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

and a screwdriver to jimmy the ignition and that was when he realized he had nothing to get the truck started with. All he needed was a screwdriver to hammer into the ignition, pop the cylinder, and then start it. But he had neither the screwdriver nor a way to get it into the ignition in the first place. He fisted his hands and slammed them against the wheel. His head sank onto his hands.
    “Smash it,” Beth said. It was not much more than a whisper, but it bought Billy's head up fast. Outside the truck the dead were gathering. Just three or four, but they could smell them, and it wouldn't be long until more showed up. He focused on her face which was ashen and blood slicked, unsure if she had really even spoken. She turned her face to him, eyes heavy lidded, unfocused. “Smash it, Billy... Rock... Rocks by the driveway... Saw them... Smash it.” Her head sank down to the dashboard and stayed there. A trickle of blood ran across the dusty plastic and rolled toward the edge of the dash before it slipped over the edge and continued down into darkness.
    “Jesus, Beth. You're hurt bad, Beth.”
    “Billy... Billy shut up and get a rock... Get it, Billy. Stop whining, get the fuckin' rock.” Beth told him. Her words were muffled, whether from the effort or the position she was in he couldn't tell. He picked up the rifle by the barrel and looked through the glass at the dead that were trying to figure out a way into the truck. He waited for the one near the drivers door to slip backwards along the side of the SUV and then he threw the door open and jumped from the truck.
    He landed bad, on the very same rocks Beth had been talking about, and nearly went all the way down before he caught himself and slammed his knee into the pavement to stop himself. He had been unable to close the door as his ankle twisted and he fell away. The one that had just slipped past the door was already turning to get inside. He couldn't shoot, if he did he might hit Beth. He launched himself at the shambling wreck instead and knocked it backwards and to the ground. They were both snarling he realized a moment later when he shot it in the head.
    A second one came around the back of the SUV. Billy took two steps and shot it in the head. The third was on the opposite side of the truck and seemed frozen, unsure what to do. Billy turned, picked up a large rock, and tried to step back into the truck. The ankle collapsed and he went sprawling, losing the rock, barely holding onto the rifle as he once again slammed his knee into the ground to stop himself from planting his face on the steel door sill of the car. The zombie on the other side made up her mind, stood to her full height, and sprang to the roof of the car. Billy heard the metal buckle as she landed.
    A second later he forced himself to his feet, adrenaline flooding his body, leaving that sour electric taste in his mouth as it did. The zombie stood to her full height once more, nothing but tightly stretched skin and protruding bones, but determined to have him. Billy raised the rifle and shot her under the chin. She collapsed on the barrel and he turned as she spilled past him and burst open onto the pavement behind him. Billy took two shambling steps of his own, ankle and knee screaming, pain so hard that it made him stop and double up. He vomited, losing control for a brief instant. The pain was so hot. A second after that the adrenaline kicked back in and he finished his shambling travel, managed to stoop and pick up another large rock and get back inside the SUV. He slammed the door on the hand of another zombie that had come out of the darkness. He heard the bones snap, and the fingers fell away into the SUV as the door thudded home. Billy collapsed against the steering wheel. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He waited for his heart to slow down.
    The dead seemed to be everywhere when he lifted his eyes a few seconds later. One was inches away, staring into his own eyes through the