The Coalition: Part 1 The State of Extinction (Zombie Series) by Robert Mathis Kurtz

enjoyed the city. Old desires dictated the movements of zombies, so if they were here, it was because they wanted to be here in life.
    “Fucking wannabes,” Cutter grunted as he broke into a full run and headed for an alleyway that waited at his left less than half a block away. It had once been used for the movement of delivery vehicles and garbage trucks. Even now, it wouldn’t have been easy for gas vehicles to maneuver the narrow spaces, and Ron hoped that the way was at least partially clear of zombies so that he could make his way to a place that he knew would be relatively safe:
    The Kid’s place!
    Under normal circumstances, Cutter looked forward to see The Kid. He was a trip. He’d been on Ron’s visit list, so he’d just be making a stop earlier rather than later. His real name was Oliver, but Ron called him just , The Kid . He had told Ron that he was fourteen, but Ron knew well the boy was no more than twelve years old , and not even a mature twelve. He was exactly what he looked like—a lost kid all alone in this Hell. But the boy knew how to handle guns, and he was really careful when he moved around, and Ron had to admit, the place he’d chosen as a home was pretty cool. In fact, he was headed there—it was his best option to keep from having to start using up precious ammunition.
    As he made his way into the alley, Ron could see that the route was clear. Nothing was standing to block him and none of the shamblers was moving to corner him from that direction. Behind him, though, was a different matter. He paused to look back again and saw that the street now packed with moving corruption had become the price you sometimes paid for going out to scavenge. The pocked, bloodless faces snarled and ground out their hoarse rage, wanting Ron to slow down so that they could catch and kill him. Their desires were as simple as that. Sometimes , he thought that he could detect something in a few of them that could be called guile, but by and large, the most complicated thing he ever saw them do was pick up a stick or a brick to use as a crude weapon, mainly to smash windows and doorways.
    In a few seconds, he was moving again, driving himself forward. The Kid’s place was only two blocks away. He had to admit, it was a clever spot, and as far as he knew, no zombie had ever figured out how to get into it. Three days had passed since he had stopped to see about the boy, and he could only hope the youth’s refuge was still intact and that both the boy and his living space remained safe.
    Cutter came out of the alleyway into the next street. As he’d hoped, there were only a few of the dead staggering around, and when they noticed him , they slowly turned in his direction and began that slow, plodding gait that preceded what passed as rage for them. When the great stream of the dead emerged from the alley, they would also begin that stumbling trot that marked their top speed. Before that happened , he wanted to be around the next corner, leaving them in his dust.
    At the next corner, there was a partially toppled garbage dumpster , and because of a jumble of stalled automobiles in the street, Ron would have to pass between the wrecked cars and the huge green dumpster. He never liked to put himself into such a confining space, but he really needed to get something more in the way of a head start on the creatures pursuing him. So he bit the bullet and dashed forward.
    Just as he made his move, a pair of blood-black hands reached out , and fingers with no capacity for pain clamped onto his right shoulder and biceps. The sudden force of that grip , and the tug of what appeared to be at least 200 pounds of zombie , all but spun him around. Ron found himself suddenly looking into the lunging face of a dead man whose jaws were snapping open and shut, again and again, pulling itself close enough to try to bite him.
    Cutter’s first reaction was to punch the thing in the face. He had tried to wean himself from doing that.