Free The Living Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Coast by L.I. Albemont Page A

against the window and he turned, opening his eyes to see a noseless face pressed against the glass, blackened tongue licking. He jerked away, elbow hitting the middle of the steering wheel and the horn blared. Squinting in the morning light he surveyed the area around the truck and felt his tension ease. Only the one.
    Next to him Bea lay sprawled across the seat, face pressed into the crack between the seat and the door, still sound asleep. One booted foot pressed against his thigh and the other was tucked up underneath her. Her hands were folded together and pressed against her chest making her look as if she had fallen asleep while saying her prayers. If so, it was probably a good move.
    They were stranded. The occupied but destroyed campground indicated there should be vehicles somewhere but he didn’t see any sign of them. Of course the rain probably would have obliterated any tire tracks.  Some of the campers must have survived long enough to get in their cars and escape.
    The ground, soft and moist, steamed where the heat of the sun hit it directly. Spring was farther along here and some of the trees, especially the willows, were covered with swelling buds on the branches. Shading his eyes he saw slight movement on the ground over near the trampled and torn tents. Another squeak. The infected corpse was now biting the side view mirror, broken teeth gnawing uselessly but resolutely on the splintering glass and plastic.
    He spied Bea’s fence rail poking out the top of her pack. Rolling the window down he plunged the rail deep into the dead man’s eye socket. There was a sucking, wet sound as he pulled it out. The wagging tongue went slack. The rotting man sagged to the ground.
    He grabbed his backpack. Opening the door and stepping over the body he found his MRE’s and opened one of the foil packets. Chicken fajitas. One hundred sixty calories was not going to get him through the morning so he opened one more packet and, righting an overturned picnic table, sat down for breakfast.
    The truck door opened and Bea joined him. He tossed her two of the foil packets.
    She shook her head. “Thanks, but one is fine. I owe you a breakfast now.”
    “I want the Grand Slam at Denny’s.”
    “You’ve got it. I’d pay a hundred dollars for a mocha cappuccino right now. A hundred more if I could get blueberry pancakes with it.”
    “Too sweet. Give me black coffee, bacon, eggs, and buckwheat pancakes. That’s a real breakfast.”
    “You have no idea what you’re missing. My blueberry pancakes are world class. You can ask my brother when we…”
    She trailed off and turning away, finished the fajitas, swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat. Fear she had held at bay for days slithered into her mind and coiled there, darkening the bright morning and making the food taste like ashes. She told herself she was just tired. Once they found a way out of here she would be okay.
    “Did I dream it or did you just kill an infected through the window?”
    “Yeah, I did. He’s on the other side of the truck. You ready?”
    They skirted the campground as they headed up the ridge. Neither of them wanted to see the rotting infected again but despite their efforts to stay away, they ran into one more. A woman, belly bloated in decomposition, lay just off the trail. A rasping moan drifted from her mouth and she managed to drag what was left of her body into their path, ravening mouth open wide but she was no threat. Mushrooms sprouted from her nose and eyes and beetles crawled in the moist folds of her neck.
    David crushed her head with his boot. “They’re decomposing faster in the warmth. It’s looking more and more like all we have to do is stay alive long enough to let them all rot.”
    The day was warm, warm enough that they tied their jackets around their waists after they walked just a few minutes. The building they glimpsed the night before turned out to be a barn with two dead and ravaged horses inside. The infected