Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor Read Free

of the truck and a spray of gore—or a random body part—colored the puddled pavement.
    "It's gonna be rough going for a bit," Joey called from the cabin; "the highway is littered with abandoned cars."
    "Do you have enough room?" Hank poked his balding dome inside the sliding rear window. 
    "Damn, pop!" Joey swerved.  "Don't stick your head in the window like that!"
    "All right, all right!" Hank fixed his glasses.  "Easy on the wheel there, Joe."
    "Listen," Joey held up a finger, "I had a fuckin' fuckhead try and eat the back of my skull like that, so I don't want anyone sticking their head through windows—got it?"
    "I'll second that," said Matty; "I had one get an arm through, too."
    "Good, I'm glad we're all clear on that point." Joey shuddered. 
    Matty watched zombies milling around the jumble of cars.  Some of them, staggering in irregular circles, tumbled off the side of the elevated roadway.  With every flash and rumble, the undead seemed to twitch or cringe.
    It's like they're all hung over—or still drunk from the night before .  He watched a zombie walk into a van, step back, and then repeat the process.  They're not even looking in our direction . 
    "Dana," Matty leaned toward the window, "do you think the confusion we're seeing in the munchers is because of starvation or could it be the infection dying off?  If it attacked the nervous system, maybe there's some degeneration of motor functions over time."
    "I really don't know." Dana shrugged. "I'd have to do some tests to understand how it infects the body, but even then it's not my area of expertise.  Sorry."
    "Who cares!" Joey swerved around a tractor, scraping against a concrete barrier.  "Whatever it is, I'll take the handicapped version any day."
    "I hear ya, bro," Matty said, "but I want to know if it's happening everywhere or just in areas where they haven't fed in a while.  If the infection destroys the host's nervous system and burns itself out, we might have a shot of rebuilding in our lifetime."
    "And if it's just the zombies around here—or it's just the storm—then what?" Joey glanced in the rearview mirror.  "We have to expect the worst, Matty.  The shit has hit the fan and it splattered all over the room.  It's a fuckin' mess, bro, and clean-up is going to be a fuckin' mess."
    "I'm not an optimist, Joey—you know that." Matty took a deep breath. "But if it's going to be a non-stop shitstorm, then why are we bothering to fight?  So we can live a life filled with—"
    "So we can live!" Joey yelled and slapped the dashboard.  "That's the whole point!  We're alive and I have no plans on that changing.  Do you?"
    Matty turned away and stared off into the dark sky.  "No."
    "Good!" Joey gunned it as the truck cleared a jumble of vehicles and entered an open section of the highway.  "Then let's concentrate on staying alive."
    Do we want to live in this world? Matty turned the thought over in his mind.  What's the point?  I don't know .  He leaned back, huddling under the tarp, and closed his eyes.  When does it become pointless?   As he dozed, hazy daydreams of running and hiding from zombies filled Matty's mind; in all of these visions, he watched lines stretch over skin and gray hair replace brown, but there was no rest to be found.   I need a reason to grow old.  I need a reason to live . 
    "Hey Pop," Joey tapped on the rear window; "how far until we cut through Hatchet?"
    Hank ran a finger along the map, pushed his glasses back into place, and pursed his lips.  "I'd guess about three or four miles, Joe.  We'll pass through it in a minute or two, though." He peered closer at the map. "It's barely two miles across and the highway cuts through the narrowest part of the town."
    "You and Matty keep an eye out.  I'm only stoppin' if you see something worthwhile."
    The rain had relinquished and low rumblings rolled in from the distance; subdued flashes lit the sky sporadically, but the heart of the storm had