The Dead & Dying: A Zombie Novel by William Todd Rose

Leaning slightly out the window, I tried to steady my hand and pulled the trigger.
    Rather than shattering the damn thing's skull like I had intended, the bullet slammed into its shoulder, causing it to spin around for a moment like some bizarre ballerina.
    “Damn it, Doc, this car's shakin' too bad.”
    The knocking from the engine was now so loud that I could barely hear the sound of my own voice and that dang corpse was so close that I could clearly make out the blood splattered Nike logo emblazoned on its shirt.
    Doc slammed on the brakes, the tires squealing like a band of demons loosed from the gates of hell as the stench of burning rubber filled the air. Still leaning halfway out the window, I drew a bead, held my breath for a fraction of a second and pulled off another shot.
    This time I hit my mark and couldn't resist letting out a whoop as the god-forsaken thing slumped to the ground. Part of me wanted to take a moment to cherish the small victory, but I knew there were still two more barreling toward us, intent of exacting their rage before the rotters, who were just now beginning to shamble across the bridge, ever had a chance. Two more shots rang out, both as steady and true as if they were guided by the hand of God.
    “That's it for the fresh . . .”
    But Doc was already laying on the gas again, his eyes narrowed into mere slits and jaw set in an expression of grim determination.
    “Hold on tight, Carl, you hear me? Hold on!”
    The crowd of rotters loomed before us like a wall of cadavers, packed so tightly together it was hard to see where one body ended and another began.
    “We can't break through 'em, Doc! There's too many!”
    The car thumped slightly as it bumped over the little ridge of asphalt where road turned to bridge. Fifty yards away now and I could smell the stench, sweet and greasy and sickening all at the same time, overpowering even the odor of exhaust and scorched oil, becoming trapped in my hair and clothes and nostrils.
    The side of Doc's mouth turned upward into a slight grin.
    “Through? Who the hell said anything about through ?”
    He jerked the steering wheel sharply to the right and we were suddenly racing toward the waist-high wall of the bridge. I opened my mouth, to cuss or scream or maybe just to make some wordless sound of fear; but before the breath had even left my lungs, our car smashed into the wall and we were flipping, the rear end lifting up and over, forward momentum carrying us over the little wall with the screech of metal on concrete vibrating through my teeth.
    And then we were falling, toppling, road maps and empty soda cans tumbling like weightless astronauts through the compartment.  After a few seconds, my entire body felt a jolt like it had never known. Pain flared through every joint in my body simultaneously and I tasted blood, warm and salty, as I inadvertently bit through my lip. Everything still rolling now, but punctuated with bangs and crashes that whipped my head back and forth, pain shooting through my neck and shoulders.
    We ended up upside down and I sat there for a moment, blinking and trying to make sense of exactly what had just happened, wondering where that high pitched ringing that was suddenly in my ears was coming from.
    “Move!”
    Doc had already slid free of his seatbelt and was scurrying through the twisted remains of the driver's side window, kicking free the little clumps of safety glass that still remained. Though it hurt like hell to even breathe, I somehow found the strength to follow him and was soon crawling across grass and staggering to my feet. Doc had already regained his balance and had turned to look back toward the way we'd come, one hand pressed tightly against his side as if he were hugging himself with a single arm.
    I turned to look as well. The rotters on the bridge, in their single minded pursuit of the living, had done the same thing as the zombie on the overpass. We watched them falling and toppling through the