Fallen Grace (The Grace Series) by M. Lauryl Lewis Page B

was no telling its gender or age pre-death. It consisted of a head, one arm, and half a chest that gaped where the other half had been torn, or eaten, away. It reached its single arm toward our car as we drove by.
    I idly rubbed at my hip as a deep ache began. “Gus, they’re getting close.”
    I wondered to myself where they had all come from. They hadn’t been near the day before. Gus turned the car to the right, into an older neighborhood that sported run down homes and yards full of older-style toys, campers covered in plastic tarps, and old vehicles that had all been in in some state of being repaired when the world had ended. As we continued straight more dead appeared to each side of us. They were walking slowly and seemingly aimlessly, all Roamers, and all badly decayed. I could feel their intense hunger and desire for our flesh in my mind. It was dizzying and nauseating. Agnes whimpered beside me as three of them got close enough to touch the car. Her hand gripped mine painfully.
    Every night when I go out, the monkey's on the table! Take a stick and knock it off! Pop goes the weasel!
    The nursery rhyme entered my head like a pound of bricks. They were waiting for us; more of the dead children. There was no giggling this time, just intense anticipation of our driving right into their little laps.
    “Gus!” I screamed. “Turn around!”
    Without hesitating, he slammed on the breaks. Tires squealed loudly and the car swerved into a semi-circle. Agnes kept her grip on my hand, and with my other I braced against my door. As the vehicle came to a stop, the Roamers were quickly gathering on all sides of us.
    “Go, go, go, go go,” I chanted with urgency.
    The dead children were angry that we had stopped progressing toward them. They hid in the shadows, suddenly livid that they would be forced into full daylight to pursue us. They thought the light was unsafe. The light hurt. I could feel their pain as it warmed their cold skin. Their hunger winning out, they continued toward us.
    As Gus pressed on the gas pedal again, the engine sputtered to a halting stop as the engine died. Gus turned the key and pumped the gas pedal in desperation. The Roamers were pressing against the windows now, their bony fingers leaving streaks of gore behind. Dirtied, broken teeth gnashed toward us, hoping to sink into our flesh. Agnes began screaming and her finger nails dug into my palm.
    “Shut up!” yelled Gus. “The noise will agitate them!”
    I heard rare panic in his voice. As I stared out the front window, my breath caught in my chest when a little girl fell onto the hood of the car. Had she jumped or fallen from above? I had no clue. Her blonde hair was still in a ponytail, but it was streaked with dirt and blood and clumps were missing from her scalp. She wore a knitted sweater that was hanging in shreds. It might have been red or pink when it was new. Her legs were bare aside from a pair of underpants. She looked right at us as she began crawling toward the windshield. Her eyes were a dull gray and sunken. Her lips curled into an evil smile as she looked directly at me.
    “All Around the Mulberry Bush,” she began singing, her smile never fading.
    “Gus…”
    The engine finally roared to life, albeit with a new knocking noise. As the car lurched forward, the dead girl tried to hang on. She soon rolled off, landing hard on the roadway.
    ***
    As we drove, I uncurled Agnes’ fingers from my hand. She had finally stopped crying and sat quietly again.
    “Agnes, I’m sorry I yelled,” sighed Gus from the driver’s seat.
    She didn’t reply.
    The engine continued to knock and sputtered.
    I sensed what Gus was thinking. We’d have to run soon.
    “The car’s about to break down. We’ll need to run,” I said to Agnes matter-of-factly and calmly.
    “I know,” she said simply.
    I turned in my seat to look behind us. The little girl who had fallen off the hood of the car was on all fours, crawling toward us with her body