Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z

Alex spotted a figure running toward him from the far side of the blockade. He hunched down next to the dead woman and unslung his carbine, ready to shoot. He was caught off guard when his attacker leaped across the hood of the car, landing almost on top of him.
Alex tried to roll aside, but his assailant was fast. Steel flashed in the man’s hand, and he struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. Alex grunted as the blade slid home, cutting deep into his side. White-hot agony shot through his torso. He twisted free and delivered a chopping blow with his rifle stock. It connected with his attacker’s jaw, hard enough to break bone. Blood and spit sprayed from between broken lips, and the man dropped to the ground with a pained cry.
Alex whipped his gun around and shot him in the chest, putting him down for good. Heaving for breath, he slumped against the car as another hail of bullets cut through the air above his head.
By the sound of things, there was only one shooter left. A glance over his shoulder showed no signs of the guy he’d kicked earlier. Hopefully, he’d either run off or was too badly hurt to come at Alex again. This didn’t look like a very sophisticated set-up — just a bunch of wannabe bad guys robbing unsuspecting travelers.
He waited for a lull in the shooting before daring to take a look. Like a real amateur, the other shooter had emptied his gun and was now reloading in plain sight.
“Dumb ass,” Alex muttered.
He lined up his sight and squeezed off a shot. Bulls eye. The third attacker’s head whipped back. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the tar.
Alex allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. He didn’t relish killing people, but this lot had asked for it, preying on the weak like a flock of vultures. He sighed and pressed one hand to his bleeding side. He needed to get to his bike and get himself patched up.
A grunt was the only warning he got. Instinct kicked in, and he jerked his head aside. The hammer whistled past his face and crashed into the side of the car. Metal crunched beneath the solid block of steel meant to stave in his skull. He ducked beneath a second blow that smashed the window above his head, showering him with glass fragments.
“Piece of shit. Killing my friends like that. My girl,” the guy roared, bringing the hammer down with brute force.
Alex rolled aside but caught a glancing blow on the upper arm that was enough to make him drop his rifle. He threw himself backward, scrambling across the rough gravel to escape. His shoulder and arm throbbed, pain shooting through the injured limb with each move he made.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Hammer guy kept coming, a hulking behemoth with a thick beard and sagging pants. He swung the blunt head of his weapon with sweeping blows meant to take a man’s head off.
Alex was forced to retreat in an awkward scramble across the tar, unable to get to his feet. The hammer smashed into the tar between his legs, and he had a brief vision of being castrated right there and then.
Suddenly, his hand brushed against something solid, and he risked a quick look. It was the woman’s pistol. The one she’d dropped when he smashed into her earlier. Hope flared in his breast, and he gripped the butt with fierce determination.
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Alex raised the gun and emptied the entire magazine into his attacker’s torso. It was overkill, a waste of ammunition, but he couldn’t help himself. Primal fear directed his actions. The man was a monster, and he had to go down. Now.
Hammer man stopped mid-swing as the bullets thumped into his chest, one after the other. Nine shots in all. His coal-black eyes fixed on Alex’s face, and he hissed. “Stinking piece of shit.”
For a moment, he remained standing, swaying gently. Then he toppled over backward and crashed to the ground. His legs twitched for a moment before he lay still. Dead at last.
Alex waited for several seconds, staring at the corpse with caution. He almost couldn’t believe the guy was dead. “What a freaking monster.”
Slowly, he rolled onto his knees. His breath rasped in and out of his lungs, and sweat dripped from his forehead. The slightest movement caused him to grimace with pain, but he had to move. The shots would draw zombies or even other bad guys.
Alex stumbled toward his crashed bike. To his immense relief, it was intact with no severe damage. It started on the second try, and he sent up a quick prayer of thanks before removing the first-aid kit. He pulled out a splint meant for stabilizing broken bones and placed it beneath his teeth. He was going to need it. Biting down on the hard plastic, he lifted his shirt and examined the knife wound. It was deep — a wide slit in the flesh that seeped blood at a steady rate.
He took a tube of antiseptic salve and pushed the nozzle right into the cut and squeezed. The thick ointment spread throughout the wound, and he kept at it until it oozed from the edges. Satisfied, he slapped a thick wad of gauze onto it and stuck an adhesive bandage over the area. As an added precaution, he wrapped cotton bandages around his midriff to secure it in place with more band-aids. It would have to hold until he got home.
By the time he was finished, Alex was about ready to pass out. His jaw ached from biting down on the splint, and he removed the mangled thing with trembling fingers. “Holy shit, that hurt.”
There was no time to waste, though. He had to get away from the area as fast as he could. After swallowing a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin, he looked around. A quick search yielded him an empty pistol,