Z-Risen (Book 2): Outcasts by Timothy W. Long

median separating the parking lot from the street.
    “I think so. I’ll have to go slow or we’ll be tossed out the window when I hit the little hill.”
    The “little” hill was made of eight inches of curb that rose into a hump which was covered in shrubs. Even if we got over the initial bump, I was concerned that we’d be stuck.
    “Wait, we might…”
    Sails hit the gas and eased up onto the curb. When she was over the hump, she punched it, and we bounced up and over the curb. I held on to the seat while also holding my breath. There were so many Z’s behind us that this was about to become a very bad day.
    I leaned out of the car, my body perched up on the door frame, then aimed the shotgun and blew a Z backward.
    The shuffler faded into the crowd.
    Joel Kelly popped out of the passenger side window so he could shoot a few Z’s.
    We were in trouble.
    The car managed to scream up the curb and make it onto the easement. That’s where we got stuck. Sails hit the gas, but the rear wheels just spun.
    “Joel! In the back, quick!”
    “What?”
    “In the back! If we can get some weight back here, the car might move.”
    He slid back inside and then slithered over the back of the seat to join me.
    Two Z’s got wind of me and rushed. I shot one in the chest, pumped, and then clicked on an empty chamber.
    Joel tossed me his sidearm and I shot until it was dry.
    They still came at us.
    “We need to haul ass!” Sails said, opening the door.
    “I’m not leaving our stash,” I replied.
    And I wasn’t. There was no damn way I was about to just run, knowing that we’d busted ass to get this stuff. Besides, my ankle was shot, and I wasn’t going to get very far unless my Marine buddy carried me.
    “Let’s sit on the back of the car. It’ll move.”
    “That is the stupidest damn idea ever,” I said, but I was already opening the door.
    We dashed out of the car and hopped onto the trunk. Memories of barely holding onto the HUMVEE as we exited the naval station a few days ago flashed through my head. Joel fired while I reloaded the Mossberg.
    Six or seven of the shambling corpses were right on us. A guy missing part of one arm flopped his good hand onto the trunk and managed to get a grip on my pant sleeve. Joel lashed out with his boot and kicked the guy to the ground.
    Anna leaned out and shot a Z through the head, then gave the car some gas.
    Show off.
    Joel and I held on for dear life while the rear tires finally found purchase. I grabbed hold of the space between the trunk and the rear window; I managed to hold on even though it felt like my fingers were about to be ripped off.
    Joel wasn’t so lucky.
    He was bucked off the back as the car shot forward.
    We hit the other side of the easement and I was nearly thrown off.
    Sails slammed to a stop and jumped out of the car.
    I rolled over and dropped to the ground. The pain was immense as my leg crumpled under me.
    I managed to roll over, grab the shotgun, and fire at a Z that was less than three feet away.
    I also managed to miss the fucker by a mile.
    “Up, sailor!” Sails to the rescue.
    I got to my feet, slammed a fresh shell into the Mossberg, and shot the Z that was closing in on Joel. The explosion lifted the fat man off his feet and drove him backward into another Z.
    I dropped to Joel Kelly’s side and rolled him over. He coughed, and then reached for his side, but his sidearm was still in the car.
    “Where’s our backup?”
    “Nothing on coms.”
    Nothing on coms? Markus was supposed to have our back. Roz was also supposed to be waiting to drive out and help us. What was happening back at Fortress Mark II?
    Joel looked like hell. I helped him to his feet just in time for him to lunge forward and bury his blade in the head of a female Z. She fell away, dragging his knife with her.
    Z’s to the side and now a few to the front. I reached for another shell and realized I’d exhausted all of the rounds on my pump action, so I turned it around and