Last Pandemic (Book 2): Escape The City by Westfield Ryan

Author:Westfield, Ryan [Westfield, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Pandemic | Survival
Published: 2019-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

20

Joe

Joe didn’t hit the brakes, but he took his foot off the accelerator. He put the truck into neutral and let it just coast to a stop. It didn’t take long, as the bumpy terrain slowed it down considerably.

“What’s the plan, Joe?” said Sean.

“Fight,” said Joe simply.

“No chance to sneak up on them, I guess?” said Sean, the sarcasm in his voice barely concealing his fear.

“Nope.”

They weren’t far from the vehicles.

No one moved. But all eyes were on them.

“Who makes the first move?”

“Don’t get out until we have to,” said Joe.

Seconds passed that felt like minutes. Then actual minutes passed.

Joe’s hands were sweaty on his shotgun. And they just kept getting sweatier.

“So this is going to be it, right, Joe?” said Sean, his voice barely above a whisper from the passenger seat.

Joe didn’t answer.

But he knew Sean was right. There were too many of them. This wasn’t a fight. This would be suicide. They’d be lucky if they took out one or two of the others. And even that wasn’t likely to happen.

“We’re not doing this,” said Joe, suddenly changing his mind. “I’m turning around.”

He cranked the engine, put the truck in gear, and spun the wheel sharply as he stepped on the gas.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re not going to give up this easy. Not going to give them the chance to just kill us like this.”

“But...”

“What’s your problem? You want to die?”

Joe didn’t understand what Sean’s objection was about. A minute ago, it certainly hadn’t seemed like Sean was ready for a final stand.

“They’re not going to let us get away.”

It turned out that those were Sean’s final words.

A gunshot echoed loudly, audible even over the truck’s rattling suspension bumping up and down, even over the roar of the old engine as it tried to comply with the demands of the gas pedal.

For a moment, Joe wrongly thought that he had been hit himself. But nothing hurt. And he was still alive.

Joe glanced to his right, a sinking feeling in his stomach even before he saw it.

Sean’s head had been hit. It must have been a large caliber bullet, the skull exploding outward, a cavernous opening remaining. Bits of skull on the upholstery. Bits of blood and brain on Joe’s shirt.

Somehow, Joe kept driving.

The situation felt surreal. His friend of many years was dead.

Fear overcame the rage, and he pressed the accelerator as far down as it would go.

The tachometer was above the red line, pushing the limit. The engine was whining.

Joe slammed in the clutch, pulled the gearshift down, wrenched it into second.

Foot on the accelerator again, having barely taken it off. Not good for the clutch, but that certainly wasn’t important now.

There wasn’t really anywhere to go. The enemy was blocking the road. No chance to turn around, at least not now that a shot had already been fired.

So instead of swinging around, Joe hung onto the wheel and decided to head down into the arroyo. After all, there was nowhere else to go.

It was a dry creek bed off to the left.

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