The Survivalist - 02 by Arthur Bradley Page A

hunched scavengers sneaked around like Nazgul in search of their beloved ring.
    “We came from that way, right?”
    “I think so.” She paused, looking around. “Maybe it was that way.”
    “Come on,” he said. “I’m pretty sure this is right.”
    No sooner had they stepped from the curb than he bumped into a Honda Accord that had a wheel missing and one corner propped up on a jack. The horn suddenly started honking, and its lights began to flash weakly. Samantha nearly jumped into his arms, and the people who were scavenging up the street spun to face them. The strangers weren’t close enough for Tanner to decide if they were ordinary people or insane victims of the virus, but, either way, he instinctively knew there was going to be trouble.
    “Keep moving,” he said, pulling her by the arm.
    One of the scavengers shouted something unintelligible, and several others took it as their cue to investigate the noisemakers. Rather than run upright, they bent their heads forward and shuffled clumsily, as if it pained them to bend their limbs too far.
    Tanner had seen that kind of stiffness before when he was fighting a group of the infected. The virus apparently caused severe arthritis, along with a host of other physiological and psychological changes. Their clumsy movements and hideous appearance were partly to blame for Samantha’s labeling them zombies. And, while Tanner was quick to point out that they were just people who had been altered by the virus, he accepted that such semantics made little difference when they were gnawing on his neck.
    With the infected approaching from both sides, Tanner and Samantha did the only thing they could. They ran. They made it as far as the alley before being caught by the first one. Tanner heard him approaching from behind, panting with excitement. Without looking, he kicked backward like a mule. His heel caught the man in the gut, doubling him over. Without looking back, they raced ahead.
    Turning up the alley, Tanner and Samantha were both relieved to see the faint reflection of moonlight coming off the tail lights of the Jeep. It was only about fifty yards ahead. Unfortunately, they also heard several more of the infected closing in from behind. Tanner knew they would never make it to the Jeep in time to escape.
    “Run and hide,” he said, dropping his pack to the ground.
    “Where?”
    “Underneath the Jeep. Go, Sam!” He shoved the empty shotgun in her hands and pushed her ahead.
    She broke into a run, quickly disappearing in the dark soup surrounding them.
    Tanner turned in time to see three figures round the corner to the alley, two men and a woman. He immediately brought the rifle up and shot the largest man in the eye. The tiny lead slug sliced through his brain until it lodged in the back of his skull. Momentum caused him to fall forward, and the other two stumbled over him, giving Tanner time for another shot.
    The second bullet hit the smaller man in the neck, but he didn’t even slow down. Tanner made no attempt at a third shot as they were now within melee range. Instead, he whipped the butt of the rifle sideways, the heavy stock crunching the man’s cheekbone like a fossilized eggshell. Fragments of bone and teeth collapsed inward, as the momentum of the blow sent him spinning into the ground. He made no attempt to get back up.
    The woman swung a small axe handle, catching Tanner on the side of the head and ripping open the wound that Samantha had doctored earlier. Once again, a steady flow of warm blood began trickling down his face.
    Tanner stabbed forward with the muzzle of the rifle, catching her in the solar plexus. As she doubled over, he squeezed the trigger and popped a .22 round into her gut. She screamed and lurched for him. With the rifle still flush against her, he squeezed the trigger twice more. With the third round, she finally fell to the ground, moaning loudly. He quickly stepped forward and kicked her in the head until she quieted.
    Pausing