Free Hamsikker: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel by Russ Watts Page A

hurry.
    “Get down,” said Erik as Jonas approached him.
    Sinking to his knees, he realised everyone was crouching or sitting, keeping well away from the solitary window in the west facing wall. He rubbed Dakota’s back as he crawled over to Erik beneath the window.
    “You think they saw us?” Jonas asked Erik in a whisper.
    Erik turned up his nose. “I hope not. We don’t have the firepower, or energy, to fight that lot off.”
    “Shush.” Quinn poked her head up to get a look outside. “We need to know for certain.”
    Jonas watched as Quinn tentatively hauled herself up to the windowsill, and peered outside. She kept her movements to a minimum, and he felt sure the zombies wouldn’t see her. But what if they had seen them go into the house? Erik was right. Between the Glock 22 and the pistol in Mrs Danick’s handbag, they had enough bullets to take down no more than a dozen zombies. After that, they would be reduced to axes, knives, and bare fists. He looked at Quinn, wishing she would hurry up and tell them what was happening. It seemed to take an eternity for her to assess the situation, and his heart was pounding. What if he’d led them into a dead-end, nothing but a prison where the dead would pick them off one by one?
    Quinn lowered her head slowly, and then crouched back down. “I think we’re in the clear,” she whispered. “It looks like they’re heading up the hill, past the turn off to this place. If we keep quiet, we may just catch a break.”
    Even though nobody spoke, it seemed like the room fell even quieter. Jonas could practically hear everyone draw in a breath, and a silence fell over them like a warm blanket. Seconds turned into minutes, as they kept quiet. The drone of the dead continued unabated outside as the horde passed. They were so close, and yet so far. One sneeze, one cough and it would all be over. Jonas nervously fingered the bloody axe, wrapping his fingers tightly around the shaft in case he had to use it. He had visions of the dead suddenly running up the stairs and crashing into the room where they all hid. He could see it now, hundreds and hundreds of them pouring in, overwhelming him, biting Dakota, biting Erik and Quinn and Pippa, and eating them all alive. The moaning chorus grew louder as the thick crowd of zombies reached the top of the hill. Where the dead turned next was crucial. If they stopped, or turned around, they were in serious trouble. He needed the zombies to continue, to carry on over the hill in their quest for meat. If they became lost, or attracted by anything, the group could be stuck in the house for days. Randall carried a knapsack full of food, and Peter had a bag of bottled water, but it would not last long. It was only intended to keep them going for around twenty four hours. Jonas assumed when they’d left Erik’s place that they would find somewhere else. He had assumed the garage was safe, but trusting Cliff had turned out to be a bad mistake.
    The groaning that came in through the window, and bounced around the room like the whispers of ghosts, eventually faded. Minutes trickled by slowly, but Jonas knew they were leaving. Whatever impulse was keeping them on their feet was carrying them further away. Once the noise had faded to almost nothing, he asked Quinn to take another look. When she came back down from the window, she was smiling.
    “They’re gone. I can’t see any. They must’ve carried on over the hill,” she said in a low voice. Even though the dead had apparently gone, they spoke quietly, fearful of bringing them back.
    “Okay,” said Jonas, “let’s go downstairs quietly. We’ll double back to the city, find another road out of town, and maybe head up north. Just watch out for stragglers. Yell if you need help.”
    Jonas took point, and once downstairs, he asked Erik to keep hold of the Glock. “You’re a better shot than me. We can’t afford to waste any ammo. I’ve got my axe, and that’s all I need.”
    Erik