Free Undying by Kenneth Woodham Page B

flowers. I need to keep going. There's no time to waste. With every second that passes, more of them get closer. Every second wasted is deadly. I make my way to the front of the house from around the side walkway. I have a plan. I need a vehicle. I slow my pace and creep around to the front. There isn't too many of them. It looks like they are all going into the house. I stand behind a bush on the corner of the house. I look around the neighborhood. Now that the smoke and crowds have cleared, I can actually see farther than fifteen feet ahead of me. I scan the area. There it is. The truck of the nice old man I had to shoot earlier, parked in front of his house. The driver door is wide open. With a little luck, that could be my ticket out of here. Finally, a real shot at making it.
      I look around the bush and notice there is only one left in the yard. The others must all be looking for me in the house. There are a few of them in the streets, scattered throughout the area, but I know I can make it to the truck. I make a break for it. I don't hold back, I just run full steam. I try my best not to fall and stab myself. That would be a real crap way to end all of this. I make it to the truck. One of them comes up from the side of me. A plump woman, shirt and jeans soaked in blood, opens up her rotting mouth. Her lower jaw splits apart from her drooping jowls, making her look like some kind of undead ventriloquist dummy of a bulldog. I stick my steak knife directly into the middle of her forehead. It takes some force, but it goes in. She goes crossed eyed and steps back. I kick her in the baby maker and she topples over. Doing so hurts my ankle a bit but I'm beyond caring. I jump into the truck and slam the door shut. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. I wonder if I've ever felt this much adrenaline before. I don't think so. I look around the interior for the keys. They have got to be in here. At least, a spare set of keys. I look in the glove box, on the floor, and in the overhead visor. Where the hell are they? There's three of those bastards closing in on the truck, now. No, there's six.. seven.. Christ, help me. There I go again. Asking a god that I never claimed to believe in for help. Way to sell out in the end.
      I open the revolver to see how many shots I have left. One. One bullet left. It's okay I'll check again for the keys. I look in every compartment again. Maybe it is in the crack of the seats. I jam my hand into the tight nook. It's almost impossible to get my hand in there but determination seems to be going a long way. They are banging on the window. Harder and harder, each hit I'm convinced is going to shatter the window. I feel something down there. It feels like metal. It could quite possibly be the key. This could be it! I need to just reach a little more. It is hard to be calm while staring down a group of hungry ghouls. They hit the driver's side window again and a spider web of cracks stream along the glass. I grab the tip of what I hope is the key with two fingers. They punch the window again. Enough of it breaks off to let one of them slide their hand inside. The glass peels back the skin as it reaches in, revealing layers of juicy necrotic flesh. The tendons move as the fingers claw at my face. I pull out the screwdriver. A screwdriver? God damn it! I'm done for. I can feel it. Well, I do have one bullet left. I stare at the gun in my lap and look over at the faces of the dead. No, I can do better than that. I put my last bullet into the head of the one reaching inside. It shatters the remainder of the window but he falls down. All I need to do is break off the ignition lock and start it with the screwdriver. I look down at the ignition and almost slap myself. The keys are just sitting there. I feel stupid knowing that I considered shooting myself because I didn't check to see if the keys were in the ignition.
      I turn the key and hear the most beautiful roar of an engine I have ever heard in my