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

wrong?” Sails looked puzzled.
    “Fortress. We need to get back now.”
    “Dammit! How many Z’s?”
    “A few, but there’s another problem. Some locals came by and wanted to look around. Sounded like they had eyes on the HUMVEE.”
    “How many?” I asked.
    “A couple, but there may be more on the way. That vehicle is prime property.”
    “There’s plenty of cars to go around,” I said.
    “Yeah but how many are armed and armored? With enough ammo, you could go just about anywhere.”
    “Haul ass, Sails.” I gripped the back of her seat.
    “If you say that one more time, Jackson Creed, I’m going to pull this car over and shove my gun down your throat.”
    “I love it when you talk dirty.” I grinned.
    She responded by slamming on her brakes hard enough for me to nearly end up in the front seat.
    A pair of Z’s were right ahead of us, blocking the street like they were out for an afternoon stroll. Sails moved around them. They reached for the car, but Joel kicked the door open and knocked one of them to the ground. We maneuvered beyond them and were on the move again.
    The city was new to us, but the center of town was still at our backs. From there, it was easy enough to triangulate the hotel’s location. Sails drove over a couple of cross streets and ended up finding the freeway we’d come in on. Then it was just a matter of pulling off and retracing our tracks.
    As if Markus sensed us talking about him, the sound of a really big gun spoke in the distance. It rumbled over the car, followed a moment later by a second shot.
    “That’s probably Markus.” Joel did not look happy.
    Sails sat behind the wheel and gripped it tight.
    “This is not good. We don’t want a blood bath, but can we even assist?”
    “We’re low on ammo and we have a car full of supplies,” Joel replied.
    “We can’t just abandon them,” I said.
    “We ain’t abandoning anybody. I just mean, we can’t let our supplies fall into the other guys’ hands. We worked too hard for them.”
    “Yeah, well, most of the food was already here. I hope Donny survives, so I can punch his lights out. We could be sitting in a hotel room right now, eating canned green beans and catching up on sleep,” I said.
    “Probably wouldn’t stop the locals,” Joel replied.
    “ Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Let’s get motivated, people. We gotta make a decision,” Sails said.
    “Pull up a block away. I’ll scout.” Joel went over his gear, checked his rifle, and adjusted his combat armor.
    I sat in the back and felt like punching stuff. With the Z’s there was always that sense of dread, like we were in constant danger. But Z’s were slow and you could take them out if you were careful. Fighting other survivors was a different matter. They planned and strategized just like us. When the bullets started flying, it would be a clusterfuck – a big old cluster, and one of us would probably end up shot.
    But there was no way they were getting Roz and Christy, not to mention our armored transport.
    Anna Sails pulled away from the curb. The car made a weird thumping noise as she pushed it up to about fifteen miles an hour.
    “Stop.” I had a sinking feeling.
    “Flat?” Joel looked over his shoulder.
    “Might be something worse.” I said.
    “We’re in the middle of the zombie fucking apocalypse, as you like to say. We don’t have time to swing by a repair shop,” Joel said. “Abandon ship and find a new ride.”
    “No time. Let’s just go. All this bullshit and our friends have their asses hanging in the air. Fuck the car if it gets us there,” Sails said.
    She pushed the Chevy up to a little over twenty-five, but the ominous thumping got worse and worse. Sails had to take a left at the next intersection and then maneuver around a pair of stalled pick up trucks. I used the time to feel around under the front seats until I located the box of shells Donny had handed me on the way out of Fortress Mark II. I reloaded the Mossberg and then