Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos Simpson, A. (new books to read .txt) 📖

trouble about you if you don’t mind me saying so.” The old man said when they’d reached the eastern shore. “Where’d you say you was headed?”

“Manhattan.” Jessie said and fired up the Merc.

“Damn fool.” he said and hurried to get back out into deep water before any of the undead came shambling out of the woods.

That was nearly a week ago. Now Jessie needed fuel.

The old chop top Mercury idled into the little town of Cattle Creek, South Carolina. He was way deep in no-man's land, far inside the territories where few others ventured and he kept his guard up.

He spotted what he was looking for on the outskirts and pulled into the gas station. This town was well above sea level but he still looked for tell-tale signs of muddy high-water marks. The hurricane that came through last fall had effectively destroyed any fuel still in the ground near the shore with the storm surge and flooding. He was a good fifty miles from the ocean, and although he could see visible signs of the squall, this town hadn’t been flooded.

He bumped up over the fallen Kwiky Mart sign, not concerned about a stray nail or sharp piece of metal with the run-flat tires and parked near the underground tanks. He looked around again, checking for followers before he shut the diesel down. It wasn’t like the old days when they were wicked fast and could chase you for miles. Now, most of them were nearly two years old and being dead hadn’t been kind to them. They were slow and plodding, barely even dangerous anymore unless a fresh one surprised you or you managed to get yourself surrounded by a horde of them.

He checked his perimeter looking for anything coming towards him, especially something dragging itself along the ground. Those were the most dangerous now, they were old and slow and perfectly camouflaged after crawling in the dirt. He’d even seen them with grass, weeds and other plants growing out of them looking like an animated ghillie suit.

The area was clear. There was nothing around him and the birds started singing again. He stretched, dug out his collapsible fuel stick and opened the lid to the underground diesel tank. He dipped it in, cautious not to stir up the contents, then pulled it back out. He was careful not to shake the attached baby food jar as he held it up to the sun to see how it looked.

It’ll do, he thought. It wasn’t exactly a pure golden liquid, but the algae buildup wasn’t bad. He’d used worse. The triple filters on the fuel line would catch any contaminants before it got to the motor. He dumped a few quarts of diesel treatment into the oversized tanks and dragged his hoses out to start refueling.

Jessie leaned against the car and pulled out his poke to roll a cigarette. It had taken him weeks to wander up this far but he was in no hurry. He’d probably have to cut back inland for a while, the trees and telephone poles across the road were getting worse. The hurricane had done a lot of damage and he didn’t feel like chain sawing debris out of the way every half mile. He had zig zagged back and forth across the Midwestern States but he hadn’t been in this part of the country since he’d left Atlanta. He couldn’t remember their names although he remembered how they died. It had been at a convenience store, not unlike this one, because they wanted to get a few Monster drinks. Back when he was young and dumb.

Still dumb. He thought and almost smiled.

The old man on the ferry had called it right. Only a damn fool would go into the cities and only a doubly dumb damn fool would try to get onto Manhattan. There probably were millions of the undead still wandering around New York.

Jessie tossed the cigarette when the diesel started flowing out of the neck, flipped off the pump, reeled up his hoses and stowed everything before walking towards the store. The plywood over the windows was still intact, they weren’t broken from the hurricane. He grabbed a twelve pack of Mountain Dews, some chocolate and a few bags of beef jerky. He’d only come across a few stores that had been raided this far east. There were so few survivors that most were still intact.

Jessie sat on the hood, leaned back against the bars, chewed slowly on teriyaki jerky and sipped a warm Dew.

He heard a flock of crows take flight somewhere off to his left, cawing noisily at each other and whatever had frightened them. Might be shamblers. He dialed up his ears and listened intently, trying to hear the tell-tale sign of their dry and crusty moans. He heard the faintest tinkle of breaking glass and sat up quickly. The undead didn’t break glass unless they were after someone. Any windows that could be broken by simply bumping into them accidentally had long since been shattered. It could be something else, like a branch falling from a tree, but he doubted it. Not when it came from the same direction that flock of crows had just swarmed up from. Then he heard them, that unmistakable keening sound of zombies on the chase.

He rolled off the hood, grabbed his M4 and a couple of extra magazines and shoved them in his back pockets. Whatever was happening was close, no use taking the car and letting the whole world know he was coming. He had good mufflers, but it was still a diesel. It was noisy. He didn’t know if whoever being chased was friend or foe and he wanted to see them before they saw him. He considered his armor for a second but it was hot, he was sweating sitting still. The undead were just too dead to be a real risk anymore if you were careful. They no longer leaped and ran and screamed. They bumbled