“Why?”
“Just in case.”
He could tell she wanted to ask, “Just in case of what?”, but she didn’t. Maybe she already knew, or maybe she didn’t want to know.
He grabbed her hand when he saw her reaching for the door handle. “No, just climb into the back.”
She untangled her long limbs, then slowly (and so, so cautiously) climbed into the backseat. Will slipped over and settled in behind the steering wheel. He laid the M4A1 across the front passenger seat, the stock facing him for an easy grab. He made sure he knew where the power switches for the windows were — right next to his left arm, along the driver’s side door. That was important, since both front windows were open. He wondered how long it would take them to close. Five seconds? Maybe.
Zoe had left the Ford’s key in the ignition. He could hear her letting out short, labored breaths behind him, like machine guns. He didn’t blame her. The sound of ghouls moving above them was disconcerting. He had been through it countless times, and it still got to him.
“Will?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Yeah?”
“Was I wrong? For doing what I did? At the camps, with all those pregnant women?”
The question surprised him, especially since she had defended herself so well. But there were very real doubts in her voice now. Doubt, and very real regret.
“No,” he said. “You did what you had to do. No one can blame you.”
“Do you?”
“No. I don’t blame you, Zoe.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, and slowly tuned out the noises from above. That was a distraction. He could almost sense them trying to lull him, like sirens grabbing at his attention.
Instead, he focused on the garage door directly in front of him. That was where the danger would come from. It would take too much effort to crash through the roof, but the doors, held down by a simple latch that could be opened from both sides, was the real problem. All it would take was for one ghoul to realize that…
Then he saw the door moving slightly — ever so slightly — and Will put his hand over the key. Behind him, he heard a soft click, and grinned at the image of Zoe putting on her seatbelt.
Buckle up, here they come.
Before he had even finished his thought, they threw the garage door open — first one, then the other — with such a sudden explosion of sound and fury that he actually jumped. His senses, already overloaded, went into overdrive when he glimpsed darkness beyond and the ghouls packed into the parking lot.
Then every inch of him erupted into action.
He flicked the key in the ignition and heard the F-150 roar to life about the same time the first ghoul leaped through the door, which was still in the process of sliding open, and landed on the hood, scrambling on all fours up to the damaged window. Will ignored its gaunt face and slobbering mouth — caverns of twisted and brown and yellow teeth — and slammed his fingers down on the power window switches. His right hand was already moving, falling down on the gear shift and pulling it into drive.
The ghoul was perched directly in front of him, glaring through the windshield with intense dark eyes, as if it could will itself through the bullet holes. Will slammed down on the gas pedal just as two — three—four more of the creatures flung themselves through the air and landed on the hood with loud thumps.
More plopped against the windshield and careened off as the F-150 powered forward and burst out of the garage, all four tires spinning desperately under its massive bulk.
The headlights had popped on automatically as soon as he turned the key, and Will saw a sea of ghouls crowding around the parking lot. They seemed to fly at him, landing and bouncing off the hood and windshield and sides of the vehicle like baseballs, each impact denting and cratering but doing nothing to halt the momentum of the almost 5,000-pound vehicle.
He heard the loud crunch of bodies and bones and skulls under the truck’s large twenty-nine inch tires, most of it lost in the roar of a powerful engine designed to tow over 11,000 pounds. Against that kind of brute force, creatures that were essentially bags of skin and bones didn’t stand a chance.
By now both windows were fully closed, though that didn’t stop the ghouls from endlessly smashing into them with their fists — and skulls — anyway. It was a hail Mary of sharp, bony bodies, jackhammering fists, and flailing legs coming from everywhere even as the truck battered its way down Fredo’s driveway and into the streets, splashing puddles as it went. The truck’s magnificently bright headlights flashed across scowling faces and shrunken bodies.
There had to be hundreds. Thousands. The streets were lined with them. Wall upon wall of shriveled figures, so many that eventually even the truck began to slow down under the onslaught, the number of crushed ghouls clogging up the tires and undercarriage.
“There’s too many!” Zoe shouted from the backseat.
Gee, thanks for the fine observation, Zoe.
He jerked the steering wheel and took the F-150 off the streets and into the grass. Instantly, he felt the difference in how the vehicle handled, minus the bodies trying to cling to it from every inch of the roof, hood, and sides. He was pretty sure a number of the creatures had leaped into the truck bed and were now clinging on for dear life, but he didn’t have time to look in the rearview mirror to make sure.
Now that he had abandoned the strip mall, he was moving through uncharted territory. Literally. The ground before and around and under him was constantly shifting, from smooth asphalt to concrete to grass and back again. Every bump and hop and sudden dip threatened to send them careening to their deaths. The truck was rising and falling more than it was moving on solid ground. It took all of his concentration not to broadside parked vehicles or take a tree head-on.
And through it all, the cascading sounds of bodies bouncing off the hood and grill and back bumper. The squeal of flesh trying to grapple onto the smooth sides of the truck to no avail. The constant glimpses of marble eyes, like small rain drops of tar, pouring at him from left and right and front and back, and at one point, he swore they were falling out of the sky, too.
We’re going to die. Soon, the truck will run out of gas, and we’re going to die.
Then, like a tunnel opening up in an ocean of nothingness, he saw it in the distance. It was long and lean and looked tiny, but that was only because it was still too far away to see in any detail. It was bright, blinding whiteness in a dark universe. He remembered seeing it days ago when he first drove through Harvest. It was a kilometer away, maybe more.
Doable.
He stepped on the gas and the truck poured it on, crunching ghouls and turning skulls and bones to dust and pulverizing skin into paper. Would that even kill them? He wasn’t so sure. He had seen ghouls moving with half their heads literally caved in, seen severed hands still acting like they had minds. Compared to those things, getting caught under a truck’s tires was probably child’s play.
Behind him, Zoe was screaming. He wasn’t entirely sure why she had suddenly let loose. Was it the fear? The sight of the ghouls flinging themselves at them with wild abandon? He couldn’t really blame her; if he were seeing it all for the first time, he might have lost it, too.
He tuned her out instead and concentrated on the objective in front of him. Literally. It was getting closer, becoming more and more real as the truck tore across the open land. He was leaving the ghouls behind, but he had no illusions that this small victory was going to last. He could outrun them, but only for a little while.