They passed a zombie every two minutes along the road. They all appeared to be heading in the same direction.
"Where do you think they're all headed?" Maisie said.
"I don't think they're heading anywhere," Chris said. "They're just drifting. They get distracted by something and follow it. Then forget what they're doing until they get distracted by something else, and then follow that."
They were driving down a road that wound through a thick forest on either side. Maisie lowered the book she was reading. World War Z.
"They don't feel pain," Maisie said. "That doesn't seem fair."
"No, it isn't," Chris said. "Shall we see if Mr Brooks is right?"
Chris edged the car over onto the side of the road. A zombie stopped, turned, and faced the car. The Porsche slammed into it. The zombie's head smacked into the bonnet and exploded like it had a hand grenade inside it.
Maisie leaned back in her seat, eyes and mouth wide with shock. Chris hit the window wipers, which brushed the bits of brain and body matter aside.
"What did you do that for?" Maisie said, flabbergasted.
"Do you want to try?" Chris said.
"They're people!"
"They used to be people. Now they're just empty shells. You'd be doing them a favour."
Another zombie came into view. Chris turned the steering wheel. This time the zombie was severed in half, both pieces slipping under the car.
"I suppose... I suppose it's okay," Maisie said. "If they don't feel pain."
Maisie reached over and took the steering wheel. She made slow movements, keeping the car going straight.
"There's one!" Chris said, pointing.
The figure turned, and then held up his hands.
"No, don't!" the man shouted at the last moment.
The car smashed into him, sending his body flying into the middle of the road.
"Oops," Chris said.
"'Oops' what?" Maisie said.
She mustn't have heard the 'zombie' speak.
"Nothing," Chris said.
"That was fun," Maisie said. "Let's do it again."
"Maybe later," Chris said, taking the wheel and feeling a little woozy.
In the side mirror, Chris made out the figure lying on the road, dragging himself toward the woods. A pair of zombies approached him, bent down and bit into him. Chris pressed a button and the mirror moved so he couldn't see the tableau. Out of sight, out of mind.
Then Chris felt a punch to the stomach, doubling him over the steering wheel. He felt sick. He took his foot off the accelerator. The car slowed down. Chris heaved. He could feel the solid acidic mass work its way up his throat. The car drifted onto the other side of the road.
"Are you all right?" Maisie said. "Chris? Chris!"
Chris pulled the car over onto the verge, half of it sticking out into the road. He threw open his door and heaved. A hot mass slopped onto the dirt. He felt the lumps in the back of his throat. He worked them forward with his tongue and spat them out. Maisie handed him a bottle of water. He rinsed his mouth out.
The foliage shook, and a pair of zombies stumbled from it, heading for the car.
"Not now, guys," Chris said.
Chris hit the accelerator, and the car jolted forward, almost throwing him out the door. Maisie grabbed his arm. The car bounced along the verge. The zombies didn't pursue the car. Instead they knelt down and began munching on his vomit.
Chris felt fresh waves of sickness come over him, and he heaved again, only this time little but stagnant water came up. He straightened and closed the door. He leaned his head back on the headrest for a moment.
"Are you all right?" Maisie said.
"My body's dying and I'm turning into one of those things. What do you think?"
"I was just asking."
"Next time ask a sensible question like, 'Did you always want to drive your daughter around from one place to another during the last few hours of your life?' That's a good question to ask."
Maisie glowered, but said nothing. She stared out of the window.
Chris put the car into first and moved away. His body felt weak, and a cold shiver went through him that he knew wasn't healthy. He had a cold sweat on his forehead. A spike of fear shot through him as he looked at the apparition in the mirror. His skin was pale and pasty, his eyes bloodshot, pupils dilated. His heart beat a syncopated rhythm in his chest, five fast beats, then two slow.
He concentrated on the road before him, but suddenly there were two, each veering off in a different direction. The car's engine roared and he had a splitting headache, like a demon panther fighting to escape his skull. He felt so weak he could hardly keep his hands on the steering wheel. He felt so tired. His head began to nod.
"Chris?" Maisie said. "Chris?"
Chris slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Maisie's voice faded out into a million pieces and came at him at random.
"Hh-rr-ii-ss-cc!"