“That’s a fire,” I said.

“I see it,” Josh said. “If it was daytime, we’d of seen the smoke all the way from your ex’s, I’m thinking.”

Allison sat up. “That all from the houses over on Mt. Read. We must be a few miles south still. Has it been burning all this time?”

“No one to put it out. Houses are close together,” I said.

“The rain? That shoulda helped,” Dave said.

“It should have, but--”

A tire blew. Sounded like a gun shot, or an explosion. I knew it was the tire when Josh gripped the steering wheel with both hands and fought for control of the car, turning into the skid as we careened back onto the road, and slammed into, of all things, a black Navigator.

Chapter-Thirty-Three

Josh swore before he climbed out of the car. “I’ll change it. Spare’s gotta be in the trunk.”

There was never a good time for a flat tire. This just seemed like the worst. Allison more than likely had a concussion. If we couldn’t manage the flat, we’d be walking again. She needed rest. Not to be walking. I needed the rest, too. I did not have a concussion, but no point in lying. I felt messed up. My muscles were sore already. I dreaded thinking about the pain my body would feel in the morning. Stiff neck, aching back for sure. The last few days has been nothing but car accidents. Injuries and accidents.

“I’ll help,” I said, and then realized I was right and I was right. The tire had blown. And it had been a gunshot. I realized it when Josh climbed out of the car. I heard it again. That distinct pop. Only, instead of a tire blowing, Josh crumbled to the pavement, his hands over his stomach.

Dave screamed. “Josh!”

“Hold on, Dave,” I said. I jumped up and grabbed his shoulder. He had been about to get out of the car. I held him back. “Someone is out there with a gun. If you get out, you get shot.”

“I gotta get Josh!”

“We’re gonna. Get on your belly. Lay across the front seat. I’m gonna do the same back here. We’ll open our doors and see who’s closer, and we’ll pull him back into the car. Stay low, okay?” I said.

Dave seemed to think over what I’d said. Took a bit longer than I expected. Then he nodded, and did as instructed.

“Stay low,” I reminded him. “You too, Allison.”

She was low. Hidden from view.

I squatted. I pushed open the back door.

I saw Josh’s legs. “I have his feet at my end,” I said.

And they were gone. “Josh,” Dave said.

I looked between the bucket seats.

“He was shot,” Dave said.

He was dead. The bullet must have hit him right in the heart. The pool of blood soaked his shirt, but was thickest, wettest, all around the left chest area. I sat back some, and looked out the window. “Some one’s out there with a gun.”

“We’re not safe just sitting here,” Allison said.

As if to punctuate her statement, another shot was fired. My side window spayed rounded pellets of shattered glass all over me. . . I was not cut. I brushed away the pellets. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Allison said.

“They killed my brother,” Dave said. His face pressed in the space between the front seats. “Josh is dead.”

“You need to drive the car, Dave.”

“We have a flat tire. We have a flat tire and Josh is dead. I’m going to kill those motherfuckers!”

I reached for Dave’s arm again, an attempt to stop him. It didn’t work. He shrugged my hand away. He kicked open his door.

I heard a gunshot. Dave dropped to the ground. I screamed, “No!”

The door was still open. “They didn’t get me,” Dave said.

“Get back in the car,” I said. “We need to get out of here!”

“How many of them are there?”

“I don’t know where they are,” I said, but suspected they were closing in on us. I had to assume there was more than one person out there. I also had to assume they did not have the best intentions. If they had, they wouldn’t be shooting at people passing by in cars. We obviously weren’t the infected, the diseased, the zombies. They didn’t want the BMW, or they wouldn’t have taken out a tire. They wanted us, or they wanted whatever it was they thought we had with us.

The car was expensive. Maybe they thought the occupants would be wealthy.

That was lame, because right now -- possible for a long while, money was not going to be worth shit as currency. Bottled water. Canned foods. Cartons of cigarettes. That’s where the gold would come from. Based on everything, I had no idea why someone would shoot at the car, kill Josh, and shoot at Dave, unless it was for bad intentions. I looked at Allison.

If they were men coming at us, she might be in serious trouble. Worse than death. “Dave, drive the car.”

“The tire is flat, Chase.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Get us out of here.”

“I’m going to kill them. They killed my brother.”

“They have guns, Dave. They will kill us all. We don’t know where they are. We don’t know how many of them there are. We do know they are dangerous and deadly. Now stop thinking about yourself and drive the car,” I said.

Dave cursed at me, but he was motivated. He moved his brother’s body into the passenger seat. It took some doing, but he did it, and then he climbed over him and into the driver’s seat. “We’re not going to get very far with a flat tire.”

“We’ve got to get further away from here, at least,” I said.

Allison, at some point must have grabbed my hand. I realized it now as she squeezed it a little too tight. “I don’t like this,” she said.

Sign of the times, I wanted to say. I didn’t. It had not dawned on me until this point. I was worried about surviving the elements, not starving, getting somewhere zombie-free. Never had it crossed my mind, and it should have, holy fuck it should have, to fear other non-infected people.

There would be thieves and robbers, pirates and bandits, gangs and murderers . . . the streets would be dangerous night and day. From the living and the living dead. There would be no peace. No sanctuary from evil.

Evil would pulse like a heartbeat, thrive like its own virus. “Get us out of here, Dave.”

“I’m trying the best I can,” he said.

A bullet ricocheted off the trunk. “Try better,” I said.

Then the rear window exploded as a rain of bullets pinged and ba-chonged off the car.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The bullet that killed Josh had been a chest shot. He must have died fast. I’d wager painless. I’d never been shot, and never died, so painless is relative.

Dave did the best he could. He drove all over the place, making lefts and rights. He managed to get the three of us out of there, out of harm’s way. We wound up on Ridge Road at Fetzner. A hotel to our left, a Five Guys on the right. The mall was further west, past the Five Guys. My apartment was to the left. East of the expressway.

I was anxious to get to my apartment. I knew my kids would be there. Waiting. Scared.

Charlene had a key. Cash did too. But I knew Charlene kept house keys on a Miami Dolphins lanyard, one I’d bought for her years ago. It was our team. Cash wasn’t big on football yet. He liked baseball though. His lanyard was a New York Yankees one. He loved it. But he lost it. Regularly.

Dave stopped in the Marriott parking lot. They called it the Airport Marriott. Airport wasn’t anywhere near Greece, or Ridge Road. It was miles south off Interstate 390, but whatever.

“Dave,” Allison said. I climbed out of the back seat. I opened the passenger door. Carefully I lifted Josh out, set him on the pavement and stared at his lifeless eyes.

“Josh,” Dave said. I looked into the car. Dave had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. His head banged against the headrest, once, twice. The third time he slammed it back. “Get out of the car, Allison.”