Free The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) by Micah Gurley

Kyle looked at the speedometer,
35 miles per hour. They'd be reaching the edge of town soon, already diseased
could be seen walking aimlessly among the houses.
    The town of Oak Island wasn't that big during the winter,
with about 40,000 people calling it home. During the summer however, the town
would balloon to about four times that size. Kyle was grateful it was low
season, but forty thousand, or anything close to that, would swallow them like
a Tsunami wave. They'd just have to play it by ear and hope for the best.
    Diseased were everywhere. Their slow, awkward gait changing
as they heard the trucks go by. Kyle noticed a diseased undergo this transition
as they drew closer. It's head popped up, it's nose in the air; smelling, it
turned its head slowly back and forth. It started walking into the road, the
left side of its body hunched over, right hand raised in the air as if pointing.
It unexpectedly lunged, and James swerved but edged the man with the bumper. The
diseased flew away from the truck, leaving a spray of blood down the side of
the vehicle.
    James slowed further, the road filling with diseased. They
stumbled everywhere, sometimes alone, sometimes in small groups, seemingly lost
and without a goal. It all changed once they heard the trucks; they had a
purpose again. Kyle, forcing down his panic of not being in control and held on
to the door as James swerved back and forth on the road. It was becoming harder
and harder to drive, the diseased were joining together, forming a mob. James
slowed again, they couldn't afford the Tahoe to break down in the middle of the
road. They'd never survive.
    "Okay, let's pull ahead of the others and start
drawing them to us. Honk the horn some." He picked up the radio.
"XR2, XR-1, when we start making some noise, turn the truck off and drift
for awhile, hopefully that should get most of them coming after us, copy?"
    "XR-1, XR-2 copies, good luck."
    "Now," said Kyle as he unbuckled his seat belt
and hit the button for the sunroof to start retracting. Gusts of putrid, burnt
air rushed through the Tahoe and Kyle angled his way out of the top of the
Tahoe, his upper body fully outside. He brought his rifle out and turned around
to face the Peterbilt behind him.
     Aiming while someone was swerving was impossible at best,
but Kyle braced his legs on the seats below and started firing towards the big
truck. He just hoped he wouldn't actually miss and hit the thing. He didn't
think Old Ben would forgive him, but he needed to draw the diseased after him if
this was going to work. Kyle cringed at the loud, irritating sound of the
Tahoe's horn as James swerved and made their way through town.
    The rifle clicked and Kyle ejected the magazine, letting if
fall into the Tahoe before grabbing another from his pouch, which was hanging
from his body. In less than three minutes, he'd gone through 28 rounds. At that
rate, he'd be out In 30 minutes, and might as well turn himself in so the
diseased could have lunch. He still needed to keep their attention, so he
didn't stop. As James kept driving, Old Ben's diesel engines had gone quiet and
it had rolled to a stop. Kyle still spotted a few diseased around the truck,
but not many. Most were following him. Thousands trailed the slow moving Tahoe as
it made its way through town.
    "We need to pick up speed to avoid those closing from
the front," boomed James from inside. With a last wave at the truck, Kyle
turned in the seat and almost peed his pants. Diverging from both sides of the
road were hundreds, thousands of diseased. They came from everywhere, their
growls and moans easily heard over the rush of wind.
    "Do it!" Kyle screamed. "Get in front of
them, then we'll make sure they’re following us." Kyle barely finished his
sentence as the Tahoe surged forward, its back end dropping down as the big V8
thrummed with power. Kyle slipped back down through the roof and into the front
seat. He set his rifle aside; using it now wouldn't accomplish anything,