Zombie Chaos | Book 4 | Scout's Horror

I spotted George’s tire iron, which was still lying on the pavement where she’d left it, and lunged for the makeshift weapon. By the time I had it clutched in my hand, the zombified hippie had almost reached me. On instinct, I lifted the slender tool—sharp end facing outward—just as the creature rushed toward me, ultimately piercing the metal through his eye and into his brain. The zombie groaned once then crumpled to the ground, the tire iron still lodged in his head.
With the immediate danger past, I bolted toward the embankment, helped George back onto the road, and reclaimed my axe. When nothing else crawled out of the Bus, the two of us took a moment to drag the zombie I’d killed toward the shoulder, remove the goo-covered tire iron, and roll the tie-dyed corpse into the woods.
Then, we returned to the hippie-mobile to deal with the other dead guy. But as I opened the side door all the way, George and I finally understood why we’d initially assumed, from the sheer amount of blood and gore on the windows, that more than two occupants were inside.
As the bent-over body of the axed zombie tumbled onto the ground, so did two bloody heads and a slew of disgusting entrails. From what remained of the other passengers’ wavy hair and tattered dresses, it seemed as though the two old guys had had themselves a couple of old ladies. Had, as in ravaged and devoured.
I assumed the unfortunate women had once been married to the two dudes, but for all I knew, they could’ve been their sisters. No matter what, it was yet another awful way to go. I could only imagine how terrified the women had been, to be trapped inside a VW Bus with two ravenous, undead men who no longer cared about them—or saw them as anything more than dinner.
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” George said.
“Seems on par for this new fucked-up world,” I replied. “And sadly, I’ve seen much worse.”
I was just thankful Clare couldn’t view the passenger side from her current perch. Despite her mother’s worsening sickness, and Clare’s near-constant desire to ease Jill’s suffering, I had no doubt she’d remained up front with Azazel, keeping a close eye on me and George—if only to warn us of any impending peril.
Though a lifelong horror fan, as strong and as feisty as George, Clare was also the most tenderhearted person I’d ever known. Such a horrendous scene would’ve tormented her. I knew she’d encounter a lot of terrible sights on our cross-country trek to northern Michigan, but at that moment, she didn’t need to see such horrible shit.
George and I dragged the second corpse to the road’s edge and rolled him toward his friend. Then, I unceremoniously kicked the two heads into the woods before refocusing on the main dilemma.
Once most of the gore had finished oozing onto the road, I realized how pointless the second part of our plan had been. After dispatching the two zombies, we should’ve simply shut the door, broken the driver’s-side window, and shifted the damn car into neutral. Cuz there was no fucking way I was climbing into that mess.
So, with an unapologetic shrug, I scanned the woods for any bogeys, circled the vehicle, and smashed the window with the handle of my axe. Then, I unlocked and opened the door, positioned the gear stick, and yanked the wheel hard to the left, ensuring the VW Bus wouldn’t hit the nearest bridge support.
A few moments later, George and I had pushed the vehicle toward the shoulder, where gravity kindly took over for us. Thanks to its mass, however, the former hippie-mobile didn’t sail peacefully down the embankment. No, instead, it bumped awkwardly along the incline, teetered onto one side, slammed into a tree, and tipped into the creek with an enormous splash.
“Well, shit,” George said. “That wasn’t exactly a stealthy disposal.”
I sighed. What else could we do? It was time to get the fuck outta there.
Darting back to our own vehicles, we double-checked our surroundings, but luckily, no other zombies—ex-hippies or otherwise—rambled out of the woods on either side.
Once I’d climbed into the van, reclaimed my seat, and shut the door, I heaved a sigh of relief.
“I don’t think that’ll ever get easier,” Clare lamented. “Watching you put yourself in danger.”
I turned to her, noting the crinkled skin around her eyes. “I know, baby, but what choice did we have? Someone had to move the thing. True, it could’ve gone smoother…”
Clare’s face relaxed as she squeezed my shoulder. “You and George did great.” She sighed. “Naturally, I was worried. I always worry… but I appreciate everything you do for us… me, Mom, and Azazel.”
I longed to correct her—after all, I’d only ever risk my life for my wife and our precious furbaby, not my pain-in-the-ass, soon-to-be-a-zombie mother-in-law—but I was too exhausted to say anything.
“Seriously, honey, thanks for doing that. Couldn’t have been easy.”
I smiled wearily. “Piece of cake.”
“Yeah, well, took you long enough,” Jill grumbled from the sofa, though with less verve than usual.
I opened my mouth to respond, but a pleading look from Clare halted the retort in my throat.
In the awkward silence that followed, I took a moment to swig some water, pop some more aspirin for my ongoing headache, and sanitize my goo-covered palms, axe, and shoes, plus everything else I’d recently touched. If I had to rely on antibacterial products for the rest of my life, I’d really need to stock up on some moisturizing lotion.
“Baby,” Clare asked softly, “are you OK?”
I nodded. “Yep, just tired.”
“Speaking of…” Jill piped up, “think we’ll be stopping anytime soon? Hard to sleep in this rattling death trap.”
Clare whirled toward her mother, rocking Azazel’s carrier in the process. “Look, Mom, I know you don’t feel well, but could you please try to be nice? This isn’t a good situation… for any of us.”
Jill responded with silence—no doubt of a sulky nature.
I said nothing as I buckled my seatbelt.