Free The Renegades 2 Aftermath (A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller) by Jack Hunt Page B

the safety of each other.
    The station was three blocks from the alley. We stayed low, passing burnt-out cars. The charred remains of bodies lined the streets. Those who must have been attacked by gangs were brutalized. Their bodies strung up on fences or posts, or nailed to walls. Graffiti had been sprayed all over them. They showed no mercy.
    We managed to get to the other side of the block with minimal interference from Z’s. A couple of times we had to hold our position under trucks until a group of walkers passed by. It wasn’t that we couldn’t have taken them out. But our best defense was not attacking it was avoidance. Anything else was a last resort, a means to an end to get us through dangerous sections of the city.
    As we drew closer to the radio station located across from a large city park, we noticed there were heads everywhere. Someone had decapitated and strung them up like Christmas decorations. Their faces were battered as if someone had taken a pickaxe to them.
    There was no point in telling Jess or Izzy not to look. They were as accustomed to the horrors of the apocalypse as much as us. You didn’t grimace at every sight. You became numb to it. The shock it once held was now gone.
    102.5 The Wolf radio operated out of a large glass building. It must have been in pristine condition at one time. Now the bottom quarter of it was caved in from a truck that had careened into the side. Concrete steps and a part of an elevator were exposed. Its metal doors were crushed and bent. Rubble, papers, and blood were everywhere. The stench that hit us as we moved in was like a wall. Electrical wires that were no longer live hung down like spider legs.
    We moved with our backs to the wall at a fair clip trying to get inside before the batch of Z’s that were shuffling around across the road spotted us.
    “Wait.” Dax held up a clenched fist. We dropped behind a burnt-out cab. At first I thought he had spotted a horde of Z’s. But that wasn’t it. The sound of wheels slowly churning over filled the air. It got louder, until we saw a forest-green tank come around the corner. We figured it was military doing their rounds searching for survivors. It wasn’t. Five men dressed in blue bandanas controlled it. One of them was driving; another was manning the machine gun on the front and taking potshots at Z’s. The other three were spread out over the front and back with assault rifles. One of them threw a grenade. Another fired a rocket launcher at thirty Z’s in the distance. The echo shook the ground. A cloud of smoke and debris went into the air. That was followed by laughter. They loved every minute.
    “Stay low,” Dax whispered.
    We hugged the ground. The only things between us and them were two vehicles.
    “Homie, get the three on the left,” we heard one of them shout out.
    “Ah, look at that bitch’s tits hanging out. Watch this.”
    I peered around the cab in time to see some female Z get her body drilled and rearranged by an excessive amount of bullets. They didn’t aim for the head. It fell to the floor.
    “I’m grabbing it as a mascot,” one of them barked.
    Two of them jumped down, grabbed her arms, and began dragging this thing across the ground while the others covered them. They tore off what remaining clothes were clinging to her body and then impaled her on the tank’s gun like a soft toy on the front of a Mack truck. The large, lengthy barrel went through her chest like a knife slices warm butter. The Z’s legs dangled there while it gnashed its teeth. If that wasn’t bad enough, the two men sat on the front of the tank laughing, and taking turns spanking her rotten, mutated ass.
    This was nothing but a game to them. The tank surged forward rolling over Z’s that attempted to reach them. Blood splattered. Jess shook her head.
    “Animals.”
    We waited until they were gone before we slipped inside the radio station. The stairs had been partially blown out. We had to jump three steps