Free Running with the Horde by Joseph K. Richard

need to learn how to siphon gas. I loaded the trunk and back seat with the weapons and gear I thought I might need.
                  I was as ready as I was going to get. I did a cursory check of my yard and the street from my front porch, locked up and headed back to the garage to go. After a deep breath I put it in gear and headed slowly out of my driveway and up the block toward Rice Creek Road, the gentle rumble of the engine calming my strained nerves.
                  Driving through the surreal landscape with only my headlights and the stars to illuminate my surroundings was nerve wracking. There were road hazards everywhere. Most of the vehicles were wrecked but some just looked abandoned. There were also corpses by the metric butt-load. This made my missing bodies all the more mysterious and confusing.
                  With my windows rolled down, I made my way slowly up and down the blocks around my neighborhood. I didn’t know where I was going or what I hoped to find but everything appeared to be the same silent tragedy my own street had been.
                  Each house was dark as pitch. Dead bodies decorated the yards or sat entombed in half-packed cars in the streets and driveways. The only thing missing were the survivors. No candles burned in upstairs windows. No help me signs illuminated the rooftops.
                  About a half mile from my home I saw evidence of a massive fire, long burned out. It cut a wide swath of destruction through six blocks of Friendly, reducing homes and properties to dust and ash. Only rain or Providence had prevented the fire from taking the whole damn dead city.
                  I made plans to search the houses between the fire and my home in the coming weeks. It was true I already had an abundance of things but nothing lasts forever and I didn’t enjoy my water fast at all. These houses were my dirt covered field in the aftermath of war-torn Georgia, I would never be hungry again.
                  Leaving the carnage of the fire, I continued my journey into the night. Block after block I drove on, past long dead stoplights and useless road signs hearing nothing. That is until I did.
                  I was sitting with the engine off in the darkened parking lot of a burger joint on the corner of University Avenue and 57 th Street, enjoying a chilly breeze and eyeballing the large grocery store across the way. Zombies were milling around in the giant parking lot aroused by the noise of my car no doubt but they didn’t seem to be coming my direction. I imagined the inside of the store to be a bit of a horror show between the undead, the rats and all that rotted food.
                  That would be fun I would save for a later date.
                  I was putting my seatbelt on getting ready to head home when I heard the sound of a truck engine and people yelling. Bright lights weaved a slow zigzag pattern coming from the south on University. Over the sound of the truck I heard that old familiar growl that could only mean a large crowd of the dead were giving chase to the truck.
                  This would be my first glimpse of living people in a long time and I was more than a little excited at the prospect. I decided I would help them if I could.
                  I had no idea what I was signing up for.
                  As the truck came weaving into view, I started my car but left the lights off. It was large with a white cab and a big gated flatbed made for holding hay bales or cargo. The front had been retrofitted with a large cone-shaped plow that rode low to the ground. I guess it was for clearing road debris or crushing zombies. On top of the cab was a crow’s seat with a large machine gun attached. Spotlights mounted on the cab illuminated the area around the truck.
                  There was a man wearing a