3. Chapter 3 #3
“It’s Shelby,” I say before kicking the body through the open door and pulling it shut.
Once done, I exhale shakily, until the next horror greets me when I raise my hands. Blood. Chunks. Brain-fucking-matter.
“Cason,” he says, and I whip around, my hands held out before me.
“What?”
“My name is Cason.” He glances at my fingers, before pressing on the gas. “Just don’t touch your face.”
“Right,” I whisper but as soon as he says it, every inch of skin on my face begins to itch and with a moan, I wave my arms in the air, while I bounce in my seat.
Cason swerves around one of them in the road and I careen toward the door, grabbing the fabric of the seat but it’s no match for the momentum and I slam into the window, groaning when blood and brain smear across my cheek. I mean, really?
“Fuck,” Cason mutters, side swiping a tan sedan before he jumps the curb.
“Hold on,” he says, and I follow his gaze, my jaw dropping. There are hundreds . . . hundreds of them headed straight for us from a bisecting street.
It’s a gyrating mass of bodies and the stench—ugh. When my mouth waters, I go to cover my mouth before once again pausing.
“Fuck,” I mutter and Cason glances in my direction, his lips quirking.
Asshole.
Ignoring the mysterious twinkle in his eyes, I glance down where I’m waving my hands in the air like a spastic freak. I can only imagine my expression beyond whatever is clinging to my face and hair and a chuckle escapes.
Before I know it, I’m leaning over my lap, gasping for air while tears roll down my cheeks. I hiccup a sob before the hysteria I’ve been holding onto escapes and I full on bawl. It’s a momentary breakdown though and I look up when Cason says, “Shelby.”
As soon as our eyes meet, he says, “We can do this. You can do this. But I need you to focus.”
Something about his calm tone soothes the rage burning in my chest and I suck in a breath and say, “Okay.”
With a nod, he turns back to the road before wrenching on the wheel again. This time, I grab the handle over my head although at this point, I can’t get more goo on me.
“Dammit,” he swears, and I shake my head. What a crock of shit. We can’t do this.
Another mass of the things marches before us when we move around a bend and with the fuckers behind us now and more coming, we’re trapped along a stretch of road with no exits.
While I stare at my fate in a daze, Cason makes a sharp right, and we pull into the parking lot of a grocery store. The truck skids to a stop before he reaches over the seat.
Grabbing a bag I didn’t know he had, he says, “The bowling alley.”
It seems like a really weird place to go but I’m not about to question him when I’m fresh out of ideas. He’s out the door before I could say anything anyway and with a squeak, I drop to the ground, ignoring the torque in my ribs as I follow.
With the two dogs in tow, I stagger across the concrete, assessing the parking lot. There’s a low hum surrounding us and I struggle to identify what it is until I realize it’s hundreds of feet pounding the pavement. It’s them.
Increasing my pace, I focus on Cason's back while he strides before me. Pebbles of glass from the now broken windows of the grocery store glint in the light and I take in the mash of cars parked before the door.
I can’t see inside. I can only imagine the scene and I’m glad that’s not where we’re headed although my stomach sinks when I catch up to Cason and he says, “I’m going to distract them. You go around the back. There’s a door on the north side.”
“Wh-What?” This sounds like a really bad idea. What if something happens?
“They’ll be banging down the door if I don’t. It’s fine.”
When he pulls out a gun, I eye it dubiously. How many bullets does that hold because it’s not nearly enough.
“Here,” he grunts, picking up the tiny chihuahua. “You take Bean.”
Bean?
I reach for the dog dumbly and she snuggles into my shirt, her tiny body trembling.
“Ready?” he asks, his head swiveling around the lot.
Not really but I whisper, “Yes.”
“Okay, listen. If something happens, aim for the head. There are multiple routes out of here that take back roads. Here.”
Shaking my head, I back away but he grabs my hand and presses the atlas into my palm.
“Now, go,” he barks, and I whip around, making a run for the side of the building. I’m gasping by the time I reach the bowling alley and sweat slicks my skin.
When I look back, Cason has moved away from the lot, and I flinch as he raises his gun in the air to fire. It works. The fuckers now surrounding the truck turn and stumble toward him but at what cost?
My vision narrows while I watch until I can’t see him nor the husky for the masses between us and then I turn, staring at the corner of the building.
To my left, the grocery store is quiet but for a single man creeping between the cars.
At the corner, the gas station is surrounded, possibly following Cason wherever he plans to lead them.
A few linger by the truck, but do I have the strength to fight them off? If I did, where would I go after?
I guess I’m going bowling. Fuck.