Free Breaking News: An Autozombiography by N. J. Hallard Page A

directions, sending him to the floor in spectacular splits. I threw the water bottle through the open window of the car and onto the passenger seat.
    ‘ Floyd! Get in!’ I shouted over the roof. The dogs were still on the offensive, pulling an arm from its socket in sharp gristly tugs. Then Freakboy stood up again, between us and the dogs. I whistled.
    Beagles have the most ridiculous ability to hear just what they want to and nothing else, but you can trick them by getting their attention with something instinctive, like whistling. It made Floyd face me and also catch sight of Freakboy, now within a foot of the car and of Lou who was leaning over Susie and winding up the window furiously. Within a second my pup was working Freakboy’s feet from under him in hearty jerks. We watched as he slid down the window and out of view with a powerless moan.
    ‘ Al, get in my side!’ I opened the boot and whistled again. Dmitri was the first to break away and Floyd, who hated to miss anything, followed quickly. I shut them in, then sailed through the passenger door after Al who was now behind the wheel. Accelerate please.
    ‘ Yeah, what we said about being more careful,’ I said, doing my seatbelt up. ‘Lou, I don’t mean to sound like a dreadful old git, but I really think you should stay in the car from now on. We have got to get some weapons too - I don’t want to end up like Pukes MacGinty back there.’
    ‘ But you can’t hurt them,’ Lou said. ‘What if they find a cure for all this?’
     
    Brighton was on fire. Screaming drowned out the few sirens that were left. Black smoke from a Tesco Express was hanging low in the airless heat, filling the road ahead. Everything went dark for a few seconds before we heard a thud and a white face with matted hair rolled over the windscreen. The smoke cleared to reveal bleached and dusty human outlines filling the road, some lifeless, some stumbling. Arms flailed against the sun and the noise, jaws fell open slackly, heads hung loose at the shoulders. We hit another, a thin woman with braided hair. Her neck snapped forward and hit the Audi’s bonnet, folding her in two. A second crunch - a black man with bone-white eyes bounced to one side. Four, five, six. There were no screams, no attempts at evasive action as we ploughed through, teeth gritted.
    ‘ Seriously, what if they find a cure?’ Lou gripped her seat.
    Cars were strewn across the road as we headed back north over the Seven Dials roundabout and up Dyke Road (I’d laughed on many occasions, but not that day). Weary of the repeated lists on the radio, Al put a CD on as we passed the Old Shoreham Road which heads back to Worthing through several towns. It was usually jammed, even on a good day. More freaks stood in the road ahead and I pushed back in my seat as Al picked up speed. Hot bellies swollen with poison popped like bubble wrap, swilling black fluid over the windscreen.
    ‘ No more! Please.’ Lou was sobbing.
    ‘ You’re stressed, Sweetpea. We’ve got to get back - Al’s doing his best.’ I judged that it was not the time to suggest we turf Susie out onto the verge. Heading out of the city there was less activity, but we still had to fight our way onto the A27.
    ‘ I knew it!’ I squeaked - the Southwick Hill Tunnel was shut. The signs read “ROAD AHEAD CLOSED - ALL TRAFFIC USE A270 ½ MILE”, the point driven home with flashing orange lights. There were plenty of cars ahead, their windows popped and fuel tanks smoking, but hardly any were still being driven. Al picked a course as I surveyed the rolling downland. Bodies lay in the sun. Bodies stood in the sun.
    ‘ Look!’
    The hills to the north were dotted with hundreds of figures facing the city and the sea. It looked like the Dawn of the Dead poster, and gave my skin goose bumps even in the car’s broiling heat. When we had turned off the dual carriageway and onto the detour road into Portslade Al slowed the car and pulled into a lay-by.
    ‘