Soma (The Fearlanders) by Duncan Joseph

Author:Duncan, Joseph [Duncan, Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Cobra E-books
Published: 2014-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

30

About twenty minutes later, as they approached a little town called Penrod, they saw another crucified man.

Soma spotted him first and pointed at the figure in horror. A chain-link fence stood at the edge of the village on which several signs had been affixed, offering visitors a “downhome welcome” and advertising some of the local churches. The condemned man had been hung from the chain-link panel that supported the signs, bound at the wrists and ankles. “Oh, Perry, another one!” Soma cried, and Perry slowed with a glowering expression. He intended to put the man out of his misery, as he had the others.

Below the condemned man was a placard that read: THOU SHALT NOT CONSORT WITH THE LIVING. A different transgression, though the punishment was the same.

The man hung with head down, so Soma could not see if his jaw had been removed like the others. There were no arrows this time, but his clothes were varnished with zombie blood, black and glossy. His persecutors had beaten him before hanging him from the billboard. His flesh was tattered, his limbs unnaturally jointed.

Perry parked the truck at the foot of the welcome sign. He held out his hand for the pistol. Soma slapped it in his palm and he opened his door.

As soon as he opened his door, they heard the wasp-like whine of another vehicle.

They exchanged anxious looks, listening intently.

“It’s coming closer,” Perry said after a moment. He leaned out the door, shot the condemned man in the head, then plopped back down in the seat. He passed Soma the pistol, but instructed her to keep it handy. “Don’t put it away,” he said as he threw the Ford into gear and took off. “We might need it.”

It seemed to Soma that they were heading in the direction of the approaching vehicle. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Gonna hide in one of the side streets,” Perry said.

The town of Penrod was not a large one. Perry wheeled onto the first intersecting street and cut across the parking lot of a gas station. He parked behind a dumpster, killed the engine of the Ford and told Soma to duck.

“Is it still coming?” Soma asked, crouching as far down in the seat as she could.

Perry rolled down the window a couple inches. The whine of the approaching vehicle had changed pitch. It was higher now. Closer.

“Yeah, it’s still coming. Stay down.”

She realized she was still clutching the pistol. She looked down at it, moved her index finger to the trigger. She wanted to give it to Perry -- she wasn’t sure she could actually use it, not on a human being, not even in self-defense -- but Perry had grabbed his rifle, was holding it in one hand as he peeked over the windowsill.

A couple of minutes later, a large black truck of indeterminate make roared down the street, speeding in the direction they had just come. Refuse and fallen leaves swept after the truck, borne up in its wake.

“Dust,” Perry said.

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