"Jesus, my chest ..."
"Can you walk?"
"I-I think so. Just ... hard to catch ... my breath."
The zombie slid into the backseat from the other side. A plump, white maggot fell from its nose and lay wriggling on the floor mat. Jim gagged, and Don coughed blood from his nose and mouth.
Jim put a hand on Don's shoulder to steady him.
"Are you okay?"
"My chest," Don wheezed. "Steering wheel hit it. Fucking airbags were worthless. I should sue the manufacturer."
Jim turned back to the wrecked vehicle. "We've got to get Frankie out of there and find Martin."
The zombie crawled across the seat toward them, reaching for the open door. Jim slammed it in the creature's face.
"Danny, stay here with Mr. De Santos."
"No, Daddy, I want to stay with you!"
"I've got to get Frankie out of there, Danny. I don't have time to argue."
He turned to Don.
"When I tell you, open this door."
The corpse beat at the window with its fist, leaving a greasy smudge.
Then it turned away from them.
"You want me to do what?"
"You heard me."
Inside the Explorer, the zombie pawed through the blankets surrounding Frankie. Jim dashed around to the other side and picked up a large rock.
"Now, Don!"
"Get behind me, Danny. I think your father may have lost his mind."
Swallowing, Don yanked the back door open. Immediately, the zombie turned and swung at him with the bloody hatchet.
Jim was quicker.
Grabbing it by the feet, he pulled it out of the backseat and onto the ground. The axe flew from its clutches and the zombie scrambled for it. Jim jumped onto its back, forcing it down again. The zombie pushed upward, struggling to dislodge him.
Enraged, Jim brought the rock crashing down on the creature's head, punctuating each blow with a snarl.
" I-told-you-to-leave-my-son-ALONE!"
There the skull split open with a loud crack. Pink, foul-smelling liquid spilled from the wound. The zombie bellowed, then finally lay still. Jim continued pounding it with the rock until the head was obliterated.
Panting, covered in blood and drenched in sweat, he looked up to see Danny staring at him. The boy's expression was horrified.
"Daddy ..."
"It's okay, Danny. He can't hurt you now."
His son continued to stare, eyes wide and mouth open. Still clutching the rock, Jim slid off the corpse's back and walked toward him, drenched in gore.
Don eased Frankie out of the wrecked vehicle's rear, supporting her as she tried to stand.
"Where did the other zombies get to?" Don looked around for the rest of their pursuers.
"I don't know," Jim replied. "Maybe we lost them. How is she?"
"I'm fine," Frankie answered weakly. "Not dead yet at least."
"Can you walk?"
"Gonna have to. Where's the preacher-man?"
"Oh God-Martin!"
In his concern for Danny, Jim had forgotten all about the old man.
He ran around to the front of the vehicle and searched the area. He found Martin's crumpled form at the base of a tree. The preacher wasn't moving.
"No no no no no ..."
He stumbled toward his friend, and when he reached him ...
Jim hoped that Martin had died with a prayer on his lips.
He turned his head and vomited.
"Daddy?"
"Don't look, Danny. Stay over there."
Martin lay on his stomach, but his head was twisted around backwards.
The old man's bulging, sightless eyes gaped at him. Deep lacerations split his face, and one arm had been severed halfway between the elbow and the shoulder.
"Oh Martin ..."
Frankie hung her head. "Is he?"
Jim swallowed hard.
"Yeah. Yeah, he is."
"God damn it..."
Kneeling, Jim gripped his rock tighter. The rough surface cut into the calluses on his palm.
"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm so sorry."
"Jim?" Don shifted uneasily.
"What?"
"You-you know what you have to do, right?"
Jim didn't respond.
"He'd want you to. He wouldn't want to-to end up like that." Don cocked his head toward the pulped remains of the zombie.
"I hate to say it, but he's right," Frankie agreed. "You've got to finish it, Jim. We can't let this happen to Martin. Not like that."
Jim closed his eyes and sighed.
"He'd want a prayer first," he said. "We owe him that, at least. Is there time?"
"I don't hear any zombies," Don said. "Maybe we lost the others."
Jim closed the preacher's eyes. Then he reached into Martin's breast pocket and pulled out his pocket-sized New Testament. After a brief pause, he held it to his heart and bowed his head. A second later, Danny did the same, followed by Don. Frankie watched the body.
"Lord," Jim began, "I-I still don't understand why you let all of this happen, why you did this to us, but I know that Martin never stopped believing in you. Not even when things got really bad. He was convinced that you wanted him to help me. He said that you would lead us to Danny.
I reckon he was right. Even when his own life was in danger, he helped me because he believed in you. God, we ask-"
Martin's eyes opened. "There is no God."
Jim smashed him in the face with the rock. The zombie jittered.
"I'm sorry, Martin."
He swung again, and something cracked.
Frankie and Don flinched. Danny squeezed his eyes shut.
Jim swung a third time, and Martin's corpse was still. Jim stuffed the Bible in his back pocket.
A horn blared.
"What the hell?"
Headlights speared them, turning night to day as the Humvee crested the hill and roared toward them.
"Here they come!" Don shouted.
"Run!" Throwing the rock aside, Jim picked up Danny and cradled him in his arms. "Can you carry Frankie?"
"I can try," Don gasped.
He hefted her and suddenly collapsed, wincing in pain.
Frankie bit down a scream as fresh agony ripped through her body.
"I can't," Don breathed. "My chest ..."
Jim shoved Danny toward them.
"Head for that parking garage. I'll lead them away from here and double back."
"You're insane."
"Go!"
"Daddy?"