Chapter 31
Thirty-One
E ven with the mountain of pillows River scattered around the bed of the truck, it's still a bumpy ride. For hours, the potholes in the highway have tossed us around like a bunch of rag dolls. I'm considering that Aiden and Wes are dying of boredom while they sit in the front and are doing it on purpose. Even if it is not intentional, their snickers as we protest their inability to avoid the dips are.
I glance over at Ryland, who's propped his head up with his hand. He's trying his best not to doze off, but I wish he would. Just walking to the truck was exhausting for him. He is so close to getting better and more rest would help.
With a sigh, I pull my legs to my chest and rest my cheek on top of them, looking out the back of the truck. I'm anticipating the moment we reach the island. It's unbearable. We have no idea what to expect when we get there. Noah could never find out who was flying in and out of the airport. For all we know, they'll refuse to help us.
We’re betting on this strategy with no contingency plan. If this doesn't work, all that’s left to do is survive. We have so much more life to live. I don't want to waste it looking for ways to make it bearable. All of us should have something to look forward to at the end of our journey.
“What's that?” Aiden asks, his question drifting to us through the dividing window at the back of the truck’s cab.
“Barricades?” Wes responds.
I get to my knees and lean into the small window. Resting my arms on the frame, I look out the windshield. Something blocks the road ahead, but it doesn't look like a blockade to me.
“I swear it's moving,” Aiden says, confirming my thoughts.
We're in the middle of nowhere with marshlands lining either side of the road. It makes little sense that anyone would put up security measures out here. What would be the point?
“What is it?” Ryland asks.
I shake my head. “I'm not sure. It's still too far away to make out.”
He kneels beside me, pulling on his bottom lip and furrowing his brow. “Stop the car,” he demands.
Wes slams on the brakes.
My eyes widen, focusing on the huge wavering blob. It spans the width of the road and then some. And I swear it’s moving toward us at a disturbingly-fast pace.
Ryland pulls the gun from the back of his pants. “It's a horde.”
Wes's mouth drops open. “No way. That's massive.”
I concentrate harder, and sure enough, individual bodies with pumping arms and legs rush head on toward the truck.
“What do you want me to do?” Wes looks back at Ryland.
“Roll up your windows and gun it. This is the only way to get to the island. We are going to have to drive through them,” Ryland answers before addressing the rest of us. “Everyone get ready to shoot. With so many of them, there's a good chance a couple will latch onto the vehicle.”
I grip the back of Ryland's shirt as Wes presses the gas pedal to the floor. The truck races down the highway, the scenery on either side of us becoming a blur. The truck vibrates as the speedometer pushes a hundred miles per hour. We brace ourselves for the impact as we breach the front lines of the Afflicted.
Two Zs fly over the hood, crashing into the windshield. Shrill shrieks pierce the air as the creatures become excited. They know fresh flesh is within reach. Their long nails scrape the truck’s side panels. The metallic scratching makes my teeth ache. And in a feverish rush, they climb over one another to get to us.
We lurch forward, the vehicle shaking from the extra weight of Zs. Pounding comes from the top of the bed's enclosure. The metal bends and points where they slice it apart like a sheet of paper. If we don't do something, it won't be long before they overpower us.
Aiden opens fire out the passenger side window to clear the way, but it's not enough.
Ryland crawls to the back opening, and I grab his arm. “What are you doing?”
“Aiden can't hold them off alone. I need to get to a better vantage point,” he says.
“No, you?—”
“I’ve got this, Quinn.”
Before I can respond, another monstrous bang comes from above, and a flailing arm with razor-sharp claws reaches in. I point my gun at the roof and release two bullets. The arm retreats and in its place appears the face of its owner, sniffing the air and screaming. I lie on my back and shoot again, aiming for its head. It falls silent as dark, purple blood rains down on me.
I scurry to an upright position and find River bent through the dividing window, helping Aiden hold off the Zs on his side of the truck. But Wes is defenseless against the one prying open his door. I rush to Ryland and Noah at the tailgate and yell, “Cover me.”
I reach for the ladder leading to the top of the enclosure, and Ryland’s hand covers mine. “Absolutely not, Quinnten.”
“They're trying to get Wes's door open. I don't have time to argue with you about this,” I say, gripping the cold metal rung.
“Pull her ass back in here,” Ryland barks at Noah.
I look at him over my shoulder and snap, “Don't touch me, Noah Oliver, or I swear to God, I'll make your life a living hell.”
He withdraws his outstretched hand, and I dash out before anyone can stop me again.
The engine revs, but we are barely in motion. With the Afflicted pushing back, it struggles to make it over the heaps of dead bodies under the wheels. I struggle to keep a hold on the ladder while the vehicle sways back and forth. Using the leg of the Z I killed, I hoist myself to the top and shove the dead body over the side with my feet. My leg hangs over the ledge for just a second and claws slice my calves. I rush to my hands and knees. Keeping to the center of the roof, I crawl toward the front of the truck. I look over the edge and come face to face with a Z.
It scurries up the windshield with another Z behind it. I fumble for my gun, but it’s faster, grabbing the end of my ponytail. It pulls and my head twists to the side, skewing my vision. Hot, rancid breath wafts over my face, and I fire my gun. The first shot grazes its head, and its sharp teeth close in on my forehead. I lodge the barrel of my gun in its open mouth and pull the trigger. The bullet exits the back of its head, leaving a trail of purple over the front of the truck.
My torso now hangs over the top of the enclosure like a limp noodle. As I fight to get myself upright, the remaining Z shoves its friend aside and bounds toward me. It snakes up the windshield, sliding over the slick surface. My gun is unsteady in my hand as I fumble to lift the top half of my body. I’m scared to take the shot and hurt someone in the cab.
The Z plunges its hand toward my head, and I knock it away with my gun. I'm running out of options—either I shoot or let it pull me the rest of the way down, making me accessible to every Z on the ground. I plant my palm on the side of the enclosure, holding myself steady and aim, but the Afflicted thrusts its nails over the tops of my fingers, and I pull away. I crash down hard, my chest hitting the sidewall. I'm unable to right myself in time, and I scream at the pain of my hair being pulled again. The tops of my thighs drag over the edge, the weight of my upper body pulling me down. Unable to see, I reach my arm out, feel with my gun for something fleshy. Without another thought, I release a bullet.
The pain at my head vanishes and I breathe a sigh of relief. But my reprieve is short lived because I’m still sliding from the roof.
Fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m doing it fighting. I slightly pivot toward Wes's door and shoot at whatever comes in my line of sight. I only have a couple of seconds left before I'm within reach of the Zs. Rather than fending for myself in an impossible situation, I'll do what I can to help my friends. I discharge two more bullets and my gun clicks. I pull the trigger one more time and accept that it's empty.
“Fuck my life,” I breathe and my world shifts.
Someone hoists my hips into the air by grabbing the back of my pants. I'm dropped to my knees on the roof of the truck, and a full magazine is tossed onto my lap.
“This is why we use the buddy system, love,” Ryland says from above me, firing into the horde.
My stomach sinks, and I want to pull him into the truck. “Ryland?”
He spares me a side-glance, his green eyes wild with the thrill of the fight. “Load the fucking gun, Quinn. You don't want me to one-up you on the Z kill count.”
I slam the new clip into my gun and mumble, “You’re such a smartass.”
“Would you want me any other way?”
“Of course not.”
I scoot to the edge of the roof and shoot straight ahead to clear the way. It seems hopeless; there must be a hundred Zs still standing.
As I'm pummeling the Afflicted with shots, my mind races for an out. We have minutes at best before we drop out to reload. If that happens, we're majorly screwed.
I glance behind me at the hole in the roof and devise a plan to at least keep our ammo supply going. Leaning over the passenger’s side where Aiden hangs out the window, I say, “Tell River to get in the truck bed and start filling all the empty clips.”
“Gotcha,” he responds.
I lean back and throw my used magazine down the hole. For a moment, I feel like maybe we can make our way out of this. That's until I hear my cousin scream. I rush back to the opening in the roof and look inside, but I don't see her. Crawling to the rear, I catch sight of Noah. A Z has one of his arms and is pulling him out of the back. Noah slams the butt of his gun against the Z’s head while River tries to pull him back inside, she and the Z pull at Noah like a wishbone.
I glance at Ryland, making sure he has everything up here under control and descend the ladder.
The Z who has a hold on Noah fights to get its teeth into the back of his hand while Noah swings his body every which way. I hang from the ladder with one arm and aim for the Z's head, but with all the movement, it's hard. Thinking I have a clear shot, I pull the trigger only to end up short. I close one of my eyes, focusing on Noah's hand. His efforts to pull away weaken and the Z closes in, but I hold steady, waiting for the right moment. With a violent jerk, the Z pulls on Noah. He screams out in pain, and the Z dives for his hand. I shoot my last bullet as Noah cries out. The Afflicted slides to the ground. River grabs the back of Noah's shirt, pulling him inside the truck.
Knowing she’s going to be a wreck, I jump into the bed and take over loading the magazines. Noah grunts in agony as River rushes to clean the area and examine his injury. I leave her to it and grab the metal box holding all our ammo.
“Is he all right?” I ask, loading the bullets into my empty clip.
“I think he broke his thumb,” she says.
“I'm good. It’s just a little pain,” he says, gulping for air.
I shove the magazine into his empty gun and toss it back to him. He catches the weapon with his good hand and scoots to the opening again. I work on River’s gun next, so she can defend the back of the truck with Noah. The Zs are in a frenzy, gripping onto the high tailgate and pulling themselves in. Once I have her situated, I rush to get everyone else back in the game.
My hands shake, and my movements are sloppy as I press each bullet into the metal housing. Frustrated with myself, I take the ammo box and dump out the contents. Two rounded objects roll to the side, and my eyes go wide. I rush to finish three more clips, tossing one of them to the front for Aiden and Wes. I gather my new finds and reloaded clips and hurry out the back again. Climbing the rungs to the top two at a time, I find Ryland taking precise shots with the limited bullets he has left.
I slide the full magazine into his pocket and ask, “How good is your throwing arm?”
He gives me a sideways glance. “Why?”
I hold out the two grenades I found at the bottom of the box.
“Fucking hell. Where were those this whole time?” he says.
“I'm going to guess that Wes forgot he stole them.”
“Figures.” He grabs a grenade. Using his teeth, he pulls the pin and hurls it at the back of the horde. The ground shakes as it ignites and disperses the cluster of Zs around it.
“Clear the back so Wes can put the truck into reverse,” Ryland orders before yelling down to Wes, “Get ready to back up.”
I stand at the rear edge of the enclosure and pick off Zs with Noah and River. All of us are mindful of the shots we take, wiping out as many as we can without making sloppy mistakes. With only a couple near the rear end, I call back to Ryland, “Tell him to go.”
Ryland falls to his stomach and holds on to the roof as he yells into the cab. I follow his lead, lying down and gripping the edge. We race backward about a hundred yards and stop. Ryland jumps to his feet, waiting for the Zs chasing after us to get within range. I hold my breath as he again pulls the pin and launches the second grenade into the horde.
“Get back inside the truck.” He runs toward me, grabbing my arm as he moves. I jump onto the ladder and am halfway down when the ground shakes with the second explosion.
Ryland and I leap into the bed of the truck, and he scurries to the window yelling, “Go! Go!”
I slam backward as Wes guns it. Aiden releases a few bullets, but we don't slow. I hold my breath, and my fingernails cut into my palms as I pivot my head back and forth between the front and rear of the truck. When only the open highway lays before us, every muscle in my body gives out, and I fall back onto the pillows.