Free The Restless Dead: A Zombie Novel by Jenny Thomson Page B

get me to turn around.” He shakes his head. “Daft buggers.”
    The news perks me up. So there is some order. Some authority running things. A plan. Somebody had to be in charge of all that.
    Doyle continues. “I was a few minutes down the motorway when I heard the rapid fire of machine guns and screams. Think somebody must have tried to bust their way through the cordon and been stopped. Permanently. I mean, what the hell?”
    He stops talking for a moment, and I feel a bump as the car crunches over something.
    “Got another one,” Doyle chortles like he’s keeping score.
    A thought occurs to me. “You mentioned other cars. That means other survivors.”
    Doyle snorts. “Survivors? What are you talking about? Glasgow's hoaching with those freaky fuckers. The few normal people I've seen so far have been getting set upon by those things. I’ve lived here all my life, never seen anything like this. Have they put something in the water? Yi cannae trust the government.”
    “You don’t know what’s happened, do you?” says Scott. 
    He doesn’t, so we tell him. Scott and I tag team it. One starting off and the other chipping in until Doyle’s head’s looks as thought it’s about to explode.
    Once we’ve finished talking, he takes in a huge gulp of air. “Man that is crazy shit.”
    Coming from a suicide bomber, that was saying something.
    “Lucky I come along when I did, then. You’d both be dead by now.”
    A solemn silence settles between Scott and I. Doyle has no idea what we almost did.
    He turns to us and asks, “Where you want to go? I was heading home, but not much point in that now.”
    “We were on our way to Craigen Castle,” Scott mutters.
    “Ran out of petrol,” I add.
    Doyle seems impressed that we had a plan. It’s hard to read him, though. He’s one of the most undemonstrative people I have ever met. Maybe he figures the bomb vest does all his talking for him.
    “We should be safe there,” Scott says. “High walls, one way in and out, no other places for those flesh eaters to get in.”
    As he’s telling Doyle all this, I’m trying to attract Scott’s attention by poking his leg. I don’t want this mad man coming with us. Not when he has a bomb in his car. Of course, he hasn’t used the vest yet. He hasn’t killed anyone that I know of, and he did save us, but I don’t like the way he enjoys playing hit-and-run with the dead bastards. It’s like he’s enjoying killing them for fun not out of necessity like us. But it seems like Scott’s taking it for granted that this lunatic is coming with us.
    I’m having none of it. “Just drop us off somewhere,” I tell Doyle, praying he’ll take the hint. “We can make our way there on our own.”
    “Nah, think I’ll stick with you two.” He glances back at me. “Don’t want those things to go after you again, now do we?” 
    I have to shrug. Who am I to disagree with a man who has a bomb in his car?
    We drive along at high speed, Doyle knocking down zombies that stray into our path like he’s in a demolition derby. He even speeds toward an old lady who’s being chased by two dead bastards: one in a suit and the other in a cleansing department uniform, both torn to rags. Zombie Inc is an equal opportunity employer.
    I want to scream at Doyle to stop until I see the old lady is holding her mangled arm as she runs, leaving a bloody trail. She’s been attacked and bitten. There’s no saving her. Doyle is simply going to put her out of her misery.
    He ploughs into her. She flips up over the bonnet and smacks face first into the windscreen. I see the terrified look on her face at the moment of impact. Her eyeballs turn white. Blood gushes from her mouth. I want to scream, but I don’t.
    Doyle swerves hard, rolling the woman off the car, then switches on the wipers to clear the view.
    By the time I look back, the zombies are hunched over her body, finishing her off. I’m almost certain that she’s dead: at least she’s been