Free Heartland Junk Part I: The End: A ZOMBIE Apocalypse Serial by Eli Nixon

hurt. You know they
can't call an ambulance."
    "What if 'someone'
turned freak-a-boo behind the wheel?" Rivet said. "We're leaving
them. Go ahead, Ray."
    "I don't see
anybody..." I said. Fuck it. I dropped the brake pedal, then
shifted into park and cranked up the parking brake below my door.
"I'm gonna look. Real quick. You guys stay here."
    "No, you're not,"
said Rivet. I gave him a sidelong glance, then opened the door and
stepped out.
    "Be careful, Ray,"
Jennie called. "Don't get close to it." I nodded. Rivet scooted
sideways to the steering wheel. "You need to run, go to that side
and I'll gun it." Jennie slid into the middle of the bench seat,
leaving the passenger side open. I grabbed the axe from the bed of
the truck and walked toward the Cadillac.
    It had fallen at
an angle to the road, putting the hatchback door at the rear
closest to the asphalt. The driver's side door was pressed into the
ground. The pavement ahead of the pickup was scuffed and streaked,
so I figured the Cadillac must have come from town. Was it worse
over there? More people than our little neighborhood, that was for
sure. We should be heading the other direction, away from town,
into the plains. Find a farmhouse somewhere far away from everyone
else. Hole up. Wait it out. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be out
of the truck.
    Beyond the wrecked
Cadillac was a white, three-story bungalow. The Cadillac's grill
had dug a wide, earthen trench through the edge of their scrubby
front lawn. No sign of movement from the house, nor from the
neighbors adjacent to either side. Where the hell was everybody?
Not home? Scared to come out? Freak-a-boos already, trapped in
their own homes?
    Gripping the axe
in both hands, muscles tensed, I stepped to the roof side of the
toppled vehicle. I could hear the engine idling under the hood, but
that, the prattle of the Ford behind me, and my heavy breathing
were the only sounds. Every other noise seemed to have been
whitewashed into oblivion. The Cadillac had a sunroof, but first I
stooped to look through the rear window in the hatchback. Sunlight
streamed through the passenger windows, now at the top of the
vehicle, illuminating most of the interior. I didn't see anybody,
didn't see any movement.
    I moved along the
side of the Cadillac to look through the sunroof. Beyond the glass,
I could see the two front seats and the middle seat behind them as
if from a top-down view. All were empty. I breathed out and
loosened my white-knuckle grip on the axe. Blood flowed back into
my fingers, into my limbs.
    "Nothing here," I
called, turning back to the truck. Jennie and Rivet were watching
me through the window. I started toward them. "Let's go."
    Jennie screamed, and my first thought was that something had
gotten into the truck. She banged the window, pointed at me. Get in here.
Help. I started
to run just as something grabbed my ankle and pitched me foreward
into the grass.
    I shut my eyes
reflexively as my face smashed the spindly grass, saving my
eyeballs from the dry, needlelike blades, and then rolled onto my
back and kicked out. My tennis shoe smacked a face. The grip on my
ankle loosened. I scrabbled back, hands and feet. Axe? Shit, the
axe. The man was on his belly, legs still out of sight behind the
hood of the Cadillac. Crawling toward me. Teeth gnashing. A long
red crack split his forehead, blood still wet, dripping. Over his
eyes, blinding him.
    He got his knees
under him and lunged, hands out, chest sliding over crunching
grass. His teeth nipped the end of my pinky and I jerked back. I
heard wet phlegm rattling in his throat, saw bits of grass scabbed
to the wet blood on his face. His feet kicked, sliding, gripping.
He lunged forward again and I kicked straight forward, snapping his
head back. I rolled away from the Cadillac and lurched to hands and
knees. In another world, Jennie screamed. An engine roared. Tires
squealed. Were they leaving me? Was Rivet leaving me? I couldn't
look. The axe was in the dirt under