Dead Hunger II: The Gem Cardoza Chronicle by Eric A. Shelman Page B

to stay with the others and she got that.  She kissed Hemp goodbye and gave the rest of us a wave as we pulled into the yard, lowering the bay door behind us when we cleared it.
    After leaving the yard and relocking the gate, we turned whenever the sexy GPS voice told us to.  What she didn’t say was “There is a row of zombies on your left in one mile.”
    Because that would’ve been incorrect.  There was a row of zombies on the left and the right side of the road in one mile.  And just a few in the middle.
    “Jackpot,” said Flex.  “Hemp, I’m starting to regret not having windows.”
    “Where in the bloody hell did they all come from?”
    “Professor Chatsworth, look at them,” said Max.  “I’d guess from the cemetery.”
    Max was right.  Several had tattered clothing on if any at all.  Most of the clothing remains were either formal or semi-formal, the type that most of us would be buried in.  Our finest.
    “Fucking diggers,” I said, sliding over to the starboard gun.  I checked the clip and swung it into position.
    “Don’t slow down,” said Hemp, his MP5 already out the window.
    Max had grabbed another MP5 from our arsenal.  We were well-prepared to take them out, but the damned head-on zombies would be a challenge.
    “Buckle in, people,” said Flex, his face grim.  He set his mouth in a thin line and gunned the engine, racing toward the group.  The ones on the side of the road all watched our progress but if they could smell us yet, or knew we were food, they didn’t show it.
    Men, women and children staggered in the street.  There must have been twenty of them, which was fortunate because had all of these things been in front of us I don’t think the Suburban would have been able to run them all down without taking too much damage. 
    “Flex!” I shouted.  “You can’t – ”
    And at thirty miles an hour, he cranked the wheel hard left then turned into his skid, throwing the truck into a sideways slide, then slammed on the brakes and stopped.
    The rotters were directly in front of me and Hemp now.  We opened up and their heads started exploding like cherry bombs in a middle school hallway.
    We’d been blasting them for nearly a minute and we’d almost cleared the road.  Satan’s marionettes.  That’s what they looked like every time we peppered them with rounds.  Like some scary fucking Halloween decoration that suddenly starts dancing on a string when the kids knock on the door.
    Only these creatures didn’t twitch a hell of a lot when they died.  They pretty much just died.
    The noise in the SUV was ear-shattering, but we kept firing.  The zombies on the roadsides began moving in now, but as we took down the last of the live roadies, Flex cranked the wheel hard right and headed back up the center.
    It had gotten considerably bumpier, what with all the destroyed body parts and all, and considerably narrower as the ones on the sides closed in.
    I felt like we were running a gauntlet.
    “Don’t slow down, Flex!” shouted Hemp.  “In fact, go faster or you’ll lose momentum and start spinning your wheels in all that muck!”
    Flex took the advice.  Both Hemp and I had to reload at the same time, and as we did it, with the truck bouncing over the dead zombies, the ghouls on the sides closed in.  A couple were so close the side mount K7 smacked them in the face as we roared past.  Unfortunately, I was trying to put the magazine in at that moment and the butt of the gun slammed into my hand, jamming my thumb.
    “Damnit!” I shouted.  I hadn’t been able to lock it in yet and the magazine slid out of the gun and onto the floor.
    Hemp was taking them down, but he needed my help.  There were too many.
    “Babe, drive faster!” I shouted, reaching down with my throbbing hand to grab the mag.  We’d almost gotten over the worst of the dead bodies in the road and a clear path lay ahead, but the longer it took us to get through , the more would close in from