Resistance

Chapter Eight

A/N: I apologize for there not being a picture. Photobucket changed and won't let me upload :l

Eight

          I drop the gun and shield my face, ducking behind the brick flower bed so I’m practically lying on the ground. Bullet copies me, sticking his moist nose in my cheek as he whimpers, doing his best not to howl from the heat and flying car parts.

            I don’t know how long we have to stay here before the zombies come. They won’t care about the fire when they see me lying on the ground like an open buffet. A few more smaller explosions rock the car, but eventually the only sound is the hot fire licking everything around it as it tries to spread.

            “Let’s head for the road,” I tell Bullet, pushing myself to my feet. A wave of heat hits me and I resist the urge to move away, knowing I’d be moving right for the zombies. Once Bullet’s up he starts looking around before deciding to take the right side of the fast food restaurant. I adjust my backpack and pick up my gun. Jogging after him, I try to breathe through the smoky air and end up coughing my lungs out.

            I don’t know how I’m supposed to know where to meet the others. I’m not familiar with town and I can only hope that Bullet knows the way, seeing as without him, I probably would have been dead ten times over by now.

            As I round the brick corner of the restaurant, I skid to a stop and Bullet starts growling. Behind me the zombies are already coming through the fence and the explosion took the attention of all the others, two of which are staggering down the short, alley towards me. The old man’s face looks rotted and where his grey comb over used to sit is replaced half by thin hair and half by an open head wound. It looks like someone took a cheese grater to his skull.

            “Back up,” I order Bullet, cocking my shotgun. I raise it and look down the sight, slowly backing up as the man struggles to move faster, wanting to claw his way to me. My eyes blink as I shoot the gun and the man gurgles, a gaping hole in his chest. He still reaches for me, very much alive despite having no lungs or heart.

            When he’s on the ground he starts crawling, still not dead. I gasp, jumping back as his fingers scrape my shoe. I want to shoot him but the other zombie behind him is running towards me now, his only arm reaching for me without a hand.

            I don’t have time to aim and shoot him too, this time getting his head. Once he’s on the ground I hear footsteps behind me and know I don’t have time to kill the crawling man. Clenching my teeth, I follow Bullet and jump over his torso when I feel something cold touch my ankle.

            My face feels like I hit a transport truck and all I can taste is asphalt and dirt. Spitting, I start struggling away, the zombie’s grip on my ankle. The shotgun is out of my reach and Bullet’s too busy trying to figure out how to help me to do anything.

            Desperate, scared whimpers rise in my throat as I try to get away. His cold, dead hands have a death grip on me, not daring letting me go. I let out a cry of pain as his nails dig into my bare skin as he drags me closer to his mouth.