Free These Dead Lands: Immolation by Stephen Knight, Scott Wolf Page A

bike, dump your weapons, and get in that truck.” Hastings pointed at the big Dodge.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
    “We’re going to pay Frank and his pals a visit, and if things aren’t what you say they are, I’ll want you where I can get you.”
    “What about my bike?”
    “We’ll come back for it. The deadheads aren’t interested in it.”
    She seemed to think about that for a moment, then she killed the motorcycle’s engine and pushed down the kickstand. She slid off the bike and regarded the approaching zombies, flexing her fingers beneath her black leather gloves. She unzipped her jacket, pulled out a small-caliber pistol, and put it on the ground beside her feet. Next, she unstrapped the machete and dropped it as well. “The gun’s empty. I don’t have any more bullets.”
    “Front seat or backseat?” she asked.
    “Backseat.”
    Diana pulled the helmet off and ran a hand through her medium-length black hair. Her skin was dark, and her eyes were bright. She appeared to be nervous but not frightened. Hastings didn’t know what to make of that. She stepped over the bodies without any trace of remorse, pulled open the rear door of the truck, and climbed onto the bench seat.
    Reader gathered her weapons and dropped them into Stilley’s Humvee. Hastings told the chubby driver to get into the driver’s seat of the Dodge.
    While Reader guarded the driver, Hastings walked around and climbed into the passenger seat. He stuck the barrel of his M4 into the pudgy man’s side. “Try not to hit any bumps.”
    “Where we goin’?”
    “To meet your friends.” Into his radio headset, Hastings said, “Stilley, stay at least a hundred yards behind us. Tharinger, stay on the fitty. Reader, ride shotgun with Stilley. Ballantine, your call if you want to take your truck or mount up with Hartman. Hartman, I want you playing rear guard. Guerra, don’t be afraid to use the Mark if things get hot and you have a shot. Questions? Over.”
    There were none.
    “Let’s roll,” he told the driver.
    *

The fat man drove about ten miles per hour, which Hastings thought was probably unusual.
    He poked the man in the ribs with the M4. “Why so slow?”
    “You said to try and not hit bumps! I don’t want you shootin’ me!”
    “Drive faster,” Hastings said. “You pull up like an old lady, they’ll know something’s up.”
    The fat man swallowed and accelerated.
    “How far is it?” Hastings asked.
    “About a mile and a half,” Diana answered.
    “Describe the roadblock.”
    “A few cars parked nose to nose, with another off to one side to keep folks from driving around it,” she said. “Behind the roadblock, there was this truck and another one. I pulled around the roadblock on my bike, but the others weren’t so lucky. They were driving an SUV, couldn’t go around.” She leaned forward and slapped the driver on the back of the head. “Are they all dead now, you fat fucker?”
    “I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know!”
    “Knock it off,” Hastings told her. “I want you to keep calm and stay put.”
    “You don’t understand, man. These guys are fucking animals.”
    “I get that just fine.” Hastings spoke into his radio. “Tharinger, I’ll probably need you to lay down some suppressive fire, so get ready. Ballantine, it would be great if you and Reader could dismount and back me up on foot. Over.”
    “Roger that, Six. We’ll have you covered. Over,” Ballantine responded.
    “Coming up on it now,” Diana said. “So listen, General, what’s your plan?”
    “Pretty easy,” Hastings said. “If they’re what you say they are, then I intend to kill them. If not, I intend to kill you.”
    “Awesome.”
    *
    The big Dodge approached the roadblock. Off to one side, hidden amongst the trees, was a blue crew-cab GMC pickup with a shell covering its bed. Like the Dodge, it had been lifted so a heavy-duty suspension and big tires could be mounted underneath the frame. Three men stood in