I looked up into the face of a man with a half-grown beard and greasy hair. He pulled me even tighter against him while he licked my cheek, and I winced. “Oh, we’re going to have fun, you and me.”
He threw me to the ground and fell on top of me. My face was shoved into the dirt. Panic blurred my vision. He was too busy grabbing at my pants to notice that I still had the pistol. I couldn’t get onto my back, but when he yanked on my cargos, I was able to aim it under my armpit. I fired, and he cursed, jumping back. “Wha?!”
I spun onto my back and fired three more shots. The first shot had only startled him. My next three hit him solidly in the chest and stomach. It was different than in the movies. There was no blood spray, only three red dots growing on his shirt. He looked down and frowned as though he hadn’t felt any pain.
He looked up and his face turned red. “Fucking bitch!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. He tackled me, punching me in the face, and—blinded by white and black stars—I pummeled his head with the gun handle. I kept pounding his temple until he fell lax. With a grunt, I kicked him off me.
I pulled myself up into a sitting position, gasping and spitting blood, unable to see through the stars. Every inch of my face hurt. He’d very nearly knocked me out. As my tunnel vision slowly widened, I could see Clutch running toward me. When he got close, he looked at me and then at the guy who was already starting to come back to consciousness. I struggled to aim my gun, but Clutch was in the way. He kicked the man in the gut and then fired two shots at my attacker’s head.
Clutch knelt by me. “You okay?”
I came to my knees, spit out some more blood, and ran my tongue over the nasty cut on my lip. “I need a bigger gun.”
He belted out a single laugh, helped me to my feet, and held me up until the wooziness passed.
I rubbed my cheek. “Damn, that guy hit like a sledgehammer.”
“He’s had plenty of practice.”
I looked up at him, but he was scanning the area.
“The woman…” I said.
“They hurt her. Bad.”
Shivers crawled over my skin. There were too many victims of the zeds already. Adding more unnecessary victims poured acid onto my emotions. I looked over at the guy Clutch had put down. “I’m glad you killed him.”
“Some folks need to die.”
A flurry of movement caught my eye, and I turned to see another man run toward a truck in the distance. “Clutch!” I yelled, wincing at the sharp pain in my cut lip.
Clutch turned, a look of unadulterated fury washed over his face, and he bolted after the man.
The guy was a couple hundred feet away. My .22 was worthless at this distance, so I ran for the truck, jumped in the driver’s seat, and gunned the engine, kicking up pebbles.
Clutch was closing the distance, but he was still too far away. The man had already climbed into a dusty blue minivan. Clutch kept running even as the vehicle cranked around and sped directly toward him.
Clutch stopped, took aim, and fired at the windshield. Buckshot fractured the glass. The minivan was going to hit him head-on, but he fired again. I was on my way to T-bone the van, but I wasn’t going to get there in time.
At the last second, Clutch dove to the side.
I floored it to intersect the van, but it sped away, spinning out on the gravel road before straightening and tearing away from us.
I stopped, got out, and ran toward Clutch.
He was already on his feet, checking the shotgun.
“Are you okay?”
“Fucker got away.” He grimaced. “I didn’t recognize him, but he knows that there’s someone else out here now. We’ll have to be on our guard.”
“If we hurry, we might be able to chase him down.”
He shook his head. “It’ll draw too much attention. We’ll find him again.”
I nodded tightly, and then looked at the bin and started walking.