Free The Passenger (Surviving the Dead) by James Cook, Joshua Guess

telling me what the Army-”
    “No talking,” Ethan said, cutting him off.
    The older man’s face darkened. “Now listen here-”
    “Do you want to march the next mile with a fucking gag in your mouth? ‘Cause that can be arranged.”
    “There ain’t no call for you to be talking to him like that.” It was the man Zebulon had identified as his nephew, Michael. He stood half a head taller than Ethan, with big, wide shoulders and a deep, booming voice. Ethan called out to Holland to hold up.
    “I’m only going to say this one more time.” He stepped in front of the captives and gave them his hardest stare. “No. Fucking. Talking. Open your yaps again and I’ll wrap your faces with duct tape. Now move.”
    The men remained silent as they forged on, but their anger was palpable. Ethan felt a twinge of regret at his harsh words, but he couldn’t afford to let sentiment affect his decisions. If these men were who they said they were, he could always apologize later. If not, well … it wouldn’t much matter what they thought of him.
    When they were about a quarter-mile away from where the U-trac had stopped, Ethan’s radio came to life.
    “Foxtrot, Echo. Be advised, we have incoming. Repeat, we have incoming, over.”
    Ethan felt his heart lurch. “Copy, Echo. Living or dead? Over.”
    “Dead. Very fucking dead, and lots of them. Coming at us from the east. You’d best circle around north and approach from that vector, but do it fast. If you’re not here in ten minutes, stand off and find shelter for the night. Over.”
    “That many? Over.”
    “More’n enough to moat us in. Over.”
    “Copy, Echo. Foxtrot en route. Out.”
    “Trouble?” Cole asked.
    “Infected. Big horde of them closing in on the U-trac. Holland, come on back here.” Ethan gestured at Hicks. “Think you can get these men back to camp on horseback?”
    Hicks responded by stepping up and swinging easily into the saddle like he’d done it a thousand times. For all Ethan knew, maybe he had. Zebulon frowned; Hicks was sitting on his horse. Ethan let out a breath. “Okay then. Up you go.”
    He and Cole helped the captives back into the saddle, two of them ridi ng double on a big dappled mare and the last on a feisty looking Arabian. Ethan motioned for Holland to hop on behind the third hostage.
    “Why me?”
    “Because I’m not making Hicks lead the horses and watch the prisoners,” Ethan replied. “Your job is the latter.”
    Holland frowned and muttered under his breath, but did as ordered. Once seated, he unsheathed his K-Bar and let the captive in front of him see it. “Just so you know, if you try anything…”
    The man set his jaw angrily. “Understood.”
    “Good.” Holland grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “You and me are gonna get along just fine.”
    Ethan turned to Hicks. “Head northeast to get around the horde, then circle back to the U-trac. We’ll get there as fast as we can.”
    Hicks nodded once, then flicked the reins and turned his mount. The horse set off at a slow gallop, the others following behind on their tethers. Soon, they were out of sight, the sound of hooves beating against dirt fading into the darkening forest.
    “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Isaac.”
    The big man grinned and switched weapons, sliding the M-4 around to his back and giving his SAW a quick, practiced check. “Just like Singletary Lake.”
    Ethan grimaced. “Don’t fucking remind me. Let’s get moving.”
    The two soldiers set off at a quick jog. They hadn’t gone ten steps when a sudden, staccato cracking sound filled the air. They glanced at each other and quickened their pace.
    Gunshots.
    Never a good thing.

NINE
     
    After the first few minutes of chasing that car, I couldn't help but feel some solidarity with the many dogs of the world. My body set out after the fleeing vehicle with as much enthusiasm as your average mutt, albeit slower. But much like the endeavors of our canine friends, the pursuit