Green Fields (Book 2): Outbreak (36 page)

I didn’t feel very heroic as I forced my arms to stop shaking, and pulled the trigger.

Without time to plug up my ears, the shot immediately rendered me deaf, but I didn’t care. The head of the first zombie went splat as the slug ripped right through it, downing the corpse for good after it took another two last steps, the body still moving even though there was no brain left to fire off the commands. The others didn’t even look at it, discarding one of their own in favor of a fleshy, bloody, fresh meal. Another shot, and another zombie going down, yet my third went wide, only hitting a shambler in the shoulder. From my peripheral vision I saw Erica snatch Al off the second swing, Pete already holding her other hand, and beyond them a couple more zombies. Whipping the barrel of the shotgun around, I sent two slugs in that direction as soon as the three were clear, knowing fully well that I was wasting rounds, but maybe the racket would divert the zombies’ attention.

I emptied the last three rounds into the zombies on this side of the swing—barely twenty yards away now, and closing in fast—and dropped the shotgun when I pulled the trigger one more time and nothing happened. They were too close—and too many—that I could fiddle with the reloading, and while I hated to abandon my trusty Mossberg, I was by far more attached to my life, thank you very much.

Already walking backward—yet into the next lawn, not the field—I drew the Beretta, not hesitating to shoot as soon as I’d lined up the sights. Compared to the shotgun, the recoil on the pistol was non-existent, but my aim was still shit, fear too strong to let me ignore it now. Three more zombies went down but the others still kept coming, and then the gun was empty, too.

Scrambling for a new magazine, I just managed to slam it into the gun when something hit me from the side—another zombie, this one apparently coming from the next house over that I’d never gotten a chance to check. My raised arms had been too good a target for it to ignore, making it try to chew through the jacket rather than go for my throat, or try to otherwise incapacitate me. A swift kick got it staggering back, and I fired two rounds right into its chest from up close, making gore spray all over me. It howled, but no sound came out, my shots likely having punctured its lungs. It still kept coming, jaws snapping at me, and only fell after a full three shots in the face, the last taking out its right eye.
 

Nausea slammed into my throat but I forced it down, instead assessing my situation. There wasn’t much to assess, really—the incredible noise of so many shots fired in quick succession was drawing zombies from everywhere, making that first wave appear laughably few. The grip on my gun almost slipped—and that wasn’t the only thing that gave—but all-out terror got me hurtling toward the next house rather than stay frozen outside.

The back door was already open so I just ran inside, scrambling for purchase as a carpet slid away under my boots on the hardwood floor. I didn’t look around me but just ran blindly through the house, straight out the front door again and into the next street. There were more zombies there, all turning to gaze at me as I exploded down the porch, but their attention was still toward what their brethren were hunting in the backyard. It could only be a matter of seconds until they decided that I was the more promising prey—seconds that I didn’t want to give them.

Already in motion, I let my feet carry me across the street and toward the next house. There was a shambler on the porch, leaning toward me, and I punched it straight in the face, the handle of my gun doing enough damage to stun it. Skidding around it, I threw myself at the front door, the wood splintering under the impact and thankfully giving way. I landed on the floor, my lungs screaming for air the second it was forced out of my chest, but I scrambled up and pushed myself forward, howls getting louder behind me already.

This house was larger, and as I burst into the kitchen, I realized that I had another exit beside the door to the backyard. Tracking back into the dining room, I ran for the breakfast nook, glass windows forming a nice semi circle around the table. Yet instead of jumping right through the glass, I fiddled with the window until it swung open, almost without making a sound.

Easing myself through it, I jumped into the grass, immediately flattening myself against the wall. There were three zombies in the alley between this house and the next, but they were all staring toward the street, right through me. Taking a deep breath, I stepped around one to reach the wall of the other house and started walking around it, my back plastered to the wood.

The backyard was swarming with zombies, so I halted and closed my eyes, counting to five before I eased myself back, around the three, and to the front. This house didn’t have a porch so I could continue sneaking along, barely daring to breathe in fear I would attract attention. I was almost at the other corner when suddenly a hand came down on my shoulder, making me try to get my gun in between me and my attacker. Before I could pull the trigger, a second hand grabbed my gun and wrenched it to the side, just in time with my mind catching up with what was going on.
 

Black windbreaker. Angry gray eyes boring into mine.

Nate had found me.

As soon as he saw recognition in my eyes—or he felt me stop struggling—he pulled me around the corner and pushed me against the wall. His breath was hot against my ear as he leaned in, whispering so low that I barely understood the words.

“What the fuck, Bree? What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I hissed back, just as low. My entire body was shaking, but I forced myself to calm down, at least a little. The panic was already receding, overtaken by a somewhat more manageable fright. At least I was not going to die here alone.

“Are you complaining? Now?” he whispered back, the anger in his eyes increasing.

“Were you following me?”

He looked left and right before he replied, but the space between the houses was still empty except for us, and the three dead bodies on the ground.

“I heard shots, so I ran right over here. Are you insane? Don’t you realize that every single zombie in this town is heading here now?”

Honestly, I hadn’t considered that—no time to waste on idle contemplation—but to me it felt as if they were all here already.

“The kids. They were—“

“Fuck the kids! Didn’t I tell you—“ he started, but whatever he saw in my eyes made him shut up in mid-sentence. A shudder ran through him as he inhaled noisily before he let go, leaving me enough space to breathe again—and immediately reload my gun. I had no fucking idea how many bullets were left in my magazine, but I had fired blindly into the mob before disappearing into the first house. Or had I?

Nate ignored the magazine that dropped to the ground between us, and instead pulled a shotgun from behind his back where it had been hanging on a strap. Convenient, that—and new, as I was sure that he hadn’t set out with one before.

“Here. Do you still have ammo?”

I nodded. “Couldn’t reload,” I said as I holstered the Beretta in favor of accepting the shotgun, this time making sure to put the sling over my head. Why didn’t my old one come with one already? Why had I never considered attaching one somehow?

Nate snapped his fingers next to my ear, making me focus on him again.

“Is the car overrun?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. I sent Erica running back there while I covered for her.”

Letting his next breath out slowly, Nate’s head swung to one side, then the other, before he nodded toward the street.

“You take point, I cover your back. Stay to the houses until we’re at the intersection. And don’t fucking shoot until you absolutely have to.”

I acknowledged that with a nod, and after glancing around the corner, I stepped out of the alley.

The zombies were on high alert, but not necessarily very organized. Already some were busy tearing apart the dead ones, no longer ignoring them. A few others randomly turned on each other, creating yet more distraction. Snapping teeth and reaching hands were everywhere, but they were mostly in the road, away from the houses. Averting my eyes, I forced myself to focus on the way ahead. Around the porch, back into an alley. Around another porch, where I had to stop and smash the butt of the shotgun stock into a shambler to keep it from getting curious. I froze as heads turned and eyes zeroed in on us, but as I slinked away, they remained interested in their new meal rather than what had served it up. We kept weaving from property to property, painstakingly slow until we reached the intersection.

Down the road, the infernal newspaper was gone, trampled by so many zombies heading in that direction. The car was also gone, and the trail of shamblers that led away from town made me guess that it had gotten away clean. Anger threatened to overwhelm me for a moment, but I told myself that it was just as possible that it had been Erica behind the wheel. Unlikely, but possible.

A hard tap on my right shoulder made me look in the other direction. There were zombies everywhere there, too, likely following after where Nate must have run like hell to reach me. Guilt settled in my stomach, the knowledge that just because he might be immune to bites not taking anything away from his potential sacrifice. He could have just as easily gotten overwhelmed, and there was no immunity to getting torn apart and eaten while still alive.

“See that gap? We cross the road over there,” Nate whispered to me, shoving the length of his AK into my lower back to make me stagger forward. “There’s no sense to trying to make it across unnoticed, so instead, we run.”

He took off right after me, quickly overtaking me with his longer legs and undisputed higher level of fitness. Zombies roared and started in our direction, but we were across and through the houses before most of them changed direction. Nate didn’t slow down as we hit the backyards, jumping over obstacles where he could, tearing through hedges where he couldn’t. Wheezing like a madwoman, I was hot on his heels, incredibly glad for every single hour of exercise Pia had badgered me into. And all that walking for endless hours with the heavy pack made me faster now that I was virtually unencumbered.

One more hedge that scratched at my face, and we were out on a larger street, cars broken down anywhere. Nate ducked behind one, flattening himself against the side, and I took another, realizing what he was doing. The shamblers had barely a moment to see us before we were back out of sight—enough to alarm them, but not enough to make them give chase.

Panting heavily, I pressed the shotgun against my chest, my eyes wide as I forced my mind to focus. Breathe. Just breathe.

Easing myself down onto the hot asphalt, I looked around under the cars. Nate was crouching where I knew he would, and there was a bunch of zombies to my other side. Yet further left, I could only see the odd pair of torn pant legs, the zombies thinning out in that direction.

Staying low, I crawled over to Nate, and wordlessly signaled into the direction of least resistance. He nodded, letting me take point again, and off we went.

It took us the better part of an hour to make it through town, ducking, crouching, and sprinting our way around everything that was out to eat us. Two thirds of the way down, we picked up Burns and Martinez, both bearing heavy sacks bulging with loot. One look at the thunderclouds behind Nate’s eyes, and they shut up before even asking what was going on. Collins joined us a little later, followed by Campbell and Moore.

Finally I could see a gas station up ahead, my blue Land Rover and the dark gray Toyota the only cars parked there. Andrej was busy filling up the extra gas tanks we kept in the back, right now heaving the one before last back inside. Burns inched forward until he was crouching next to me, scanning the surrounding car and buildings as he got ready to give us cover fire if needed. He scrunched up his nose, squinting.

“Something’s smelling awful here,” he muttered, glaring at a nearby dumpster with disgust.

Heat surged into my cheeks, but I did my best to keep my voice steady.

“That would be me.”

He gave me a sidelong glance, and of course it came with one of his bright grins.

“Damn, girl!” His big paw of a hand came down on my shoulder, making me stagger in my crouch. “Don’t worry. Shit happens.” And now he was chuckling, just adding to my mortification.

At Nate’s tap, I shot to my feet and ran across the expanse of open space, Andrej looking up as he saw us approach. I made as if to stop beside him, but Nate bit out a, “Get in the fucking car!” that was loud enough to turn heads all around us. Thankfully, all of them were attached to living members of our team. We’d finally arrived at the rally point.

I only stopped to grab a trash bag from the back seat before I parked my ass behind the wheel, not even bothering with ditching the shotgun. Grabbing the wheel until my knuckles stood out white against the black leather, I sank forward until my forehead was pressed against the backs of my hands. Just breathing was hard, let alone fighting the jitters that threatened to tear my body asunder. But at least I didn’t start crying, although I felt exhausted enough to claim it was just a natural reaction.

A minimum of arguing went on outside, but whatever debate they’d been having cut off shortly, and Nate slammed his door shut as he got in beside me. I didn’t look at him—didn’t dare to, really—and when I didn’t react, he reached over and wrenched the shotgun over my head, then barked at me to fasten my seatbelt and start the car.

I did both in silence, forcing my fingers to work. I doubted that I could have read street signs to find the way to our next waypoint, but Andrej ambled the Jeep out onto the street right in front of me, giving me a clear beacon to follow. And that was all I did for the next thirty minutes—stare at the rear window of the car in front of me, and drive.

We didn’t even slow down at the first waypoint, yet forty minutes later, at the second, we found the fucking mint green car idling at the side of the road, crouching there like a toad. I felt the muscles itch in my right leg, ready to floor the accelerator pedal—whether to speed past it or send the car straight through the other, I didn’t know—but Nate ground out an angry, “Just don’t,” that got me to ease up immediately. As I went by at a ten miles per hour crawl, I could clearly see Madeline behind the wheel, looking out through the window with anxiety scrunching up her face. I didn’t even check deliberately, but it was clear that the other three seats were filled as well.