Page 84 of Glass Rose
“You’re either braver than you look or dumber,” John says.
Probably the latter. I check my grandfather’s knife strapped to my thigh, ensuring it’s secure. “Let’s do this before I change my mind.”
Gavin grabs a metal handrail that’s come loose from the side of the bus, testing its weight in his hand. “Give us two minutes to draw them away from you. When I yell ‘now,’ you go. Don’t hesitate.”
“Don’t die,” I say.
He almost smiles. “Copy that.”
Gavin helps John to his feet, supporting his weight as they move toward the front. If this is the last time I see him…
No.
I won’t go there.
I crouch by the rear door, peeking through a crack in the seatbelt barricade, but there are too many infected. So many of them that their combined weight rocks the bus.
A sudden, deafening crash reverberates through the enclosed space, making me flinch. It’s Gavin slamming the metal rail at the front.
“Hey!” John’s voice booms, stronger than I thought possible given his condition. “Fresh meat over here, you brain-dead fucks!”
Another crash, louder this time. The infected on my side pause, heads swiveling toward the commotion. A third crash, followed by Gavin’s voice joining John’s. The infected begin to shuffle toward the front of the bus, hoping for easier prey.
Sadly, not all of them are that stupid. A few remain fixated on me, pawing at the glass, but enough that the exit might be viable.
The bus rocks harder as the horde redistributes, clustering where Gavin continues his percussion performance against anything metal he can find.
I have one shot at this. One.
“NOW!” Gavin shouts through the chaos.
I rip away the seatbelt barricade and surge with my shoulder against the door. It gives with a reluctant screech, opening for me to squeeze through. The remaining infected hurl toward the sudden movement, but I’m already out, already running, my feet barely touching the pavement.
My lungs burn after just twenty yards.
Fuck cardio, seriously.
I should have spent less time in the lab and more time on a treadmill, but who could have known a zombie apocalypse was going to be the next big crisis?
Imagine the ads for it: Don’t want to die in a zombie apocalypse? Join Lasting Survivors Fitness, because Cardio Saves Lives!
Add it to the pile of ‘things I wish I’d prioritized in my early twenties.’
The SUV waits where we left it, a sleek black beacon of potential salvation, if I can just reach it before my body gives out or the infected catch on to our plan.
I don’t look back. One foot in front of the other, my side cramping, sweat stinging my eyes despite the cool air, but I don’t slow down.
How did I ever think I could pull this off? I’m a scientist, not an action hero. I identify viruses in petri dishes, I don’t outrun them in the streets.
The black frame grows larger with each step. Twenty yards. Ten. Five. My hand slaps against the driver’s side door, fumbling with the handle before swinging it open and throwing myself inside as the first infected reaches the vehicle, leaving smears of black fluid on the window.
I lock the car and turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, a beautiful sound in this nightmare landscape.
Let’s do this.
I crank the radio to full volume, some electro-pop song blaring through the speakers with obscene cheerfulness. The bass thumps hard enough to vibrate the entire vehicle. I jam the horn until my palm aches, creating a wall of sound that cuts through even the moans of the infected. They respond exactly as hoped, turning from the bus toward this new, louder stimulus.
“Exactly. Follow the nice loud car.” I rev the engine aggressively, the SUV jerking forward a few feet before Islam on the brakes, creating another attention-grabbing noise.
