The words came fast and loud. Ken couldn’t even tell who said what. He heard Maggie scream. Only Sally remained aloof from the conversation, the snow leopard silent as the redhead at the wheel stomped the accelerator.
School buses aren’t made for speed. The thing didn’t leap forward; didn’t even lurch. But Ken could feel the torque pushing him back, felt his hand tighten against the support bar he was holding. He dropped to the nearest seat, wondering if they had survived countless attacks by zombies – both living and dead – only to fall prey to a woman with a demolition derby death wish.
There were three cars in the road ahead of the bus. Stretched across the entire length of the road, end to end. A red Suburban, two smaller vehicles. They were touching bumpers, almost as if –
They were put there.
Ken realized what he was seeing in the instant before the bus hit.
A roadblock.
He thought for a fraction of an instant that it must have been some group of survivors that did it. But why? Ken had seen enough end-of-the-world movies to know that eventually everything went to Hell, and people started trying to kill/rape/eat each other (not necessarily in that order), but it seemed that three days was a bit fast to have devolved to that point. Especially since there were so few survivors. Any humans left would probably be concentrating one hundred percent on survival, no brain space left for traps for their unwary fellow humans.
Then he saw the zombies, a full dozen of them, loping away as the bus hit the front right bumper of the Suburban and the front left bumper of the dark blue sedan that had been shoved against it.
They tried to stop us. This was a trap.
The implications of that were terrifying. The things had been getting smarter, there was no denying it. When they first appeared they were truly mindless, simple creatures only capable of killing. Indeed, when the Change occurred, the zombies couldn’t even get through doors at first.
Then they could. And before too much longer they were tracking Ken and the other survivors.
And now… traps. Ambushes?
They weren’t just getting smarter, they were planning. A progression of intelligence that was exponential.
He felt something cold in his gut, pressing against his bowels, making him feel like vomiting and crapping his pants. The things already outnumbered them a thousand to one, already had every physical advantage. If they had intelligence as well, the human race was doomed.
That was the last thought he had before eight tons of school bus slammed right through the two cars. Ken saw a zombie that hadn’t left its position behind the cars plowed over, hitting the front grill of the school bus with a wet thud before disappearing below the chassis.
Something blew up below the bus. The vehicle jounced, skidded to the side. It tore through a set of parking meters set into the side of the road.
Pwing-pwing-pwing.
The redhead grunted as she struggled to bring the bus back under control. Ken could feel the thing fishtailing, juking like a fish that had been half-hooked and still had a chance of escape.
The bus took one huge sideways lurch, and Ken realized that the small explosion he had heard must have been a tire – maybe several tires – popping. This was a large bus, one tire at each front corner and two on each rear corner. Hopefully just one of the rear tires had popped, allowing the other to remain as a whole backup. But he couldn’t tell, and it would be almost too much to hope for given their luck so far.
The bus kept slewing to the side as though drunk on the disaster that lay all around them.
It hit a piece of debris in the middle of the road. Ken didn’t think it had been placed there purposefully, but purposeful or not it sent the vehicle into a new slide. The wheels on the right side of the bus felt like they lifted up for a too-long moment before slamming back to the road with a tooth-jarring thud.
“Geez, lady!” screamed Christopher. “What are you –“
“Shut up,” she growled.
Christopher did. A minor miracle itself, since Ken didn’t think death or destruction had managed to silence the young man before this.
The bus moved forward. Still veering to one side, favoring its blown wheel –
(or wheels please don’t be wheels just let us get a bit farther God I think I really think you owe us that)
– the way Ken favored his left leg due to a pinched nerve. He patted the seat absently.
We’ve both seen better days, haven’t we?