He held his breath, took two steps across the boat and fired. Both shots drilled the zombie above its left eye, spraying a chunk of wet gray flesh and broken skull fragments out the back of its head. Peals of thunder pounded against the awning, rang loudly in his ears and echoed across the boat like a tuning fork tapped against a hard surface.

  He tucked the pistol into the left waistband of his jeans as the zombie toppled back onto the dock with a wet sickening plop. He ignored the mingled stench of blood and cordite wafting across his face and leaned over the railing.

  Danielle toppled over, landing on her right hip and planted her free hand onto a nearby beam. She dragged herself across the dock, beads of sweat sliding down her brows and forehead, glistening the back of her head and neck.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Yeah.” He said.

  He sighed and felt a mixture of fear and guilt washing over him. A geyser of blood spurted out between her chubby pale fingers, slid across the dock in large sporadic bibs, slipped between the beams and trickled into the water.

  She scowled, her face creased in agony, and reached the knot of thick-braided rope tied around the pillar beside the right corner of the hull. She used her free hand to unfasten the rope, hitched a breath and plopped down onto the dock. The air squeezed from her lungs and burst through her now milky-pale lips as she rolled onto her back, the color slowly draining from her face.

  Colin ran over to the right side of the boat, gripped the railing in both hands and hiked his right leg over the side. She gave a loud protesting growl and waved her free hand back and forth high above her head like she would if she were at a rap concert.

  “Get the hell out of here.” She said.

  “I’m not leaving–”

  He didn’t have plans of rekindling their affair now that Alicia was dead because it made no sense to him. The least he could’ve done was get her someplace safe, where there were people she knew and then go on his own.

  “Get the fuck out of here, baby.” She said, rolling back onto her left hip.

  Colin closed his eyes, hiked his leg back onto the boat and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, his cheeks flushed.

  “Don’t worry about me.” She said. “We know what happens next so there’s no sense in tiptoeing around it. I don’t want you to have to deal with me later.”

  Beads of sweat dripped off the tip of her smooth pale nose and skin, sprinkling tiny lucid tears along her shoulders. Her chest rose and fell, accentuating those large creamy-pale breasts and pressing her dark-brown areolas against the gauzy fabric along the front of her tee-shirt. The soft alabaster skin that once pressed against his skin was fading to a light gray pallor and would soon downgrade into a deep tombstone gray tone the other zombies bore.

  The sickness, plague or whatever it was, slowly took over. It burrowed into her bones, taking over her senses and burning through her veins much stronger than a hot dose of that same magical drug he’d spent so many years talking people out of using. There wasn’t a cure for this specific drug and he supposed there never would be; no antidote, no one-on-one counseling could drain this sickness from the planet’s veins.

  A river of tears brimmed in Colin’s eyes as he backed away from the railing, turned away from Danielle and strode across the boat. He tugged on the twisted gray chain jutting out from the side and, his rough manly hands twitching, plucked the anchor from the bottom of the lake. Large tendrils of water slid off the curved edges of the anchor and rained down, spraying against the side of the boat.

  He placed the anchor onto the floor between his feet and hurried over to the steering podium. He glanced up from the steering wheel and opened his mouth to say something when Danielle perched her foot onto the boat’s scarred metallic hull and pushed forward with all of her semi-human might.

  He heard a loud rustling coming from the trees behind her. A trio of zombies were hobbling out of the forest, what looked to be a mother and her two sons wearing frayed softball uniforms, toward the dock. Whether they were coming to greet their new brethren or to finish her off, Colin didn’t know nor did he want to.

  Their gazes met long after the boat slid away from the dock, cleaving a faint V of ripples across the lake’s murky brown surface. There were a lot of things he wanted to say but the more he thought about it the less of a difference it would’ve made. He wanted to apologize for saving a spot in his pity party at a time when he should’ve been by Alicia’s side wiping her tears and reassuring her that everything would be okay instead of breaking her heart and letting her know that he didn’t care anymore.

  No matter what history had said, he’d killed two women today while the world tore itself apart. A personal best.

  When the boat reached the middle of the lake, Colin bowed his head toward the bank of gauges and buttons spread out before him. He counted to ten, wiped the river of tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and turned the key. After two tries and twenty dollars in The Swear Jar, the ignition caught.

  He pushed the throttle, felt the boat shudder and then glide across Lake Michelle. A giant V of frothy white waves spewed out across the surface of the lake, spraying small puffs of water in its wake. He rode the water, heading northwest across The Buckeye State with no destination in mind.

  All he could see for miles and miles were helicopters hovering overhead, sweeping the skies above highly-populated areas for any survivors and towers of thick black smoke funneling across the bright blue sky. Later that evening, he’d found a cool spot along the forest to hide under and sat down beside of the steering podium. Amongst an onslaught of tears he couldn’t contain, he mumbled a million apologies to both Alicia and Danielle that no one could hear but him.

  No one felt more dead inside than him. He would find a way to make up for his mistakes and redeem himself.

  And the rest, as they liked to say, was history.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  SOMETHING wet pressed against Colin’s right cheek and hoped it wasn’t a dick.

  He flinched, snapped his sleep-crusted eyes open and snatched a quick breath. He tried to sit up but he was forced back onto the floor. Teresa was knelt down beside of his left hip, pressing a damp red bandana against his cheeks and forehead. Pixie was sitting on his right, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, brushing thin strands of hair away from his forehead with her left hand.

  Thin shafts of sunlight slipped separated the darkness from the day and wrung a river of hot tears from his eyes.

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “You knocked yourself out.” Teresa said. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

  Pixie held the bandana out to him. “Sorry, Colin. This is actually breast milk.”

  Teresa and Dominic helped him up on his feet and brushed the pockets of dirt from the front and sleeves of his shirt when they heard a loud protest coming from the forest standing along the back of the house. Her heart stuttered with fear as Dominic flicked his gaze from Colin’s tee-shirt and across the back yard.

  “Come on, guys.” Jason said.

  Rosie gurgled, flung her right arm across the yard. She motioned toward the gray Dodge with the tips of her stubby pink fingers and spilled a line of drool from her lips.

  “For once,” Colin said. “the little girl is right.”

  A nose less dead blonde girl, a pair of prune-faced old men in tattered clothing and a dead brunette woman in a bright pink dress bared their ravenous black teeth in a dark cavernous grin approached the passenger side of the truck. Teresa placed her left hand on Jason’s shoulder, eased him back, raised her Glock and fired. The zombies flew back in a hail of gunfire, spraying bright funnels of blood and gray pulp out the back of their heads.

  “I’m driving.” Colin said.

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” Dominic said.

  Something caught the corner of Teresa’s eye. Fear slid down her back, coiling around her spine and prickled her skin like a cold breeze.

  A little dead girl and three more armless men in blue jean coveralls were stumbling toward the pickup, groaning in unison with Rosie’s panicked cries. She leaped over the front porch railing, tightening her grip on the Glock and fired. Thick black sludge sprayed out the back of their heads and plopped onto the grass in sickening wet thuds.

  “Come on, goddamn it.” She said.

  Colin opened the door and peered across the front cab, his heart thudding with fear. Her body strapped tightly inside of the sling, Rosie jerked her arms back and forth across her chest. His lips trembling with fear, he waved Jason inside of the front cab and slid in behind the wheel.

  He fumbled for the ignition panel underneath the steering wheel and tore it open. He hunkered toward the floorboard, his sweaty pale fingers thumbing through the tangle of wires, snapped the two ignition wires apart and rubbed them together. The truck’s engine coughed once, twice and caught on the third try.

  As Teresa, Pixie and Dominic leaped into the back of the truck, a trio of brunettes approached them from the driver-side. Their faces slack and their eyes wide, they stretched their arms across the back of the pickup. Teresa stood up, planted her feet against the edge of the truck bed, raised the Glock and fired into the crowd.

  Gunshots rang out across the meadow and crackled against the bright blue sky.

  His face contorting with fear, Dominic said. “Hurry up!”

  A wide pleasing grin spreading across his face, Colin put the truck in D, kicked the gas pedal and drove away.

  The truck rolled down the hill as gusts of hot muggy air swept across the front cab and caressed Colin’s face. It jostled over deep grooves shrouded by thin stalks of high grass. The front driver-side tire rolled across a fallen tree branch, its enormous weight crushing it into a carpet of chipped gray bark and sharp wooden splinters.

  Dominic screamed something Colin couldn’t hear over the roar of the engine. Teresa, Dominic and Pixie squinted against the stinging glare of the sun and glanced at the house as the wind ruffled their skin and clothes. Rosie lifted her head from the front of her brother’s tee-shirt, glanced across the front cab at Colin and gave a loud welcoming giggle.

  Colin feigned a smile, reached across the front seat with his free hand and caressed her cheek with his free hand when he saw movement in the corner of his left eye. He jerked his hand away, slapped it back onto the steering wheel, craned his head back around and peered out the front windshield.

  A dead blonde woman in a floral-print dress staggered up the hill, waving a soft bloody stub where her left arm used to be. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, stamped down on the gas and sped up, ignoring the chorus of confused requests coming from his friends sitting behind him. She gave a wet burbling sound as the driver-side headlight collided with her left hip and sent her rolling back.

  He reached the bottom of the hill, turned right and sped down a two lane stretch of loose gravel. Pebbles crunched beneath the tires and rattled against the undercarriage. A thin mist of white dust spewed out from the rear of the truck and swirled across the air, veiling the tall empty house that stood looming in the distance.

  Dominic closed his eyes and clamped a fat pudgy hand over his mouth but whether he was avoiding the dust or crying Colin didn’t know. Pixie bowed her head, squeezed her face and eyes shut and glanced morosely down at her feet. Teresa brushed a giant lock of hair away from her face, tucked it behind her ears and cupped her hand over her eyes.

  The pain and misery they’d endured were back at that house, never to be seen or experienced again. Colin hoped they’d shake it off once they arrived at Abilene and never think about it again.

  Colin followed a sharp bend in the road as the mingled smells of pine sap, wood smoke and decaying flesh swept across the front cab. He followed a steep curved incline northeast through a pair of tall tree-covered hills that spread a thin canopy of leafy shadows across the shoulder of the road. When he reached the bottom of the incline, he spun the wheel left and followed a straight stretch on for two miles before veering off to the left.

  “Which way do I go?”

  “I think we—you should—” Jason said.

  “That’s not much help.”

  He followed a side road flanked by a small scattering of cozy-looking homes sitting on postage-stamp lawns when something materialized in the corner of his right eye. An odd black shape emitted a loud a thunderous roar and appeared out of a nearby alley.

  He spun around and glanced out the back window. He peered across the crown of Pixie’s left shoulder, cursed under his breath and spun back around in his seat.

  The black Jeep hurtled toward them, its engine reverberating. Its front grille and the jagged thin crack etched across the front window glinted in the sunlight. Colin peered into the rearview mirror and saw the three gangsters casting irritated glances, their faces twisted with anger.

  The other thug—whom he remembered as B-Head—rode shotgun, brandishing an AK-47 in both hands. Matteo peered at them with dark angry eyes, his right hand gripping the wheel while his left arm was slumped across his lap. The wigger rose up from the back seat and fed eight bullets into a hunting rifle equipped with a scope and a sleek walnut stock.

  Dominic glanced at the Jeep, clamped his right hand back across his mouth and sighed. Pixie turned her head, clenched the side of the truck bed in a white-knuckled hand, tears streaming down her face. The wigger raised the rifle in both hands, pressed the stock against his shoulder, peered into the scope and took aim.

  Teresa snatched a quick breath, leaped from the other side of the truck, threw her arms around Pixie and Dom and forced them down onto the bed. Colin reached across the front seat with his free hand, clutched Jason’s left sleeve inside of his right hand and pushed him down. Jason stretched across the seat, pressed Rosie’s face against his chest and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  The rear of the truck fishtailed and slid toward the edge of the road, its back tires spewing bits of gravel rattling against the undercarriage. The first bullet struck the driver-side taillight, spraying a mist of broken glass and bright-orange sparks across the air. A second struck the driver-side mirror, spraying a jagged mist of broken glass and tiny metallic shards across the air.

  Jason sat up in his seat and glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

  The wigger fired again, missing the driver-side mirror and struck a gnarled oak tree. Tiny splinters of wood and frail tree bark flew across the air as the treetop snapped free and toppled backward. The smells of pine sap, burnt rubber and decomposition permeated through the forest and filled the front cab.

  He cursed under his breath, jacked another bullet into the rifle and fired. The Jeep caught a loose patch of gravel and slid across the road, sending his aim off kilter. The bullet gave a sharp whistle as it pinged off the edge of the truck bed and punched through the back window.

  Colin and Jason heard the sound of shattered glass and flinched at the tiny bits of glass spraying across the cab, pressing their hips against their respective doors. The bullet punched through the front window, spreading a network of thin jagged cracks across the glass. The wigger cursed under his breath and slapped Matteo across the back of the head; the Jeep slid into a small ditch, kicking up a plume of dirt and gravel.

  He didn’t know how much time it would take before they caught up. A chorus of angry voices echoed across the forest behind them.

  He flew down a straight stretch flanked by more trees for two miles and sped out onto a wide asphalt road. They found themselves back inside of the city, a smattering of buildings that resembled strewn cardboard boxes connected by a network of streets and alleyways.

  A squat aluminum-sided building sat on the right with a goose-necked street lamp was fixed to the wall above the front door. An array of cement mixers, dump trucks and flatbed semis sat on a wide graveled parking lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence topped by thin coils of razor wire.

  When he sped past the parking lot and a wall of trees running along the left side, Colin hissed between tightly-clenched teeth. Jason sat up, braced the dashboard with both hands and stomped his feet against the floor to keep from flying out the window. The others perked their heads up and over the front cab and glanced down at Colin with confused looks on their faces.

  A small white-brick building sat on the right-hand corner on a wide cement lot, under a flat shingled-gray roof. A white plastic sign stood on the apex of a skinny black metal pole rooted into the lower left corner of the parking lot, the words MARY’S BURGER TOWN printed across in capital red letters.

  It wasn’t exactly a horde that filled the street in front of him. It was an army. Men, women and children shambled across the street, gawking at them through milky-blue eyes; they bore slack-jawed expressions and bright red flesh beneath torn strips of bloated gray skin; torn limbs exposed glistening red stubs where they shouldn’t be.

  A trio of zombies stopped in their tracks, causing the others to bump into each other and fixed their milky-blue gaze onto the pickup. A pair of dark-haired men and a blonde woman. She wore her hair down across her face and a white ratty-looking nightgown with a long red gash across the front. The two men wore scruffy light-gray suits covered in blood; the dark-haired man on her left wore a bushy-black mustache and a half-bitten shoulder; the other zombie was tall with a clean-shaven head and large bite wounds along his arms.

  Jason reached up with his right hand and wrapped his tight-knuckled fist around the door handle. A mix of anxiety and fear etched across his face, twisting his mouth into a lopsided grin. He slid his left hand around the back of his sister’s head, pressed her face against the front of his tee-shirt, drew a cloud of hot ragged air deep into his lungs and sighed.

  Colin grimaced and kicked the accelerator. The truck launched itself across the street, the stench of burnt rubber tainting the air as the tires gave a banshee soprano. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he drove the truck straight into the horde, parting it like The Red Sea.