“It was the only one that said truck, but I see five Chevy trucks in the lot.”
“Did you get the other Chevy keys?” I asked, shooting a male that was completely nude. Not a dignified state of dress to be in when you turn, but I suppose you won’t care in the end.
“Yep. Where do you want to start?” Rachel asked.
“That one,” I gestured at a rusting four-wheel drive truck sitting on mostly bald tires. It was closest, and at the moment I just wanted to get us out of there.
The volume of infected was increasing. More females were arriving at a sprint, drawn by the noise of the others. Martinez and I were keeping up with them, but we were burning through a lot of ammo in a hurry. Ammo that would most likely be desperately needed as we made our way through the city.
Rachel ran to the truck, Dog at her heels, and started trying keys in the door lock. Dog took up position behind her, protecting her while she was distracted. At the last moment he noticed the male that was crawling under the truck, spinning and attacking just as the infected’s fingers brushed Rachel’s ankle. She didn’t pause in her efforts, trusting Dog to neutralize the threat at her feet.
“Got it!” She shouted a moment later, yanking the door open and letting all the unneeded keys drop to the ground.
Jumping behind the wheel, Rachel started the engine and shouted for Dog to get in. I told Martinez to head for the truck, moving behind her as she lowered her rifle and ran. The infected began collapsing in on me from all directions as I ran backwards, slamming to a stop against the side of the idling Chevy.
Four more shots to take down charging females and I risked a glance to make sure everyone was inside and ready to go. Seeing they were safe, I slid down the side of the vehicle and squeezed behind the wheel, yanking the door shut behind me moments ahead of the arrival of several males.
The truck was a single cab with one bench seat and we were stuffed in like sardines. Rachel had scooted all the way to the passenger door, Dog sitting on the floor with his upper body in her lap. Martinez was crammed into the middle, leaning hard into Rachel to make room for my shoulders. I still had my pack on and it forced my upper body forward until my chest was only inches from the steering wheel.
Hoping the damn rust bucket didn’t have an air bag that could deploy and crush me, I shifted into drive and hit the gas. The engine clattered in protest but we started moving forward, a thick cloud of blue exhaust marking our wake. I steered through the lot, avoiding the other aging vehicles that were offered for sale. Males were constantly stepping in front of us and I had no option other than to run them down, but the females had backed off as soon as the truck started moving.
Reaching the exit to the street I let off the gas in surprise when three females stepped into our path. Two of them looked to be older than me, but the one in the middle was young and very pregnant. My reaction was instinctual, no conscious thought going into it. I heard Martinez mutter something in Spanish that I didn’t understand and I was just starting to step on the brake when the pregnant girl twitched the way the infected do.
That twitch overrode any thoughts I had of trying to spare her life and I pressed on the accelerator. The truck didn’t exactly surge forward but it did begin to pick up speed. At the last moment the females nimbly moved out of the way, the mother to be moving much faster and with more agility than I’ve ever seen a pregnant woman move.
Clattering into the street I turned right and kept accelerating, avoiding males when I could, smashing them down with the bumper when I couldn’t. The truck’s steering was about as vague as a politician’s answer to a question, the vehicle taking nearly half a second to respond to any directional change I made.
“GPS is in my right cargo pocket. Can you reach it?” I said to Martinez.
She squirmed around to make room for her hand, a moment later digging the unit out of my pants and holding it up to her face.