Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde by Devan Sagliani Page A

froze up, not knowing what to
say.
    “The gun is fine,” I backpedaled. John gave me a fierce
stare then softened.
    “Good,” he managed. “Let's roll.”
    Getting in last meant that I ended up in the middle of the
backseat bench next to Tom. Benji sat between Joel and me to keep the peace. I
was riding the hump. I could feel every bump in the road from the minute we
passed the guards and bounced off the high curb. John took off down the road
and immediately the loud roar of the wind blocked everything else out—but
luckily I was in the unique position of being the only one able to hear and
understand what John was saying. We were literally in our own little bubble, as
the saying goes.
    “Why is there so much security at the gas station?”
    “Because of the fuel,” John guffawed. “Obviously, they'd
love to take this away from us. We've still got enough gas to keep things
rolling another six months at this rate. We use it not only for the cars but
for generators and heaters. It's not like there are any more refineries out
there turning black sludge into liquid gold. This stuff is more valuable than
diamonds.”
    “If they don't have gas, how do they keep their bikes
running?”
    “That's what we keep asking ourselves,” John admitted.
“Nothing gets past you.”
    There was that flattery again. I knew better than to fall
for it but it still felt good. John sure knew how to push people's buttons. Guy
made it look effortless.
    “Thanks,” I said, trying not to blush.
    “We think they have a stash of their own,” he suggested.
“After we regained control of our territory, first thing we did was go house to
house and collect fuel. We pulled juice out of old lawnmowers, siphoned it from
gas tanks, anywhere we found it. They must have done the same thing.”
    “And you're keeping it all at the gas station?” I asked.
    “Now that wouldn't be very smart, would it?” John showed his
devious smile once more. “Let's just say that we got it strategically spread out
so that no one raid can rob us of it. Can you leave it at that?”
    “Sure,” I gulped. He never threatened me outright but it
sure felt implied, just like the last time I asked for my sword back.
    “All right then,” he crooned. “Let's keep the chatter to a
minimum now. We're approaching the border.”
    John shut off his radio and we rode in silence. I could hear
screaming in the distance and the roar of motorcycle engines. The barricade
came into plain view. There was no mistaking it. A row of bullet ridden cars cut
off one side of a major street from the other. The New Lompoc side was clean
and covered with guards. The old Lompoc side was filled with trash, burning
tires, and rowdy bikers hooting and hollering as they raced back and forth up
and down the street. The sight of it made John's point on its own, but I was
starting to suspect that had been the whole reason for dragging us out here. We
parked about a hundred feet from the border. John got out and signaled for us
to follow without saying another word.
    “Stay close together,” Tank growled as we climbed over the
sides of the Jeep. “And keep your mouth shut.” He stared at me specifically
before turning his back to me. My sword was only a few feet away from me and I
needed it.
    I ought to rip it off his back and give him a piece of my
mind, I thought.
    Instead, I followed the group to a staging area outlined
with sand bags where a bunch of armed guards were hunkered down with walkie
talkies watching the other side of the road. One of them turned around and saw
John. He bolted up and ran to him with his hand out.
    “No one told me you were coming,” the man began, but John
waved his concerns away with an easy gesture.
    “Don't worry, Peter,” John cooed, addressing him by name.
“This isn't a formal visit. Just taking some new friends on a little tour of
our fine town is all.”
    Peter turned to us and waved.
    “Welcome to New Lompoc,” he crowed with an earnest smile.
Those