Free Will To Live by C. M. Wright Page A

horrible...and I wanted to scream and hit Nick for hurting her, even though I knew he was only doing what he had to do.
    Ernie's bullet was just inside the last layer of skin on his back, almost making it through, which was a relief, but we still have the added worry of all the blood he had lost, and we don't know if the bullet had damaged anything inside that could potentially kill him.
    Nick disinfected them both, wrapped Bert's arm, and repacked Ernie's stomach. He also was able to give them some painkillers from the survival pack he keeps with him. I encouraged Nick to take some too, but he refused, wanting to be able to help me if I needed him.
    And I did. Several times.
    I had to stop often for bottled water, food, and bathroom breaks, which Nick helped with...well, all but helping Bert to the bathroom.
    Bert's bladder must be incredibly small, that's all I have to say.  
    But the time I was most grateful for Nick being drug-free, was when we had stopped for yet another bathroom break – Again, for Bert! – and as I was helping Bert back to the truck, another truck squealed its tires as it pulled into the parking lot, sliding to a stop right in front of us. The parking lot of the truck-stop was full of vehicles, and a few zombies, but they were stuck inside their trucks. The rest of the living, or living-dead , must have moved on long ago.  
    I can only assume that since the parking lot was so full, the truck's occupants, who are now directly in front of us and blocking our way, must not have seen Nick and Ernie waiting on us in our own truck, as they never paid them any attention. The big black truck had three men inside, men who were up to no damn good.
    It was obvious their intentions were evil just from the big stupid cocky grins on their faces. What the driver leaned out to say confirmed my first impression.
    “ Well, well. Look what we have here, boys. Coupla ladies who look like they need some big strong fellas to protect them.” The driver's lip curled as he sneered at us. Then he pointed a gun out the window in our direction and said, “ But ...we ain't got no use for old broads.”  
    I pushed Bert behind me and the driver opened his door. He stepped out of the truck and brought his gun up again, but before he could voice whatever snide comment he planned to let out of his open mouth, a shot rang out. His body jerked once, then crashed to the ground. I pulled Bert behind a nearby car so that we didn't get hit in the crossfire, and watched as the other two died where they sat.
    Not long after, Nick ran over to us to help me get Bert back to the truck. But as we passed the driver, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of my nightgown – yes, I'm still wearing the damn thing! I tried stomping on his head, but ballerina slippers just won't do much damage. When he came much too close to taking a bite out of my foot, Nick finished him with a bullet to the brain.  
    Before we could even sigh with relief, the other two men in the truck started moaning and moving around. Then the moans became more than the two lone men could produce. We looked up, and around, to see many more undead heading straight for us.
    We ran to our truck and made it in plenty of time to get inside and get moving, before the majority of the undead converged on the truck-stop. Bert was the most upset – well, Ernie was pretty upset too. He's still blaming himself for not being able to protect his wife, bullet-hole in the stomach and all.
    Bert sobbed and said to us, “I just don't understand. We, the living , are less in numbers than the zombies,” – this is not a confirmed fact, but it sure as hell seems like it – “ yet we have people still wanting to kill and harm each other. What is wrong with some people? We should be fighting together against the zombies, not helping them!”  
    Ernie held her close and responded, “I know, Mama. I know. But most criminals and sinners aren't going to change just because something like this