Free Last Man Standing (Book 1): Hunger by Keith Taylor Page B

right. Something... I can't put my finger on it, but the hairs suddenly stand up on the back of my neck. There's something I'm missing. Something my conscious mind hasn't noticed.
     
    "Arnold? Hey, buddy, can you..." My voice trails off as it finally clicks. I can feel Arnold's muscles moving beneath my hand. They're... rippling. Tensing. Bunching together as if he's preparing himself to get up. But he's not breathing. His chest isn't moving. Hasn't moved since I opened the door.
     
    "Kate," I whisper quietly, barely loud enough to drown out the sudden thumping of my heart. "Get out of the car, honey. Quickly."
     
    Kate looks up at me with a a puzzled expression. "What — "
     
    " Now , Kate," I hiss. "Get out now ."
     
    She doesn't see what's going on, but the urgency in my voice makes her move quickly. She turns and fumbles for the door handle, but beneath my hand I can feel Arnold's muscles twitch and quiver like there's a light current passing through his body. I tighten my grip, pressing his shoulder down as best I can.
     
    "Kate, get out! " I yell.
     
    She finally pushes open the door and tumbles out into the street as Arnold lifts his head from the steering wheel, moving as if I wasn't even holding him down. Kate kicks her door closed and the old man's head snaps around to chase the sound, giving me the chance to back away and slam the driver's door.
     
    Now he turns back to me, and my fears are confirmed. This isn't Arnold any more. The twinkle has gone from his eyes. They're just blank now; dark, unfocused orbs surrounded by ashy skin, hunting for the next target.
     
    I back away from the car slowly, remembering the little girl I saw in the Prius. I figure I can keep him from attacking if I just move slowly enough, but he proves me wrong. The moment I move a muscle he launches himself at the window, his muffled bellow drowned out by the sound of the JCB engine droning by the roadblock.
     
    "Karl!" I yell, stumbling back away from the car. "Shoot him!"
     
    The kid grabs up his rifle, but doesn't point it at the car. "I can't!" he cries.
     
    I turn to him, grab his shoulders and roughly shake him. "Karl, fucking shoot him!"
     
    The terrified kid lifts his gun up to me and flips it over. " I can't! " he yells again. "It's loaded with fucking blanks!" He points to the magazine. "It's a training rifle. We don't have enough ammo to go around!"
     
    "Oh Jesus . Some fucking safe zone." Arnold continues to throw himself against the door, and I just know it won't hold out long. A crack has already appeared in the window and it's spreading with every blow.
     
    I look around for my bat, and swear under my breath as I realize I left it on the back seat of the car. Far too risky to try to get it back now. The kid's rifle might make a half decent club, but something tells me Arnold will take more killing than the guy back in the antique store. He's an old man but he has a good few inches on me, a barrel chest and thick arms. I can only imagine what would happen if he got the chance to launch himself at me.
     
    I cast my eyes around the street and panic for a moment when I realize Kate has vanished from beside the car. It's not until I hear her yell that I realize what's going on.
     
    "Get out of the way!" I look up and see Kate clinging onto the cab door of the earthmover, waving me aside. The driver turns the wheel and powers forward towards the car, and as the enormous tires bump against it he pushes a lever and sends the heavy scoop pressing down.
     
    I run towards the earthmover and yell out for the driver to stop, but the sound of the hydraulics drowns out my voice. I can see right away that his plan to crush Arnold won't work. The scoop isn't nearly large enough. It only reaches halfway across the car, and as it pushes down, bending the steel frame with a tortured squeal, the weakened driver's side window bursts outwards.
     
    Arnold squirms his way out through the window, falling to the ground as the bench