Randy slowly pulled away from the two other vehicles. He squinted into to the sun trying to see ahead before he committed to the path ahead. It left the main street and wound through what looked to be the beginning of a residential area. The streets were littered with bodies, refuge and abandoned vehicles. Despite that, it looked as if they could weave through the debris and make it to a cross street running parallel with the main road.
He moved slowly toward the intersection and the turn-off. Finally, deciding to commit, he pulled into the intersection and dodged around a stalled sedan with room to spare.
Miguel pointed toward the side street. “Company’s coming.”
Randy accelerated as he turned the wheel to the left. “Watch out. I’m not stopping until we’re out of here and across the cattle guard at home.”
“Got it.” Miguel pushed the barrel of his rifle out the window and scanned the side street. “Two blocks down, take a right. It’s the first chance to head north.”
Randy nodded at the rifle in Miguel’s hand. “Keep it quiet for now if we can.” He steered the truck around a car pushed against a light pole and a length of fencing torn away from the metal post and left in the street.
The car’s driver’s door hung open, and the brush guard sent the sheet of metal flying with a loud crash as they passed. Half a dozen infected turned at the sound. Randy stepped on the gas until he noticed a pile of red in the road ahead. As he drew closer, he saw it was a fallen motorcycle.
It was an RS-5, one of Yoshimura’s most popular bikes. It was a real eye catcher with the color and the trapezoid shape melded into a sports bike. Even laid out on its side, it looked to be in pretty good shape with only a scratch or two visible.
“Poppy! I sure would like to have that bike.” Miguel chortled as he pointed his machete at a large infected man making a beeline for the truck.
“You want me to stop?” Randy asked as the three infected drew closer. He took his foot off the accelerator. By then the infected were less than a dozen feet away.
“No! Speed the fuck up.” Miguel called over his shoulder, and he leaned out the window.
He extended his arm with the machete over his head. As Randy sped between two infected, Miguel swung at a thick bodied woman in a house dress. The blade connected below her chin snapping her neck. She collapsed as the truck sped away.
He turned to Randy grinning. “Next one is yours.”
Randy laughed. “That was sick.”
The passenger side mirror of the pickup shattered in an explosion of glass and plastic.
“Fuck!” Miguel pulled back in the cab.
“What the hell!” Randy shouted as he accelerated.
“Taking fire, man. Get us outta here!” Miguel dropped his machete and pulled his rifle to his shoulder.
“No shit!” Randy answered as he glanced at the side mirror. He jammed his foot into the gas. A heartbeat later, the camper and Pablo’s truck lurched forward after them.
Two more shots rang out. One pinged off the hood of the vehicle. Miguel exchanged his machete for the rifle, leaned out the window and returned fire. He made three quick shots.
Four men appeared from the shadows of a building on the main street in the distance. They were running toward the truck. One of the men stopped to raise his rifle, aim, and fire. A sudden shot from behind the truck exploded, and the shooter in the distance fell to the ground. When the man fell, his companion jumped behind a stalled truck and began returning fire toward the pickups and camper.
“That was John. Keep firing.” Randy yelled. “We gotta get outta here!”
Half a dozen black-leather-clad men appeared from another alleyway. They ran full tilt from the main road.
“Got more assholes joining the party!” Miguel yelled as he fired at the running men.
Charlotte Hoaks. . . .(C. A. Hoaks) 