Free Ghost Run by J. L. Bourne Page B

wasn’t enough.
    I wasn’t planning to kill her, and anyone reading this would think that was absolutely insane. But killing her meant the piglets might die. Not killing her meant the piglets would probably live and go on to be survivors just like their mother. If that razorback would charge me for walking down the street, what would she do to a mindless moving corpse hell-bent on eating her young?
    I was about to find out.
    The undead girl had finally caught up and drew the attention of the razorback. I sat on the cab watching the train wreck play out. At first, the boar wouldn’t divert her attention from me; I was the one that had hurt her. All that changed when one of the piglets caught the eye of the small creature and began to get curious.
    It all happened so fast; I couldn’t believe the blinding speed in which Momma Pig moved in order to protect her young.
    FWAP!
    The sound of wild pig impacting rotten flesh turned my stomach.
    The creature was on its back with the boar on top, ripping decaying meat from the bone. The piglets moved in and began to pick and savor their share of undead flesh. My stomach bubbled, sending bile up to the back of my throat. Holding it back, I quietly jumped from the truck and ran up the right fork to the GARMR. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that boar or her piglets when they decided they wanted seconds.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    I thought I’d heard the snorts of the pigs behind me a dozen times before reaching the dormant GARMR. My nerves were just shot from the mental chess game I’d been playing since encountering the boar. Without my gun, she was the top of the food chain in these parts, an eater of the dead. And one scrape or bite from her would turn me—a chilling thought.
    Kneeling at the GARMR, I felt somehow less alone. Although this combination of carbon fiber, titanium, and silicone wasn’t alive, it served its purpose as some strange facsimile of man’s best friend. I wondered what John’s dog, Annabelle, might think of it. I didn’t realize I was patting the machine’s back until I felt the heatfrom the RTG’s steady decay cover my hand. Those pigs must have really scared the piss out of me.
    â€œCheckers, follow,” I said, hoping that the machine had some sort of anti-pig programming tucked away somewhere deep in its processor stack.
    The house with the antenna on the roof was just ahead. Weeds and saplings shot up where lush green lawns once soaked in gallons of sprinkler-delivered and precious freshwater. The GARMR struggled through the tall grass but adjusted its stride, wobbling through the thick growth faster than I could. The front door was heavy duty and shut tight. A security camera greeted me above it, staring down at the welcome mat with its dusty array of IR LEDs.
    The sound of leaves crunching startled me.
    I slung my gun around and nearly blew apart a cat. It’d seen better days; most of its tail was torn off and part of its left ear was missing. The undead had probably cornered it. I thought about feeding the poor thing, but it bolted away when I moved in its direction. I hoped it would be okay.
    Feral or die, just like everything else out here.
    I pulled firmly on the garage door handle. No luck. The opener that was no doubt attached to the sun visor of the Jeep in the driveway would probably still work if there was power. Making my rounds to the back, I was careful to check every possible entry point. All clear. With the first level secure, I went back to the Jeep and opened the unlocked passenger door. I released the e-brake and put it in neutral.
    I could hear the sounds of multiple creatures beyond the chest-high grass and privacy fence. I rocked the Jeep back and forth until its axles broke through the rust, allowing me to push it forward. As it hit the garage door, I mashed the weak brake and put it back into first gear. The privacy fence began to shake and buckle in response