Life After The Undead (Book 1) (47 page)

When
he
moved
for
the
hose,
I
had
a
good
notion
what
ran
through
his
mind. I
went
after
him,
but
he
grabbed
the
hose
first
and
turned
on
the
water.
He
positioned
it
so
it
ricocheted
off
the
truck
and
hit me.
I
was
soaked.
I
stood
there,
my
arms
out
at
my
sides
with
water
dripping
off
me,
and
I
stared
at
him.
I
went
to
retaliate,
to
throw
a
shovel
full
of
zombie
parts
at
him,
but
Bill
told
us
we
didn’t
have
time
for
such
nonsense.
Quinn
repositioned
the
stream and
washed
the
truck
off.
I
picked
up
the
shovel
and
took
care
of
the
bits
the
water
missed,
making
it a
point
to
throw
the
goop
in
his
direction.

Quinn
had
his
back
to
me
as I
dislodged
an
arm.
It was stuck on the running board, and I was so focused on digging it out I didn’t see the hand reach out from under the truck until it grabbed my calf.
I
squealed and
fell
onto
the
ground. Nails
black
with
decay
and
soot
tore
through
my
sweats
and
into
my
flesh.
I jerked
my
leg
back,
hoping
to
get
free
of
the
thing,
but
all
it
did
was
slice
deeper
into
my
flesh
and
tear a
bigger
hole in
my
pants. I
grabbed
the
fingers
and
pried
them
off
my
leg.
The skin
was
cold,
and
the
bones
snapped
like
dry
twigs.
Once
I
was
free, I
jumped
up
and
backed
away.
The
creature
pulled
itself
from
underneath
the
truck.
It
was
a
head,
torso,
and
arm.
The
zombie
opened
its
mouth
to
moan,
but
before
it
could
get
it
out,
I
swiped
its
head
off
with
the
shovel.
Pain
burned
through
my
leg
and
dots
danced
in
front
of
my
eyes.
I
had
to
sit
before
I
fell.
Quinn
raced
to
my
side
and
knelt.

“Are
you
all
right?
Let
me
take
a
look
at
it.”

Reluctantly,
I
lifted
my
pant
leg.
I
didn’t
look,
I
was
too
afraid.

Quinn
stood
and
placed
a
hand
on
his
hip,
staring
at
me.
“We
need
to
get
that
cleaned
out.
You
don
’t
want
it to
get
infected.”

The
blood
rushed
out
of
my
head,
but
I
kept
my
face
hard.
I
didn
’t want
him
to
think
I
was
a
weenie.
I
lowered
my
pant
leg.

“I
assume
you
have
a
first
-aid kit in the
truck?”

He
nodded.

“Let’s
finish
this,
then
I
’
ll
worry
about
it
on
the
road.
It’s
going
to
get
covered
in
more
crap.
No
sense
cleaning
it
out
twice.”

It
took
us
another
ten
minutes
to
get
the
truck
washed
off.
Blood
dripped
down
my
leg
and
I
had
to
limp,
but
we
finished.
Even
though
my
sweats
covered
the
wound,
they
were
still
soaking
wet
and smeared
with
blood—mine
and
the
zombie
s’.
After
we
climbed
into
the
truck,
Quinn
handed
me
the
first
-aid kit
from
under
his
seat.
I
pulled
up
my
pant
leg.
I
winced
as the
material
stuck
and
then
narrowed
my
eyes.
I
didn’t
have
a
choice,
I
had
to
look
at
it.
Four
crescent moon-shaped
holes
penetrated
my
leg
right
above
the
ankle.
I
took
the
plastic
tweezers
from
the
kit and
pulled
a
black
nail
from
one
of
the
wounds.
I
reminded
myself
to
breath
as I
threw
it out
the
window.
I
poured
the
entire
bottle
of
alcohol
onto
the
wound
and
held
my
breath
as it
stung
the
area
clean.
The
thought
that
in
twenty-four
hours I
was
going
to
be a
slow-moving
craver
of
flesh crossed
my
mind,
but I
told
myself
I
had
to
get
bit.
I
coated
the
punctures
with
some
ointment,
then
wrapped
gauze
around
my
leg.
I
crawled
into
the
back
and
found
a
pair
of
dirty
jeans to
put
on,
throwing
my
sweat
pants
out
the
window.
Quinn
stared
at
me
from
the
corner
of
his
eye.

“From
what
I
could
see,
it
looks
like
you
’l
l
be
all
right.”

I tried
to
find
that
reassuring,
but it
was
difficult.
I
rested
my
head
on
the
back
of
the
seat
and
closed
my
eyes.
Taking
deep
breaths,
I
tried
to
calm
my
shaking
and
force
the
bad
thoughts
out
of
my
mind.

By
the
time
we
reached
the
gate
at
North
Platte,
I
felt
better.
My
leg
didn’t
hurt
quite
as
much,
and
I
didn’t
crave
human
flesh.
The
guard
stopped
us,
and
Quinn
rolled
down
his
window.