Plagued: The Midamerica Zombie Half-Breed Experiment (Plagued States of America) by Better Hero Army Page B

cadence, following the moans of those out front who had smelled the duck and came looking.
    “Rick!” Peske yelled. “Dave! Go get those other two tripods. I’ll pick you up.”
    “Go,” Hank agreed, slapping Dave on the back and then helping him over the side. “Don’t waste your ammo,” Hank told Mike, who was sighting a group of four zombies with his next round.
    The duck’s starter turned over several times, grinding in what felt to Tom like some horrifically bad joke. Peske let off on the starter and Tom could hear the buzzing of the glow plugs beneath the deck. Peske cranked the engine and it sputtered to life, spitting up a cloud of black smoke into the flood lights. The truck lurched forward, turning abruptly away from the approaching zombies. Everyone tumbled to the deck. Hank and Mike both grabbed the railing to keep from being thrown. One of the visitors wasn’t so lucky. The man Tom had met only a few hours ago, the quiet one named Bill, hit the back rail and toppled over. For as much as everyone yelled for Peske to stop the truck, the old slaver drove fifty feet to where the two hunters were hurrying to retrieve two of the tripods.
    “Shit, Peske, we lost someone,” Mike yelled, rushing to the front of the truck. “Don’t drive off!”
    “What?” Peske yelled back.
    “Someone fell overboard,” Mike said and Peske stood up at his driver’s seat to see. Two of the visitors were climbing over the back. It was a brave thing to do, Tom thought. Everyone seemed to be shouting Bill’s name. They couldn’t see him in the thick grass.
    “Follow the truck’s path!” Hank shouted to the two men, pointing. Neither of them seemed to hear him, though. Hank climbed up on the roof rack to adjust the flood lights to help. The two hunters were rushing back toward the duck with the burden of a heavy tripod each, reeling in extension cords along the way. Mike pushed everyone at the back of the duck out of the way so he could get into position to take another shot.
    “Back up!” Mike yelled. “We’re too far for a good hit.”
    “I ain’t going back,” Peske replied. Mike swore and slung the weapon to start climbing over the deck. “Don’t you dare step off!” Peske screamed. Mike glared at him through the half-breed’s cage. “Help them up first,” Peske added, pointing to the hunters coming up alongside the duck. Mike did as he was told, taking the offered tripod from of the hunters. Hank took the equipment from the other. Mike dropped the tripod to the deck and turned to help Rick, but Rick was already rushing back toward the other two men. Everyone on the duck watched dumbfounded, unable to move more than their eyes. Hank hauled Dave onto the deck but neither moved except to watch as well.
    “Don’t leave me!” everyone could hear Bill screaming. “Oh God, my back! Please! I’m over here!”
    “Where?” the two men looking for him yelled back. Rick reached the two visitors and started pulling them back toward the duck. “We can’t leave him,” one of the men objected.
    “Don’t leave me!” Bill shouted again, and this time he managed to lurch up high enough in the grass to be seen. “Please!” Rick and the two visitors were only twenty feet away, but two zombies were much closer. Rick turned the visitors and pushed them toward the duck, yelling “I’ll get him!” But he couldn’t. From atop the duck it was plain to see that. Tom felt the same ache in the pit of his stomach he knew Rick must have been feeling. Rick took five steps toward where they had seen Bill but then stopped. The first zombie was only a few feet away. Tom could see Rick put a hand to his hip as though he expected to find a pistol, but he patted emptiness.
    “No!” Bill yelled as Rick turned away. Most everyone on board the duck turned away too. Tom watched the visitors all avert their eyes, turn their heads as the first zombie fell onto Bill. His screams were chilling, hauntingly familiar to Tom.