Free Madness Rules - 04 by Arthur Bradley Page A

on him.
    They weren’t.
    Directly across the street, dozens of infected men and women flooded out of the mobile home sales center. Having used the model homes as temporary refuge, they were willing to risk exposing themselves to the last few minutes of daylight to investigate his brazen intrusion.
    It was still a good three hundred yards to the CVS lot where his truck was parked, and he had no illusions about his ability to outrun such a large group. One trip or stumble, one violent encounter along the way, anything that slowed him down, and he would be overrun by the bloodthirsty maniacs.
    He spun to look behind him, wondering whether it might be better to fight from the salvage yard. The problem was Bowie. The dog wouldn’t be able to climb the mounds of metal debris, leaving him at the mercy of the monsters. That meant, despite what seemed like insurmountable odds, they had to try for the truck.
    Mason broke into a dead run, heading south on Highway 19E. Bowie ran beside him, barking like they were playing a game. It took the mob a few seconds to spot them, but when they did, they screamed with violent fury and gave chase. Twenty or more men and women ran stiff legged and slightly bent at the waist, grunting and groaning as if the exertion pained them. Even more worrisome than the ones chasing him were the half a dozen who poured out from the abandoned church directly ahead.
    Mason slowed only slightly, swinging the M4 up to this shoulder and firing a series of short three-round bursts. Even with many of the bullets hitting true, only four of the six fell. Before he could drop the remaining two, Bowie raced ahead and cut into his line of fire.

A grossly obese woman tackled Bowie to the ground. That was a mistake that she lived only a brief time to regret. Mason took careful aim and dropped the final man with another burst. Their path ahead was now clear.
    As they sprinted past the fallen group, one of the injured men reached up and grabbed Mason’s ankle. He fell, tumbling to the ground, and rolled onto his side as he prepared to bring the rifle back into play. Before he could get off another shot, Bowie had already ripped into the man. Mason scrambled to his feet and glanced back to see the infected mob closing in from behind them.
    “Leave him!” he shouted, turning and running.
    For a split second, Mason thought Bowie and he might actually make it back to his truck. But as he saw a fresh stream of the infected spilling out from the adjacent CVS, he realized there was no going back. He scanned the street for a place from which he and Bowie could fight. There simply wasn’t one. Every building was a haven for the darkness-loving monsters.
    Hopeless or not, he wasn’t going down without a fight. Mason stopped, planted his feet, and prepared to make his last stand. Bowie moved close to him and bared his teeth at the oncoming crowd. Mason couldn’t have felt more proud. Death was coming for them, but they stood firm, willing to meet it side by side.
    That’s when he saw it—a possible way out. Not more than fifty yards away sat a huge white garbage truck parked in front of the Blue Ridge Trash Disposal Center.
    “To the truck!” he yelled, lowering his rifle and racing toward it.
    Bowie ran ahead and circled the garbage truck. By the time Mason caught up, the dog was already fighting two men. He had one pinned on the ground, but the second man yanked at his neck from behind. Mason ran up, put the muzzle of his M4 against the base of the man’s skull, and pulled the trigger. There was a puff of blood as the man pitched forward into the dirt.
    Mason hurried over to the massive truck, climbed the metal step, and pulled on the handle. The door swung open but, before he could climb in, strong hands grabbed him from behind. He fell back onto the ground, his M4 clattering off the bumper and falling beneath the truck. Mason rolled onto his back, drew his Supergrade, and shot his attacker in the throat. The man thrashed