Zompoc Survivor: Odyssey by Ben Reeder Page A

up…just stands there. We don’t want to rock and roll with him downrange, but Sergeant Crow, he tells us to shoot. So we did. Brought a lot of them down, too. But this one group, they get to the LT, and down he goes. Once that happens, we go full auto on ‘em, mow ‘em down like wheat, you know?” She stopped and took a shuddering breath before she continued. “But it’s still not enough. They got to the Humvees first…that’s about when the grenade went off. And then they got to the guys from the trucks. They just kept shooting at them…and after the first time, they got up…and then…they wouldn’t fall down, no matter how many times we shot them. They just kept coming…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze went to something distant, something only she could see.
    “You have to shoot ‘em in the head,” Amy said softly. McKay’s eyes focused on Amy, but I wasn’t sure what she was actually seeing.
    “Yeah, I figured that out,” she said, her voice still distant. “I was in the back of the truck when they charged the LT. I just had my M4 with me. They didn’t even issue us vests or packs. The other guys…they got out, and started shooting. Stan…he ran out, so he grabbed a shovel off the truck and started swinging. I should have got out. I should have been with them.”
    “You did the right thing,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ve looked around lately, but there aren’t enough people with a pulse as it is. If getting corpse munched was the only way to save your buddies, sure, I can see that, but you’re still human, and right now, that’s like your primary MOS.” She nodded and her expression changed.
    “I’m sorry,” she said with a soft smile. “I haven’t talked to anyone for two weeks. So, do you know what’s been going on anywhere else?” I let Amy take over the conversation from there, and focused on driving. Like most towns we’d seen, I figured there would be some attempt at containing the mass exodus with road blocks. So as soon as I found a set of railroad tracks that looked like they would lead into Hastings, I followed the gravel road the paralleled them for as far as I could go. Eventually, the road, named Technical Boulevard according to the lone green street sign I saw, veered away from the tracks. With no other option immediately open to me, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances.
    I went off road. To my surprise, the ride improved a little. We took the extremely scenic route for about a mile before the tracks veered north and I was forced to reconsider my brilliant plan. Before I got too deep in my own reasoning, I remembered that I had access to a better source for knowledge about the area.
    “Allie, is there a set of tracks that goes through Hastings from east to west?” I asked as I coasted to a stop.
    “Sure, but why not take the old right of way instead?” she asked as she pointed across the tracks. “It goes all the way into town, and it crosses behind all the places where we planned to put roadblocks.” Where she pointed looked like a row of trees on the edge of a field, but when I pulled forward a few yards, it resolved into a tree lined path. I backed up and turned to bring the truck’s nose perpendicular to the railroad tracks, then gently eased it across them, thankful for four wheel drive. The rear end scraped as we bounced over the second rail, and then we were rolling away from the tracks and toward the right of way. The ride was a little rougher, but it looked like a straight shot into Hastings.
    When we finally ran out of open fields, we found ourselves emerging onto a street that ran by a park. Allie pointed across the road to where the right of way continued. It led us through the back side of the town’s industrial district, past storage sheds and salvage lots, and all the way to another set of railroad tracks. I followed those west at Allie’s direction, and turned back north on a street called Woodland. Stacks of