I scan the scene and ascertain that we’re on the access ramp to the highway and cars line the sides of the road, pushed there intentionally, probably by the Fighters themselves. Eaters have blocked the road and spill from the smoking woods beyond the barrier of cars.
Perfect. We’ve hit a snag.
“Shit,” someone curses a few feet away in the truck.
“What should we do?” Jude asks me. Why me? God, I have no idea, other than I don’t want to die.
“You have your weapon?” I ask. He nods, and I glance at Parker and the others. They each hold up a variety of weapons, from guns to pipes to the craftily designed pieces we picked up in the R&D lab. “Get ready to use them.”
An explosion rocks the truck before anyone can respond and someone yelps in surprise.
“Open the roof,” I shout, and two recruits jump to their feet, unzipping the canvas top with nervous, shaking hands. I stand to get a better view and break into a cough. The smoke is thick but I can spot dozens of Eaters as they scream and stumble toward us. The front truck is completely blocked. A flank of Fighters including Wyatt, Davis, and Hayes stands between us and the infected, the front vehicle under Walker’s command. She holds a massive gun, picking off the infected before they make it to the car. A lump forms in my throat watching Wyatt on the ground, but he’s a force of nature, quick and fierce. His job is to take out the ones that get through the barricade, to my dismay, with only a knife.
“Stay in the truck,” I command, although I doubt that will be a problem. “But if any of them get past the line don’t be afraid to take them out.”
They come in waves—screaming, hungry, waves. Well-placed bullets stop many, but there seem to be an equal number that miss, and the Eaters stumble forward. Wyatt and other skilled fighters handle the assault from the ground and from my spot in the truck I watch as he stabs and slashes the incoming infected with a sharp blade. He has to get them in the brain, neck or heart to finish them off and he accomplishes this over and over again until dark, foul-looking blood coat his hands and face. Two mid-sized Eaters pass him by and ear-splitting shots fire from our truck as he gouges the eyes out of child-sized Eater. The bullets miss the infected, who lumber in our direction, but Wyatt reaches for his face and I realize he’d nearly been shot.
I turn to the recruit, wide-eyed with fingers on the trigger and knock his gun to the side. “Watch your fire! If you can’t hit the right target, find another weapon.”
He lowers the gun and grips the handle of a spiked bat instead.
“Wyatt,” I scream, pointing to the next horde coming over the barricade. He and the others are dead if they don’t get off the ground. My voice must have gotten through because he pauses and shouts a command. The others on the ground fall back and I spot Hayes leaping into the truck in front of us.
Wyatt moves like a cat, movements quick and fluid. Two Eaters are fast on his trail, grasping at the air behind him. I swing the hatchet and crack open the skull of a gray-faced, filthy man. He falls to the ground in a heap, only to be replaced by another. Her rotten breath rolls across my face and I fight off a gag. I hit her on the side of the face and a tooth flies out of her mouth. She howls in response, rattling my brain—it’s been so long since I’ve been out here, since I’ve killed, but my body reacts on impulse, like smashing skulls is second nature.
She lands face down and I catch sight of a shiny purple band around her wrist, like the kind you get from a bar or a concert. This life is surreal and crazy.
Nails scratch on the canvas top, pulling me from my thoughts, and the stench of rot mingled with our sweat grows overwhelming. My ears ring from the discharging guns and as I heave the blade from the side of a decaying neck I say a quick prayer of thanks for the cardio my sister forced me into or I would have given out within minutes.
“Walker!” Wyatt shouts. Her head snaps in our direction a second after she decapitates the Eater closest to her. He does some motion over his head, a circle or something. She glances around the area and sees the bigger picture. We’ve got to get out of here, before the next wave makes it worse. Right now at least we’re surrounded by more dead bodies than live, a
nd the fallen make enough of an obstacle for us to get away.
“Let’s roll!” she screams, disappearing under the canvas top into her seat and the engines rev back up.
Wyatt settles in next to me, covered in sweat and grime. My hands shake as we bump into and grind over the fallen and still-attacking Eaters. When the trucks get to a steady pace, I ask, “What the hell was that? I thought you guys had been out here!”
“It’s a big world, Alex, that is what everyday life is like out here. There’s no guarantee of safety.”
“But that…that was crazy. Where did the smoke come from? Was something on fire?”
“I don’t know.” Blood trickles down his jaw toward his neck and he claws at it. It’s impossible to tell what blood belongs to him or to the Eaters he killed.
“Let me look at that,” I tell him, digging a cloth out of my bag. The truck lurches and I slide into Jude He pushes me upright.
“I’m fine,” Wyatt says, looking out the back window, back tense and on alert.
I glare at him and he sighs, turning to face me. I wipe the blood off his cheek and push his head back to get the goo pooling in his neck. There’s a fiery red line on the skin but it doesn’t look broken. I brush my finger over it and he flinches.
“Someone nearly took my head off with a bullet.” He eyes the recruits suspiciously. Everyone glances down or away.
“Well, I think you’ll be okay.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome.” I sit back in my seat as the trucks roll along more smoothly. Through the back window I can see the occasional car or truck pushed to the side of the road, but the remaining Eaters are far behind. I brush my hair out of my face. “When was the last time Jane sent out a crew to clear the area?”
“Just yesterday. None of those Eaters were out here. The fire either. We’re going to have to come back to check it out.” His jaw tenses and I can spot the wheels turning in his head.