OUTNUMBERED volume 3: A Zombie Apocalypse Series by Robert Schobernd
Authors: Robert Schobernd
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CHAPTER ONE
A t 4:15 a.m. we'd been on the road for a little over three hours, and I'd been driving for one. Debris left on the highway made it unsafe to drive in excess of 50 MPH in the dark even with the high beams on. Abandoned or wrecked cars and trucks, decomposing bodies of both humans and zombies, and a myriad of everything I could image and some I'd never expected littered all lanes. My three passengers slept, but with Ed Jarnigan snoring like a twenty pound bullfrog I didn't know what kept Elsie Talbot and Kira Schaefer from waking.
James Taylor crooned softly through the speakers when I saw them through the gloom. At the far edge of the high beam halogen headlights, a dense mob of figures spread across my two lanes of the four lane divided highway. I hit the brakes and shouted, "Wake up! Zombies ahead."
The truck several hundred feet behind me was warned as I pumped the brakes vigorously. I pushed harder on the brake pedal to slow the heavy duty Ford F250 pickup pulling a five foot by ten foot U-Haul trailer. I knew I wasn't going to stop in time. Muttered waking comments floated by me over the high notes of Taylor's ballad "Fire and Rain" as my passengers groggily adjusted to the scene unfolding in front of them. The truck slowed considerably when it hit three lightweight, rotted bodies in quick succession. They made loud thumps before one was thrown off either fender. A third slid across the hood and scratched hungrily at the glass with boney fingers. Ed blinked himself awake and then pressed the barrel his .45 caliber Glock against the glass when I shouted, "Don't shoot, damn it." I let up on the breaks, and then stomped the pedal hard. The front end dipped and the rotted corpse slid forward over and off the end of the hood. The right side of the truck rose slightly as the tire crushed the decayed remains of a female, and then the trailer bounced roughly over the ungodly debris.
The speedometer showed under ten MPH by then, so I swung to the right and then made a hard left in a half circle toward the other edge of the concrete pavement. I told the ladies, "Don't lower your windows for any reason, but keep watch on both sides for more zombies.”
We had a clear view of the zombies caught in the headlight beams of our tailing truck. The power moon roof slid fully open as Ed stood with one foot in his seat and the other on the console. Immediately he fired his customized M16 in three-round bursts. Skulls shattered and bone and brain fragments danced through the artificial light as stumbling corpse after stumbling corpse fell to accurate and relentless gunfire.
The front of our truck extended about three feet off the pavement, and the trailer sat across the left lane. I drove forward so both marksmen would have a clear line of fire without shooting at each other. Rotted bodies at the perimeter of the mob dropped when hot lead exploded their evil brains.
My attention was focused to the killing circle on my left when an unexpected movement on the right registered in my mind. A single fast-moving zombie streaked from the moonless, ebony darkness into my headlight beams. Kira yelled and pointed as I yelled, "Ed, the hood, one's coming up."
Even as I yelled, the undead monstrosity vaulted up and onto the truck's hood. Its clothing was filthy and tattered, but the undead body was intact. Ed's left knee brushed my shoulder as he turned; a series of rifle blasts close together erupted from his M16 and lit the area above the hood in gold and crimson flashes of light. The zombie staggered backward to the middle of the hood from the bullets' impact then charged again. Ed's right hand flashed down then upward gripping his Glock as the rifle went silent. The rifle thumped noisily on top of the cab as the Glock belched fire into the night at least four times.
I pulled my Glock in case Ed was injured. God, I didn't want to be the one to have to put him down if he'd been bitten. A magazine for the M16 dropped through
A t 4:15 a.m. we'd been on the road for a little over three hours, and I'd been driving for one. Debris left on the highway made it unsafe to drive in excess of 50 MPH in the dark even with the high beams on. Abandoned or wrecked cars and trucks, decomposing bodies of both humans and zombies, and a myriad of everything I could image and some I'd never expected littered all lanes. My three passengers slept, but with Ed Jarnigan snoring like a twenty pound bullfrog I didn't know what kept Elsie Talbot and Kira Schaefer from waking.
James Taylor crooned softly through the speakers when I saw them through the gloom. At the far edge of the high beam halogen headlights, a dense mob of figures spread across my two lanes of the four lane divided highway. I hit the brakes and shouted, "Wake up! Zombies ahead."
The truck several hundred feet behind me was warned as I pumped the brakes vigorously. I pushed harder on the brake pedal to slow the heavy duty Ford F250 pickup pulling a five foot by ten foot U-Haul trailer. I knew I wasn't going to stop in time. Muttered waking comments floated by me over the high notes of Taylor's ballad "Fire and Rain" as my passengers groggily adjusted to the scene unfolding in front of them. The truck slowed considerably when it hit three lightweight, rotted bodies in quick succession. They made loud thumps before one was thrown off either fender. A third slid across the hood and scratched hungrily at the glass with boney fingers. Ed blinked himself awake and then pressed the barrel his .45 caliber Glock against the glass when I shouted, "Don't shoot, damn it." I let up on the breaks, and then stomped the pedal hard. The front end dipped and the rotted corpse slid forward over and off the end of the hood. The right side of the truck rose slightly as the tire crushed the decayed remains of a female, and then the trailer bounced roughly over the ungodly debris.
The speedometer showed under ten MPH by then, so I swung to the right and then made a hard left in a half circle toward the other edge of the concrete pavement. I told the ladies, "Don't lower your windows for any reason, but keep watch on both sides for more zombies.”
We had a clear view of the zombies caught in the headlight beams of our tailing truck. The power moon roof slid fully open as Ed stood with one foot in his seat and the other on the console. Immediately he fired his customized M16 in three-round bursts. Skulls shattered and bone and brain fragments danced through the artificial light as stumbling corpse after stumbling corpse fell to accurate and relentless gunfire.
The front of our truck extended about three feet off the pavement, and the trailer sat across the left lane. I drove forward so both marksmen would have a clear line of fire without shooting at each other. Rotted bodies at the perimeter of the mob dropped when hot lead exploded their evil brains.
My attention was focused to the killing circle on my left when an unexpected movement on the right registered in my mind. A single fast-moving zombie streaked from the moonless, ebony darkness into my headlight beams. Kira yelled and pointed as I yelled, "Ed, the hood, one's coming up."
Even as I yelled, the undead monstrosity vaulted up and onto the truck's hood. Its clothing was filthy and tattered, but the undead body was intact. Ed's left knee brushed my shoulder as he turned; a series of rifle blasts close together erupted from his M16 and lit the area above the hood in gold and crimson flashes of light. The zombie staggered backward to the middle of the hood from the bullets' impact then charged again. Ed's right hand flashed down then upward gripping his Glock as the rifle went silent. The rifle thumped noisily on top of the cab as the Glock belched fire into the night at least four times.
I pulled my Glock in case Ed was injured. God, I didn't want to be the one to have to put him down if he'd been bitten. A magazine for the M16 dropped through
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