Deadhead: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller by Phil Maxey

Author:Phil Maxey [Maxey, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Philip Maxey
Published: 2024-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CLARA

The truck slowed then stopped, the rear door quickly being opened and Clara pulled out onto the ground, where she stood, not able to see due to the foul smelling rag covering her eyes and nose. She had spent most of the journey breathing through her mouth, meaning her throat was now bone dry.

A hand grabbed hers that were tied behind her back, and she was pulled backwards, almost making her stumble, then held in place for a moment before the blindfold was removed.

The blonde woman standing in front of her was smiling, but Clara was more interested in the picturesque scene in front of her and the fact that she was now handcuffed to a metal pole behind her.

“There you are princess. Right where you need to be.” The woman backed away. “They should be along soon, but if I were you I wouldn’t make a fuss, in case they are delayed and the biters sniff you out. Okay?”

Clara wanted to scream, instead she tightened her jaw as a cool brash wind blew across her from the expanse of water to her right.

The woman smiled again. “You’re a feisty one. British as well! He’ll love you!”

Clara watched the woman saunter away then get into the truck. It quickly pulled onto a long road which was bordered by a series of houses on its right edge, they being only tens of yards from the body of water, which from the smell and the seagulls she presumed was the sea.

Once the truck was out of sight, she started to struggle with the metal clasp over her wrist, while scanning the nearby fields, gardens and trees for any sign of movement. If the undead spotted her, there would be no way to defend herself.

As she pulled and twisted her hands, she mentally did the arithmetic to calculate how far she must have been driven. At least two hours on the road, not driving at a particularly high speed. They even stopped a few times. And she was back on the coast, although east or west of the Connecticut river, she had no idea.

The cuffs banged and scrapped on the smooth painted surface of the pole, despite her attempt to keep her efforts quiet. She had seen people in films, break their thumbs, squeezing their hands free. It always looked painful and she secretly wondered if she could ever do the same, but as she pulled and pulled the pain surging into her knuckles and wrist was threatening to—

The figure ten-feet away clipped the side of chain hanging from a fence, the rattle vibrating across the rusting links.

Clara froze, her mind racing for any possible way to avoid being eaten alive. It was a heavyset man in his thirties maybe, and a good few inches taller than her. He was almost naked from the waist up with large chunks of flesh missing from his chest, exposing ribs. The wind changed and with it came the putrid smell of rotting human tissue. He

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