the scene. The runway is sufficient, but not long. The concrete bulges in places. The West Georgia Regional Airport was in truth nothing more than a rural landing spot cleared out from the encroaching woods. On its very best day, it probably saw no more than two or three flights. In the center of the tarmac, a stark contrast to everything else, sits a small, shiny black jet. Its engines are idling, and I can see the silhouette of the pilot through the cockpit window.
    Pulling the vehicle to a sharp stop right inside the gate, I climb out and scan the airfield and surrounding tree line while Mira rouses Harbin in the back seat. She pulls him gently from the car, his steps wobbly and uncertain.
    The first rays of dawn are peeking over the horizon, casting the sky with a purplish hue.
    “Almost home free now, Mr. Harbin,” Mira shouts over the drone of the engines.
    For an instant, there's a flash of light in my peripheral vision to the left. I’m about to turn in that direction when a massive explosion shakes the ground. The force crashes into us, knocking us to the