Zombie Rules | Book 8 | Who The Hell Is That? Achord, David (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📖

other options. Ruth had developed a friendship with him during his captivity and he only hoped he’d take that into consideration. Zach may kill him, but he’d take care of Ruth, and that’s all he could ask for.

Surprisingly, Zach didn’t kill him. Oh, he kicked Grant in the balls and put him in a cage for a couple of days, but instead of killing anyone, he gave them a place to live. More surprisingly, Zach taught them how to really survive in post-apocalyptic America.

Zach was a few years younger than him, had never served in the military, but seemed to know everything and he learned a lot from the man. He smiled at the memory of being taught how to ride a horse. He never admitted it, but his thighs were sore for days afterward. It was hard for him to remember if his thighs hurt worse than his arm currently did.

He reminisced throughout the night to pass the time, all the while listening intently for the sound of any vehicles. It seemed odd that nobody had come looking for him yet. He started to pace to keep the blood flowing, but his footsteps made too much noise. So, he occasionally did deep knee bends. Eventually the sky started growing lighter, though it was gray and gloomy. It was going to be one of those days. He pushed the door open slightly and peeked outside. It was quiet and nothing stirred, but then again, his visibility was only limited to about twenty feet.

His situation assessment had not changed much since last night. He was at least two blocks off the main route, which meant if he stayed here, it could possibly take the search party hours to find him and his arm needed immediate medical attention. He didn’t like it, but he had to take the risk.

He undid the door and relaced his boot and cinched as tightly as he could. The otherwise simple act was almost impossible with one bad arm and doing it was pure torture. But he pushed through the pain the way all Marines were trained to do. When he was finished, he was breathing heavily and was surprised to note a couple of beads of perspiration on his forehead.

It was light enough now where he could see the jagged bites to his arm. It was a bloody mess and seemed to be swollen. Gingerly putting his jacket back on, he checked his weapons before slowly pushing open one of the trailer doors with the barrel of his M4 and readied himself.

There were two of them. Well, four, but two were dead, lying on the ground less than a dozen feet away. The other two had been sitting, but at the sound of the trailer door opening, they got to their feet. One of them, a big male, made eye contact and started growling. Justin did not hesitate. He took aim and shot him between the eyes. The other wolf ran off before Justin could get a good aim.

He waited and listened. Only silence greeted him. There weren’t even any birds chirping. He had to move. He crouched and tried to lower himself out of the trailer as easily as he could. When he landed on the asphalt a spasm of pain went from his arm through the rest of his body, an indicator that the injury was more severe than he was ready to admit.

The pain only strengthened Justin’s resolve to get back to the main road. Tucking the hand of his injured arm into his jacket pocket, he held the rifle with his left and scanned the area. Except for the dead wolves, he appeared to be all alone. He started walking.

The sun had been up an hour when he heard a vehicle. It was coming from the direction of Fort Detrick, which he took as a good sign, and after a minute a truck came into view. Justin gave a wave with his good arm and waited. The truck approached and stopped. Stretch was the only occupant. She put the truck in park and jumped out.

“Man, what happened?”

“I hit some black ice and slid into a ditch,” Justin said. “I should have been more careful.”

Stretch nodded and then noticed the arm. “Holy shit, Justin, is that from the wreck?”

“Nope, a damn wolf attacked me,” Justin said.

She gave it a sidelong look. “Damn, baby, that looks bad. Let me get the first aid kit.”

“Thanks, girl,” he replied. He liked Stretch, but if she called him baby in front of Ruth, he’d be in trouble.

She went into the truck and emerged a moment later with a tattered bag. There were sterile rags in it and a couple of tourniquets, but not much else.

“We need to upgrade this,” she remarked. “Alright, try to hold still.” She then used his knife to cut off Justin’s sleeve, rinsed off his arm with his bottle of drinking water, and wrapped it in the rags.

“Sorry, can’t do much else,” she said. “We could cauterize it, if you’re inclined.”

“It might come to that. Let’s get back and let Kincaid look it over.”

“You know he’s not really a medical doctor,” Stretch said.

“I know.”

“Why don’t we go back to Mount Weather and let Doc Salisbury take care of it?” she asked.

“That’s the last place I want to go right now. Come on, I’ll explain everything on the way back. You’re driving.”

They got settled in and Justin welcomed the warm air emanating from the vent. He found himself starting to drift off almost immediately but shook himself awake. “Question, where is the mighty Quick Reactionary Force?” he asked.

Stretch slowed and maneuvered through some ice before answering. “We called them on the phone when you were an hour overdue. They said they’d send someone out to check. When I woke up this morning and you weren’t here, I figured you were back at Mount Weather in a nice, warm bed. But I decided to call anyway. When I got ahold of Joker, he said not