The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead) by Peter Meredith Page B

beasts there were pounding with hate-driven strength. Gradually the crack started questing upwards.
    In the bed, there were screams of terror and gunshots that sounded with a constant rhythm. Joslyn made a whining noise in her throat. “Someone do something,” she said. The only one who could do anything beyond what it took for personal survival was Michael.
    Keeping one hand on his door handle, he reached over and, with much grinding of gears, he struggled the long-handled stick into reverse. He then fed it gas and the machine shuddered and shook as the wheels spun. The truck pressed against the hundreds of straining bodies and it didn’t move more than three feet. He then ground the transmission into first gear and the truck bounced back to where it had been. He revved the engine, but after a few useless seconds of this, he let off the gas and once again grabbed the door handle with his other hand. He had done everything he could within his limited ability.
    The hood was covered in the undead now. Michael’s door started to open and he was forced to use all his strength to keep it closed. The gunfire from the bed reached a fevered pitch; they had no door to hold the beasts back. Sadie began thinking about the end. Should she pray? Would it matter if she did? The black cloud in her mind, the one that whispered ‘murderer,’ suggested that it wouldn’t. The black cloud knew how many people she had killed. It knew how many she had murdered. It knew she deserved the death that was coming.
    “But I still have nineteen bullets,” she said, gripping the gun. There were seventeen for ‘them,’ one for Eve and one for herself. She decided that Joslyn and Michael would have to fend for themselves. They had guns and they were adults. Sadie took a breath and released the door handle, letting in the great stink of the zombies. She felt amazingly calm.
    “What are you doing?” Joslyn asked, her eyes were huge in fear.
    Before Sadie answered, she fired three times to clear the door. “My hands are too tired and too slippery with sweat. I can’t hold the door and...” Sadie paused to fire again, enjoying the hot gunpowder smell that wafted from out of the barrel of the gun. “And we’re stuck. I’m going to end it right. You two should consider doing the same.” She shot once more. From this range she couldn’t miss. “Eleven,” she said, keeping track. Another shot: “Ten.”
    Joslyn gaped for a second and then as understanding struck her, she beat on Michael’s arm and cried out: “Drive or do something.” He tried, however the truck only rocked and shuddered and roared. It was hopelessly stuck, three quarters of it buried in the undulating mound of the dead. It started pitching side to side under the power of the zombie horde.
    “Seven…six…five…” Sadie counted down. A sense of relief, of letting go, swept her. It was a pleasant feeling, but a sad one. She felt unfinished. She felt as though there were a thousand things she had left undone or unsaid and a thousand places she hadn’t been, and a thousand sights she hadn’t seen.
    When Sadie’s gun ran dry, she paused to switch out the clips. Now there were only two rounds for the undead, one for Eve and one last to send her to hell. “I hope you’re ready,” she said to Michael. She didn’t care for or about Joslyn but she knew Michael to be a nice man.
    He licked his lips and then jerked as the cracks in the windshield began to star. The panel of glass was beginning to bow inwards. He nodded. Their time was done.
    Sadie turned back to the door, stuck her arm out so that the barrel of the Glock was an inch from the hungry mouth of a zombie. With part of a blouse hanging from its putrid body, Sadie saw it had been a human woman at one time. Perhaps it used to have a family and a job and a nice house. Maybe it once had a life worth living. Sadie shot it and felt a moment of jealousy. 
    “Three left,” she said. There were four or five zombies in