The Zombie Virus (Book 1) by Paul Hetzer

angle wanting to throw the truck toward the
gaping hole. I slammed the truck up against the barrier wall that
kept errant vehicles from plunging over the edge, sparks
flying.
    Part of the barrier next to the hole was
missing where the aircraft had plummeted through. The truck had
three choices: shoot over the edge of the bridge, fall into the
collapsing hole or fly past to continue down the lane. I gripped
the wheel tightly when we hit the edge of the pit. The truck
lurched to the right as the edge of the crater gave way. My wife
let out a scream beside me when she looked out her window at the
water through the hole.
    Then we were past. The truck bounced upright,
its rear tires fighting for purchase on the pit’s trailing edge,
and then there was clear roadway ahead of us and we raced down the
bridge. Behind us the horde of infected reached the pit at a dead
run and like lemmings over a cliff the ones in the center of the
pack fell through in a long drop to the water over a hundred feet
below.
    We reached the Virginia shoreline, flying
dangerously fast down the road. Only a few abandoned vehicles
littered the two lanes of road before us.
    We still had a long way to go.

CHAPTER 7

    We raced down Rt. 301 past Dahlgren, easily avoiding
the few cars and infected walking around. We would have to make a
decision soon about which route to take, the back roads through
Fredericksburg or down to the I-95 corridor to Richmond where we
would pick up I-64 westbound.
    I was reluctant to get anywhere near a major
city. If there was a blockage of the highway we could be stuck with
literally millions of infected surrounding us. Holly was worried
about going through the shopping strip area of Fredericksburg and I
conceded her points. State Route 3 was usually a nightmare of
traffic wending its way through the intersection for half a dozen
miles of shopping centers and strip malls.
    Holly worked the GPS and it gave us an
alternative that worked its way around Fredericksburg and down to
I-64 just east of Charlottesville. The route consisted of small
back roads through the horse country of eastern Virginia. It would
add time but it would also provide safety.
    We were making our way down 301 toward the
Rappahannock River where it would cross over to Port Royal and our
turnoff. The Rappahannock Bridge was a small four lane concrete
bridge that arched up over the river. We weren’t expecting any
trouble going over it as this route didn’t receive much heavy
traffic and Port Royal is a very small community.
    We approached the bridge cautiously, just in
case, and were surprised to see several cars littering the top,
their doors open. I slowed down, steering over into the northbound
lanes at the foot of the bridge to avoid the vehicles. Then we
heard the gunshots, two in quick succession. In the closed truck I
couldn’t tell how far away they were or even what direction they
came from. I stopped before the top of the bridge where we were
still out of sight from the other side.

    “That has to be people!” Holly said
excitedly.
    “Do you think they’re sick like the others?”
Jeremy asked from the back.
    “I don’t know,” I said “but we need to find
out before we go any further.” I turned the truck off and set the
parking brake.
    Holly looked at me. “How do we handle
this?”
    I ran my hand through my hair, running
through different scenarios in my mind. “Okay,” I said after a
moment’s pause, “I’ll get out with my rifle. You and Jeremy stay
with the truck with rifles at the ready. Keep an eye behind us for
any movement. I’m going to work my way to the top of the bridge to
try and spot who fired those shots.”
    “Safeties off and sites on,” I ordered. I
turned the holographic sight on and thumbed off the safety of my
own AR-15. “Don’t let any of the infected get near and don’t
hesitate to shoot them.” I loosened the rifle and opened the truck
door. “The keys are in the ignition,” I added.
    “Be careful.”