are tuned to pick up anything coming for us. He has a sixth sense about danger. But no matter how well trained he is, he never sees this coming.
“There is a gate,” Jon says and we look over at him.
I don’t see the problem at first, but Stuart does. He grabs the binoculars away from Jon’s face and shoves back from the edge.
“Move! Move!” he hisses.
“What? What is your problem?” Jon asks.
“The reflection, you moron!” Stuart says, standing up and hurrying down the stairs. “They saw the damn reflection off your binoculars!”
“How do you know they saw it?” I ask as Jon and I follow him down to the street.
The sound of motorcycle engines revving up answers my question.
“Fuck,” I say as we follow Stuart across the street and up a muddy incline. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”
Chapter Three
I lied to Jon, obviously. My leg isn’t right as rain. It hurts like a motherfucker, and I know I only have so much in it before I fall behind. There’s a stabbing pain where the spikes pierced my flesh and I have to wonder if there wasn’t something on the metal more than just dirt. Did that crazy little bitch poison me?
Doesn’t matter. I have to shove the burning agony from my mind. I have to focus on Stuart and Jon scrambling hand over hand in the mud above. I have to pay attention to where I grab and where I set my feet. I can’t fall.
But…
Of course, I do fall. I feel my leg giving out just as I reach for a rhododendron root only inches from my hand. My leg slips and I swear I can feel the flesh around the wound tearing. Years of living in the zombie apocalypse keeps me from crying out, but also keeps me from alerting Jon and Stuart to my situation. I’ve slid halfway down the hill before Jon glances over his shoulder.
“Stuart!” he hisses. “Jace is going down!”
“Fuck,” I hear Stuart grumble just as he gets to the top of the hill. He looks down at me as I slide the last few feet back to the road. He raises his eyebrows; I shake my head. He nods.
“Where are you going?” Jon screeches, looking up at Stuart and then down at me. “Stuart? We have to wait for Jace!”
“Go,” I say, “go!”
Jon begins to protest, but the sounds of motorcycle engines make his eyes go wide. I can see the conflict in those eyes.
“GO!” I shout, waving him on. “I’ll be okay! Fucking go!”
Stuart doesn’t even wait; he’s already gone.
“You want to die too?” I say to Jon. The motorcycles are so close I don’t know if Jon can hear me over the engines. “Save yourself, dammit! FUCKING MOVE!”
Jon hesitates, and then closes his eyes. I see his lips moving and I know he’s said a prayer for me. Then he’s scrambling the last few feet and up over the hill.
So…on my own with some crazies heading in my direction. What to do?
I take off my shirt and tear one of the sleeves off, pulling and tying it tight around my wound. The pain is excruciating. But it also does what I need it to do: clear my head and pump me full of adrenaline.
I’d be lying if I said I was lucky enough to live the post-apocalyptic, suburban life without getting my hands bloody. Before we secured Whispering Pines, I had to make some hard choices and do some morally questionable things to keep my family and myself safe and alive. Most of us did. I think back on those first few weeks of Hell as I prepare for the motorcycles.
SS in one hand, my pistol in the other, I pound my fist against my wound, over and over and over, letting the white hot pain drive me, change me, get me ready for-
“THERE!” a man yells over the sound of his motorcycle, as he sees me standing in the middle of the road. Half his face is covered by goggles so I can’t see his eyes (why do these guys always wear goggles? Is it the cool thing to do?), but his mouth is twisted in a grin of blistered lips and snaggleteeth.
I plan on helping him with his dental issues.
He revs the engine and guns his bike for me. He pulls a machine
“There is a gate,” Jon says and we look over at him.
I don’t see the problem at first, but Stuart does. He grabs the binoculars away from Jon’s face and shoves back from the edge.
“Move! Move!” he hisses.
“What? What is your problem?” Jon asks.
“The reflection, you moron!” Stuart says, standing up and hurrying down the stairs. “They saw the damn reflection off your binoculars!”
“How do you know they saw it?” I ask as Jon and I follow him down to the street.
The sound of motorcycle engines revving up answers my question.
“Fuck,” I say as we follow Stuart across the street and up a muddy incline. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”
Chapter Three
I lied to Jon, obviously. My leg isn’t right as rain. It hurts like a motherfucker, and I know I only have so much in it before I fall behind. There’s a stabbing pain where the spikes pierced my flesh and I have to wonder if there wasn’t something on the metal more than just dirt. Did that crazy little bitch poison me?
Doesn’t matter. I have to shove the burning agony from my mind. I have to focus on Stuart and Jon scrambling hand over hand in the mud above. I have to pay attention to where I grab and where I set my feet. I can’t fall.
But…
Of course, I do fall. I feel my leg giving out just as I reach for a rhododendron root only inches from my hand. My leg slips and I swear I can feel the flesh around the wound tearing. Years of living in the zombie apocalypse keeps me from crying out, but also keeps me from alerting Jon and Stuart to my situation. I’ve slid halfway down the hill before Jon glances over his shoulder.
“Stuart!” he hisses. “Jace is going down!”
“Fuck,” I hear Stuart grumble just as he gets to the top of the hill. He looks down at me as I slide the last few feet back to the road. He raises his eyebrows; I shake my head. He nods.
“Where are you going?” Jon screeches, looking up at Stuart and then down at me. “Stuart? We have to wait for Jace!”
“Go,” I say, “go!”
Jon begins to protest, but the sounds of motorcycle engines make his eyes go wide. I can see the conflict in those eyes.
“GO!” I shout, waving him on. “I’ll be okay! Fucking go!”
Stuart doesn’t even wait; he’s already gone.
“You want to die too?” I say to Jon. The motorcycles are so close I don’t know if Jon can hear me over the engines. “Save yourself, dammit! FUCKING MOVE!”
Jon hesitates, and then closes his eyes. I see his lips moving and I know he’s said a prayer for me. Then he’s scrambling the last few feet and up over the hill.
So…on my own with some crazies heading in my direction. What to do?
I take off my shirt and tear one of the sleeves off, pulling and tying it tight around my wound. The pain is excruciating. But it also does what I need it to do: clear my head and pump me full of adrenaline.
I’d be lying if I said I was lucky enough to live the post-apocalyptic, suburban life without getting my hands bloody. Before we secured Whispering Pines, I had to make some hard choices and do some morally questionable things to keep my family and myself safe and alive. Most of us did. I think back on those first few weeks of Hell as I prepare for the motorcycles.
SS in one hand, my pistol in the other, I pound my fist against my wound, over and over and over, letting the white hot pain drive me, change me, get me ready for-
“THERE!” a man yells over the sound of his motorcycle, as he sees me standing in the middle of the road. Half his face is covered by goggles so I can’t see his eyes (why do these guys always wear goggles? Is it the cool thing to do?), but his mouth is twisted in a grin of blistered lips and snaggleteeth.
I plan on helping him with his dental issues.
He revs the engine and guns his bike for me. He pulls a machine
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