In The End Box Set | Books 1-3 Stevens, GJ (story books to read TXT) 📖

his back, but being careful not to go near the wound, I watched as Thompson let his pistol drop before turning his attention back ahead.

“What are you seeing back there?” Thompson asked.

“Shapes, that’s all, but they’re moving on us fast,” Sherlock replied.

With the bass bellow of an impact where the bumper should have been, I twisted back to the rubbish bins across the road and the remains of the plastic pushed to scrape against the rough tarmac. In the tight turn, the suspension cushioned much of our roll over the debris, but I couldn’t help wincing at each crack of snapping plastic, imagining the shards perilously close to the fragile tyres.

The bumper kissed the brick, rocking us to the side; the rev of the engine kept us rolling, but at a pace I could easily out-walk.

With the smell of sour decay growing, the driver straightened up the wheel as the lane narrowed ahead to culminate in an archway with a wide-open road the other side. Despite the distance, it seemed far too small for our width to squeeze through. Hope rushed up through my chest when through the archway I saw a flash of a white vehicle across the view, and then another.

“Dead six. Single contact. Fast approaching from the rear,” Gibson called from the back in an almost business-like tone.

They were the words we dreaded, despite having heard the shrill calls. Our speed built, even though the view gave us no hope we’d be able to make it out into the open to race at full speed from the danger at our backs. The rush of plastic we carried with us grew louder as more discarded flotsam added to the procession.

“Gibson?” Thompson called without turning, but he didn’t reply, his face pushed to the rear glass with hands swiping left and right to clear the moisture. A heavy thud to the thin metal roof sent a shock wave across us in the cabin.

Glancing up, I called out over the scrape of the rubbish we pushed in our path. “Faster.”

“Shit. Faster,” another shouted to the sound of the roof deforming from the weight above.

Flinching at a loud bang, then to another much louder, the view through the left-hand rear window had cleared, and I realised the glass was missing, the shattered remains settling to the seats. My question as to what it could be was answered when a bloodied arm swung down from the roof, fingers grabbing at Gibson’s outstretched arm with the pistol in hand, pulling his limb up to the missing glass.

Yanking off my seatbelt, Shadow yelped as I twisted around with knees to the seat, reaching out over the back to grab at Gibson’s shoulders and anchor him down. Sherlock jabbed at the attacking arm with the butt of his rifle at our side and the bloodied hand pulled away, raking down the arm of Gibson’s jacket and drawing blood as it whipped across his hand to send the gun clattering to the pavement.

Landing back in my seat, I barely heard the new call for more speed and through the surging adrenaline, I couldn’t tell if we were getting any faster as I clicked my seatbelt into place.

Looking back, Gibson edged away from the rear window, holding his hand tight against the claw marks with Sherlock pointing his rifle’s aim between the missing window and the metal deforming above our heads.

“Hold tight,” came the words from the front, but gripping the sides of the seats, I didn’t get a chance to take in the view before being forced forward against the strap across my chest.

***

An icy breeze sent dust-filled air across my face as I drew my head up slowly against the ache. Shadow’s warm tongue greeted my hand, and I reached out, stroking his back, thankful he’d been safe in the footwell when we’d hit.

Stretching out a kink in my neck, I was about to search out his wound to check the stitches when movement through the windscreen sent my eyes wide. Searching past the great crack through the centre, the sight of the driver slumped over the steering wheel pulled me back to Thompson and Carr taking off their seatbelts.

Turning to my right, Jess helped Alex up from the footwell. Beyond, all I saw were bricks and lines of mortar up against the side windows with dark, treacle-like blood dripping down the glass. We were stuck, wedged in between the walls either side.

Cassie stared from the back row, her eyes wide, but she turned away, closing her mouth as I caught her staring.

Gibson, followed by Sherlock, rose from the space between the seats, quickly turning to search back through the rear windows, ignoring the slow drip of red from the roof.

“Is everyone okay?” I asked, my voice croaky. Drawing a deep breath, I felt a sharp sting in my chest. Listening for the murmured replies and coughed responses, only the driver hadn’t answered, not moving since we’d stopped so suddenly. With relief, he raised his head as I took a second look, but watching him settle back into his seat my blood ran ice cold at the sight of the long handle of a screwdriver sticking from his chest and the vacant, white-eyed stare to Carr beside him.

A heavy thud to the rear called us away and ignoring the pain in my neck and chest, I turned to the snarling mouth snapping at the open window and the naked figures bounding along behind us.

Sherlock shoved Gibson to the side, raising his rifle to the space at the window and fired. The bald creature’s blackened head exploded backwards before I saw anything more than fire-raged skin. Rather than feeling a sense of relief, my gaze fell to the brick wall through the glass windows with claustrophobia settling over me like a blanket as I sensed the incredible speed of the figures still