Free Ghost Run by J. L. Bourne Page A

cocking handle in preparation for the next time I had to use this last-ditch weapon.
    With the GARMR’s fan club getting close, we then headed north to an area I’d found on my maps.
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    After leaving the hurricane-stricken waterfront community, I was careful to avoid the main thoroughfares. The Morse signal was still too weak to copy. My pack was heavy from the food I’d taken from Dudley’s house, so I loaded some of the contents into the GARMR saddlebags. Now I moved a lot faster with the lighter pack and made good time.
    After a few hours of concealed movement, I came to a fork in the road, with both options being northerly. I instructed the machine to check the right fork as I waited inside a nearby gas station that had long ago been looted. As the GARMR scouted, I cleared the station, not wanting a terrifying repeat of stock boys climbing out of the refrigerator. Near the back, there was a single green glass bottle on its side in the refrigerator. Something the looters missed. I enjoyed carbonated water as I watched the GARMR feed.
    At first I deemed the right fork a waste of time, until the machine was on its way back through a small suburban neighborhood.
    I’d nearly missed it.
    Right there on the feed was an antenna mounted on a roof alongside a satellite TV dish. The top of the antenna extended beyond the machine’s field of view. I pointed the electro optic sensor up to get the full view, at least sixty feet above the top of the roof. Thin steel cables anchored the antenna on four sides.
    A HAM radio operator’s house.
    I moved the GARMR into a ditch and put it in standby. I’drecently figured out how to check distance on the tablet. The machine was 0.9 miles from my location down the right fork.
    Leaving the gas station, one of the undead ambushed me from a blind spot behind a large energy drink sticker on the glass door. I swiveled and began to squeeze the trigger.
    A small girl.
    I kicked it firmly in its chest, sending it sprawling backward into the storefront glass, spiderwebbing cracks in all directions. I began to run down the right fork, looking over my shoulder only once.
    I have a daughter, too. I just couldn’t.
    Tears trickled down my face as I opened the distance between myself and the frail but deadly creature. I attempted to evade it, not wanting to take the shot. All I could think about was my baby daughter, my Bug. That thing was someone’s universe; who the fuck was I?
    I ran down the overgrown road until I was out of breath. The weeds, saplings, and grass were at least chest-high on all sides of the concrete. A white pickup truck sat broken down with its hood up and jumper cables hanging out just ahead. I checked over my shoulder as I began to run again. I could see the contrast and movement of red shorts a quarter mile back.
    Dammit, she wasn’t giving up. She It never would.
    As soon as I looked forward again, I could see the grass begin to rustle. I imagined an army of undead children erupting from the grass, all wearing similar red shorts, reaching for my flesh. I raised my gun to the ready and was about to empty a magazine into the brush when the attacker charged. A large boar. I got off a single shot before it hit me, but I only nicked her. On the ground from the impact, I barely had the time to get to my feet before it came at me again. Using up all my good luck for the day, I sidestepped it like a matador and sprinted to the pickup truck, hoping the bed was empty. I blindly jumped into the back, landing hard on the spare tire. As soon as I hit, I could feel the truck shaking from the boar’s assault.
    Half a dozen piglets then flew from the brush, squealing and running. The sound of their hooves reminded me of the GARMR. I attempted to climb over the cab and leave the truck, but Momma Pig was pissed off and tried to climb under the hood to get at me. She was bleeding on her hindquarters from my shot, but it