Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus by Simpson, A. (e ink manga reader .txt) 📗

a shrieking woman’s chest. The boy beside him vomited over the edge at the mass of spilled guts and gallons of blood covering the road but he didn’t falter. He poured the powder and rammed the ball. He kept the wild haired man beside him supplied with primed and ready guns.

Some turned and fled. Some not as blinded with battle fever or designer drugs saw how the running, screaming army wasn’t charging to victory and celebration. They weren’t taking trophies and spoils of war. They weren’t even close to the gate, they had no trucks to shield them, they had all been abandoned. They were stumbling over bodies, trampling the fallen and being cut down in the long, open stretch of road before the wall. There weren’t enough men making it to the gate to force it open before they were slammed to the pavement with brand new holes leaking blood.

The smoke on the wall was thick from all the muzzleloaders and black powder charges and it smelled like victory. The mad rush by the raiders was broken. The ones in the front were dead or dying. The ones in the back were running for their lives. Casey finally stopped urging them to win at all costs and the guns on the wall fell silent.

The moans and wails from the dying raiders could be heard in the stillness as ears stopped ringing from the barrage. As hearts slowed and breathing returned to normal.

“Casey’s gonna get away.” Griz yelled over from where he was standing at the end of the wall. “It’ll take us an hour to hike down and find a truck that still runs.”

Gunny squeezed past the others on the narrow ledge and saw for himself. Far below them at the base of the cliff headlights were cutting the night and racing away. The faint growl of Sammy’s Mustang could be heard carrying across the sands through the thin desert air.

124

Gunny

Gunny turned to the tribal chairman who had told him about the escape route.

“You have a way down the mountain? A fast way?” he asked

“Yes.” he said. “By the garbage chutes at the back of the cliff. It’s not quite vertical, we can descend easily enough with ropes.”

“Can I drive my car down it?” he asked, letting his carbine dangle and checked his vest to see if he had another loaded magazine he may have overlooked.

“Too steep.” The man said. “The road is the only way.”

“You can make it down.” The boy said. “Probably.”

They turned to stare at him and he continued.

“We race our go carts down sometimes. The ones we build.”

“And more often than not you tumble most of the way and keep the doctor in good business.” The gray-haired woman said.

“Yeah.” the boy said and wouldn’t be shut down so easily. “But a lot of us do make it all the way to the bottom with home-built junk. I saw his car. It can do it. Maybe.”

George Lone Elk gave a half shrug.

“For a thousand years boys have tested their bravery on that part of the mountain.” he said “but no one has ever tried to drive a car over it.”

“Show me.” Gunny said. “Casey is getting away.”

They hurried for the Chevelle and the boy guided them to the backside of the village where they had thrown their trash for centuries. Hidden from view of the tourists, unable to be seen from the roads, it had been an eyesore and a playground for generations of young Indians. Gunny shot up another flare and illuminated the steep slope littered with old washing machines, refrigerators and bags of broken open trash.

“If you stay to the right, it’s pretty clear.” the boy said. “A path has been smoothed out. As long as you can stay on it and don’t hit dead man’s launch, you’ll be fine.”

The slope wasn’t quite vertical, not quite straight up and down but would be impossible to drive up, no matter how much of a running start you got. It was simply too steep at the top. Going down was a different matter entirely. A hundred yards from the edge it started having a little bit of a slope that carried on to the base. If he could ease over the side and keep the car from flying out into space, keep it from tumbling end over end, he’d be at the bottom in seconds. One big bump, one discarded car tire or broken concrete block, could send the car away from its tenuous hold. It could send him flying away from the cliff in a freefall for a thousand yards. Dead man’s launch was half way down the mountain, a narrow outcropping of rock that disappeared into the night in both directions. A path had been chiseled through it, a way down for the brave or the dumb to ride their carts through. If he missed it, the bump out would act as a ramp and would launch him away from the wall. Griz looked over the edge, shook his head.

“We’ll find him later.” he said. “His army is destroyed, there aren’t enough assholes out there to join up with him again. It’s over.”

He whipped around when he heard the car door slam and the Chevelle rev to life. Gunny goosed it to get a little speed then slammed the brakes a few feet from the edge. The car slid in the dirt, the front wheels dropped over and the old Chevy ground to a halt on the frame. Griz grabbed the rear push bar and hung his weight on it out of instinct. The car balanced precariously, the heavy engine wanting to tip the scales and let gravity pull it down.

Gunny leaned out of the window a little, found Griz’s eyes and grinned. There was nothing to say that could be said in the few seconds before he had to either let go or be dragged over the edge behind the car. Griz scowled a grim smile, released his