The Zombie Plagues: The Story Of Billy and Beth by George Dell

dead.”
    “Great, you had me ha...”
    Something hit the truck hard and it rocked on its springs. The smell of death hit them about the same time, and Beth hit the gas, mashing the pedal into the floor boards.
    A rotting hand came through the open back window and fastened around Beth's throat, her hands left the wheel as she was yanked backwards, and the truck spun hard to the left and accelerated, her foot still mashed on the gas.
    Billy lifted his gun and shot the zombie in the face. It seemed slow motion at first, the face exploded as it fell away into the back of the pickup, Beth drew a deep breath and tried to grab the wheel but it was too late. Everything sped up to real time and the truck roared forward and slammed into the side of a house, continuing into it. Her foot had slammed down on the brake and the truck finally stopped several feet into the house.
    Billy hit the dashboard hard and then rebounded and slid under the dash as the truck plunged into the house. Seconds later he scrambled out from under the dash, the smell of gasoline was strong, the smell of the hot motor equally strong. He looked over at Beth but she seemed dazed, her eyes unfocused, a trickle of blood running from somewhere under her hairline, mumbling softly under her breath. Billy levered his door open with a little help from his foot, it screeched as it opened. The screech of metal was very loud in the silence of the house. The headlights were still on, illuminating what looked to be a kitchen.
    The smell of death came to him over the smell of gas and hot motor.
    “Jesus, Beth. Jesus. We got to go,” Billy said loudly. He reached down, gabbed Beth's rifle where it had fallen to the floor and then shoved his gun into his holster. He was surprised he had the presence of mind to actually pull the strap over the hammer and snap it in place to hold the gun in. He reached over and pulled Beth to him, she came willingly. A second later he was outside the ruined truck and staring out the hole it had punched through into the house. He saw no dead, but he could smell them. He debated only briefly and then ran for the hole and the moonlit night outside.
    The dead were all around, pulled from their wanderings by the sound of the wreck and the smell of the living. Billy shifted Beth's weight more fully onto his shoulder, and lifted the gun. Before he could fire the truck blew up behind him and he felt himself pushed by the blast out into the street where he struggled to stay on his feet. A warm rush or air moved rapidly past him and Billy got his feet moving only a second later.
    The dead scattered. They made this odd clicking sound, a sort of strangled scream, which Billy supposed was all they could do with no air to move their lungs, as he ran they slowly disappeared into the hiding paces they had stumbled from. An SUV loomed out of the darkness, illuminated by the flames and the moonlight. Dusty, sitting in the driveway of a house three houses over from the one they had plowed into. A second later and Billy had the door open and Beth tumbled inside onto the passenger seat. He ran around the car to the other side and fired a quick burst at three of the dead that came from the side of the garage and started toward him in their stumbling, dragging way. They all three went down, but they were back up again almost as quickly as they had gone down. He was too far away for head shots. He got the handle open and jumped into the car pulling the door shut behind him.
    He sat, his breath coming in ragged gasps and pulls. His lungs hurt, there was a stitch in his side and his heart felt like it just might explode at any second. He looked over at Beth, but her head was rocked back against the seat back. A sob escaped his throat, but he bit down on it, and breathing hard checked the ignition.
    No keys, but that was what he had expected. What he hoped for was gas. The car should start, the gas was the important thing. He reached to the floorboards for his knapsack