Sam honks the horn and I look at him incredulously.
“That’s not going to work – they don’t care about noise.”
“Some of the fast ones do,” he says.
And he’s right; some of them step out of the way, as if out of habit. Unfortunately, some of the slow ones amble in.
“Oh well,” Sam shrugs and revs the engine. “We’ll have to do it the fun way I guess.” He grins and the Jeep leaps forward as I grab the bar near my head. Bodies fall from sight, and the Jeep climbs. We’re still walled in on the sides, though, and unfortunately I left my window partially unrolled. I don’t notice that fact until I feel something in my hair. I reach up absentmindedly to bat at it, and my fingers hit cold, clammy things in my hair. I look up at that point to see a zombie grinning at me through the glass, its hand over the windows and its fingers digging into my scalp.
I scream as those cold fingers wrap around my hair and yank.
“Shit,” Sam says. The Jeep swings wildly in a circle but the damn zombie still hangs on, ripping out my hair as we go.
Desperately I dig into the bag at my feet, trying to ignore the pain from my head as my hands touch cold metal. I grab the gun, brace as Sam takes another turn, click the safety off and point the gun point blank where the zombie’s head is.
“Look away!” I shout.
“Don’t shoot!” Sam says.
“Don’t shoot – we need that window!” Sam says.
“What the fuck do you want me to do then?” I screech, as the zombie’s icky wet hands curl in my hair.
“Roll up the window!” He shouts.
Dammit. I drop the gun and grab the thing’s fingers. God touching them is even worse than them touching me. They’re wet, and I really hope that I don’t have any cuts that its blood can seep into.
I force the fingers up and the zombie fights me. Eventually I get them out of the window and roll it up quickly.
I collapse back against the seat and breathe heavily, even with the zombie’s black eyes still starting at me and its mouth opening and closing against the glass. Then I see it move and hear a bong against the side of the Jeep.
“It’s on the roof,” Cassie says.
“That works,” Sam says. He speeds up and then hits the brakes, hard. The zombie goes flying and lands in the grass ahead of us. Sam leisurely turns us away.
It’s at that point that I notice that in the middle of all this Sam got us frree of the rest of the zombies. I hit him on the shoulder for good measure.
“What’s that for?”
“For driving into a pile of zombies. Why’d we have to go that way?”
“It was clear last night.”
“So what the hell happened?”
“Look!” Cassie points between our seats. We’ve gone over a hill, and yep, there’s the answer right there.
Maybe half a mile in front of us is the smoldering remains of an SUV.