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

by that asshole Gunny and they were on the run. It was okay, though. She’d figure something out, she always did. She was a survivor and she had Casey to do her bidding. The one-eyed bastard would be her bitch from now on.

Headlights blazed only inches behind them and they both yelped in fear as something slammed into the side of their car.

Gunny hit the gas and kept pushing through the pit maneuver, shoving the Mustang sideways at eighty miles an hour. Casey panicked, hit the brakes and made it worse, sending him sliding along the sand covered road. It was the only thing that kept him from tumbling, the smoking tires couldn’t grip pavement. Couldn’t bite and send him rolling and flying through the air. Gunny shot past the tail end of Casey’s car and kept the accelerator mashed, getting clear of the smoking, screeching Mustang as it slid off the road. Casey spun out of control, flew backwards into the parking lot of the trading post as Gunny hit the brakes hard, his own tires chattering, smoking and leaving long black streaks on the asphalt. He found reverse, floored it and spun the wheel, sending the nose of the car around, trading places with the rear. He flipped the switch on the bank of driving lights mounted to the roof, lit up the night and looked for Casey. He saw the smoking Mustang buried nose first, windshield deep in the side of a building, the adobe walls crushed and broken.

He watched, the engine rumbling at idle, it’s six hundred horses waiting to be unleashed again, its quiet thunder sending gentle vibrations through the whole car. He heard screams of well-preserved undead from inside the building and saw stumbling husks running down the road at them. Gunny was ready to run him down if he got out and tried to flee. If he wasn’t already dead from the impact. The Chevelle was getting banged up and he still needed it to get away but it would take out one more scumbag if needed. The screamers inside the store tore at the Mustang, trying to get at the bleeding people. The trickle of undead coming down the road ignored the noise from Gunny’s car and stumbled towards the flesh they knew was waiting.

Gunshots rang out, Gunny saw muzzle flashes and smiled a little. He grabbed his poke, rolled another cigarette and sat back to watch the show. He wasn’t leaving until he knew Casey was dead, until he was one hundred percent sure he could check him off his people to kill list. If it meant he was torn apart by zed’s instead of taking some hard calibers to the chest then that was even better. That bald-headed bastard needed to die slow. He heard the revving of the Mustang and saw the back tires start to spin, try to claw their way out of the rubble and he frowned. Sammy had done a pretty good job building it. Even after all it had been through, the machine wasn’t finished yet. Gunny reached around the back of his seat for his magazines loaded with tracers. He’d set the place ablaze if he had to, a few hot rounds into the gas tank should do the job but he didn’t have any magazines behind the seat. They had cleaned the car out back at Cliff Top. He didn’t have any backup weapons either. All he had was his carbine and it was empty. More zombies were coming out of the trading post, fresh and fast, and more were shuffling in from town that was less than a mile behind them.

He watched in aggravation as the front of the Mustang popped out of the side of the building, a dozen undead hanging off of it and trying to bash their way through the bars on the windshield. It rammed a dozen more husks behind it, splashing them under the oversized tires. The Mustang lurched forward, chewing up corpses and sending rubble flying as Casey mashed it and tried to get away from the clinging zeds.

He came out of the parking lot with his motor racing and the back tires squalling but Gunny saw he wouldn’t be going far. Zombies fell off and bounced on the road as he picked up speed. Others were reaching and clawing through the broken windshield at the meat inside. More flashes of fire came from inside the car as the passenger blew apart heads and sent more undead slumping to the asphalt as they raced away. They passed within yards of his idling Chevelle and Gunny saw the terror and panic on their wide-eyed faces.

He grinned. His machine was bent and broken, glass was shattered and it was pulling hard to the left but his motor was good. His transmission still shifted. The Mustang was hissing steam from a busted radiator, it would seize up in a few short miles. They flew past him in a cloud of smoke and Gunny could smell the burning oil, saw a trail of it on the road from a punctured pan. A snarling face slammed against the bars on the broken window and hungry hands reached for him. Gunny flipped his cigarette at the things open mouth and dropped it in gear. He followed the wheezing Mustang, his lights shining bright in Casey’s rear-view mirror. The zed clawing for him staggered along for a hundred feet before it finally fell and he thumped over it with the back tires. He let Casey get about a quarter mile ahead then kept his distance. They had bullets, he didn’t. Gunny turned the radio on, cranked it up and leaned back in his seat. The show was almost over. The car would die. The undead would catch up. He’d watch as Casey abandoned it and ran. He’d already decided to just pace him. Keep him in sight. Let the dead take him down because there were a handful of runners