Charlotte Hoaks. . . .(C. A. Hoaks)

Randy dodged around a pile of shopping carts in the middle of the road and accelerated.

“This street, right?”  Randy asked.

Miguel fired then glanced ahead.  “If it’s open, go for it. We gotta get back on the main highway! If they go for wheels, we’re in trouble.”

Randy waited to break until the very last minute.  As the tires locked up, he took a quick look down the street and changed his mind.  He pulled the wheel back to the left and accelerated again.

“No, go! No, Go! Street’s blocked!”

“Keep going. We run into a blacktop a quarter mile down.”  Miguel answered before whispering under his breath.  “I think.”

“You think?”  Randy asked.

“I’m sure…I think.”  Miguel mumbled as he fired twice then reached for Randy’s rifle.  “I’m pretty sure if we get to the blacktop it will take us back on the highway.”

“We’ve got to get enough of a head start to lose anyone following before the turn off into the canyons.”

“Just drive.  We’re giving enough cover to keep their heads down.”

They lost sight of the attackers and approached the turn-off.  Randy slowed then turned on the blacktop.  He accelerated and raced ahead only glancing up twice before deciding the others were keeping up.

The speed approached seventy, and he held it there until he saw the turn-off.  At the last minute, he slowed, jerked the wheel to the left and steered the big truck onto the highway.  The minute he saw Pablo make the turn he slammed his foot into the floorboard.  The truck sped up and wind whipped through the open windows.

Miguel set Randy’s gun across his lap and reloaded.  He set it aside and began the same exercise with his own.  “You think everyone is okay?”

Randy shrugged.  “Hope so. I don’t think we should stop until we get to the Goodman place.  I hope like hell he’s ready to pull out.”

A full four minutes later, Miguel pulled back inside the cab as the pickup rolled onto the asphalt of the highway.  “See I told you.”  He announced.  “Hit the gas.  I hear engines.  Sounds like motorcycles.”

“How many did we take out?”  Randy asked. “Enough to discourage them?”

“Maybe. I know I killed two.  I heard shots from Hugo with Pablo and from the Camper. More fell then.  I figured there was at least nine in the group. We killed or wounded maybe half. Add the infected that was congregating on their locations.”

“Maybe the infected took care of the rest for us.”  Randy chuckled.

“De su boca al oído de Dios.”  Miguel mumbled.

Randy drove on.  When the pickup neared the Goodman Ranch, Randy picked up the radio that was the mate of the one he’d given to the old man.

“Goatman.  The doctor calling.”  Randy smiled.

“Goatman?”  Growled a gravelly voice.  “Who are you calling goatman?”

“We’re coming through in about ten minutes. You need to ready to pull out immediately?”

“You sound like you’re in a hell of a hurry.”

“We ran into trouble about ten miles back. Afraid they might be following us.”

“We’ve been ready for a couple hours, four vehicles with two trailers good to go.”

Randy sighed.  “Load up and meet us at the gate.”