Free The Crossing: A Zombie Novella by Joe McKinney Page A

“Oh shit!” If he’d checked the rearview, he would have seen the man duck below the cab and cover his head with both arms.
    He felt the engine rumble with angry life, saw the running corpse rocket toward them, and then zombie and truck collided.
    Visibility disappeared as the dead man burst like a tick, a soupy mix of black fluids splattering the windshield. The creature’s head bounced off the glass and went flying. A rope of intestine followed, twisting over the filthy glass like a dead snake. The smell intensified, and Eric moaned into his hand.
    Morris hit the brakes as the thing’s legs powdered beneath the truck’s tires. The pickup slid to a stop in the middle of Front Street. He realized he was holding his breath, so he let out his air and took in more. He felt a little better, kind of satisfied.
    He turned to look at Eric, found him staring in disgust at the filth-covered windshield.
    “ Sorry about that.”
    “ Can we go, please?”
    “ Sure.”
    He pulled the wiper lever and gave the windshield some fluid. The wipers pushed the muck into streaks and finally cleaned it away, leaving him plenty of visibility.
    He didn’t like what he saw.
     
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    “ Oh shit! Duck!” Chris said as he followed his own advice.
    Blake felt the quick crunch of the truck hitting a body, and in the next instant a stinking black rain splattered him and the others. His muscles drew up involuntarily as the sticky wetness and accompanying stench hit him. A head sailed over them and bounced twice off the flatbed before tumbling into the street. A moment later, a trail of intestine slid over the cab and fell on Stevenson’s shoulders. The man screamed as his arms jerked, trying to shake off the blackened entrails. Jeremy cowered, afraid the thing might touch him.
    Blake could only watch. He felt the truck stop, but he couldn’t turn away from Chris and the spastic dance the man did as he tried to get rid of his new accessory. The horrible absurdity entranced him, and he didn’t even wipe at the terrible mess that flecked his skin.
    Chris wheezed as he grabbed the fleshy rope in both hands and sent it sailing over the side. The man stared at his hands as the truck sat in the middle of the filthy street.
    “ Chris?” Blake asked. “You okay?”
    The man laughed. It started as chuckles and then became full guffaws as the pickup got rolling again. He searched for madness in the man’s eyes but didn’t find any. This was something else.
    “ Holy shit!” Chris said. “Now, that’s a fucking party, boys!”
    Blake looked away, wiped the muck from his skin, careful to keep it away from his eyes and mouth. He’d need to find water soon. Maybe there was some in the cab.
    “ I’m gonna be sick,” Jeremy said. The undulating sound of his voice backed up the claim.
    “ Just hang it over the side, little buddy,” Chris said. “We’re having some fun…”
    Blake turned at the sound on Chris’s dying voice. He saw the man stare out at the street and ruined homes, his eyes going wide and the color draining from his face.
    “ Oh, Jesus Hell,” Chris said.
    He followed the man’s gaze and saw them. Zombies charged out of every home, out of the scattered woods behind houses. Dozens ran from Catalpa and sprinted down Front Street, predators realizing somebody had put the soup on. Their rotted forms jumbled in his vision, becoming a wall of gray, green, and horrible brown.
    With numb fingers, he scooped up the shotgun. He scrambled for the trigger and almost pulled it without aiming. Somebody had dropped ice into his gut, and it sent cold spikes of terror into his brain. He tried to steady his hands, but they fought him for control. Every stinking breath made him shake harder.
    “ Oh, shit,” Blake said.
    The truck wasn’t accelerating fast enough. The zombies came from all sides and closed quickly. He gave the road ahead a panicked glance and saw more undead charging from up the street.