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“This was a mistake,” yelled Dave as he stared out the window at the dark, lurching shapes gathering even faster than the gloomy clouds on the horizon. “Why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

Craig peered through a crack between the aluminum louvers of the narrow window. “Stop bitching. You know that coming here was smart. Listening to me is the smartest thing you’ve ever done.” The numbers outside were increasing, but he wasn’t surprised. Moaners had been gathering steadily ever since Craig, Dave, and Mandy had first arrived at the house. Sometimes nearby; sometimes at the far, far end of the street, near the Junior High. “You’re the kind of guy that drinks the half glass of water, then smashes it ‘cause it’s no longer only half-frickin’-empty.”

Dave shot Craig a vicious stare, his lips contorting into the shape of unvoiced expletives. “Have you looked at the water levels lately?” He turned back to the scene outside. “Well, have you?"

“Mandy’s working on the well pump. It might be fixable.” He changed his angle and looked down the street the other way, into the feeble rays of the setting sun, murky behind the grey clouds. “Just chill out for now, okay?”

Dave abandoned his post and stormed toward Craig. “Chill out? Well, I guess we might all chill out when we freeze to death over the winter. Or haven’t you noticed the propane is almost gone, too?” He pointed at the floor. “This here, this place ... this was a mistake. We should have headed for the Army base straight away. But, no. No, you insisted that we come here. ‘Brant’s place will be safer,’ you said. ‘Brant’s ready for any emergency.’ I should have never believed you. Then Mandy and I would be safe, not trapped here with you.”

Craig couldn’t stand it any longer. This confrontation had been building for weeks, months. Dave was an ungrateful snot, useless in a fight, and panicky at any sign of one. “If it wasn’t for me, you and Mandy would be dead ... or worse.” He gestured around at their location. “I was right. Brant’s place is a frickin’ fortress. He built it for just this kind of thing. Most of his friends laughed at him when he did, but not me. No, I asked for an extra set of keys so I could take care of the place during all of his business trips. If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t have been able to get in here. We would have been stuck outside ... with them.”

As the sun set, the gathering throng began its nightly wail, the moans and screams and shrieks mixing in an oddly harmonic thrum that somehow managed to pass through the bulletproof glass and reinforced concrete walls to permeate their souls. Craig hated that sound. He saw Dave quiver as it rose up.

Dave’s contorted face froze, then melted into a mask of depression and resignation. “We’d be at the Army base.”

Craig shook his head. “No we wouldn’t. You heard the last reports on the radio. The Interstate was a charnel house ... an undead killing field.” He huffed out a breath. “We don’t know that the base even held against the initial assault. And if it did, whether it’s maintained against the increasing numbers.” He looked around the house. “This place was safer. Propane to heat and cook. Well and septic. Two generators. Stockpiled food. Hydroponic garden. Reinforced doors and windows. Everything Brant needed to survive the zombie apocalypse.”

Dave shook his head. “Except he didn’t.”

“He didn’t what?”

“He didn’t survive the zombie apocalypse. He never showed up after the outbreak started, never made it to the safety of his own private castle.”

“Maybe he was out of town. Maybe he’s safe somewhere.” Craig shrugged. “Who cares? It just means more supplies for us.”

Dave’s brow furrowed. “You don’t get it, do you? That’s the problem. We’ve stayed holed up here too long. That’s the thing with zombies. The longer you wait, the more there are. It’s been eight months since the outbreak and we’re just sitting here.”

“Safe and sound,” replied Craig. “We’re sitting here safe and sound.” He stared off at the far wall, no longer willing to meet Dave’s gaze ... Dave’s logic. “Brant’s preparedness saved us all. It was the right decision.”

Mandy wandered into the room, a pipe wrench in her hand and a toolbelt on her hips. “Electrical unit for the pump is fried.”

“How can that be?” demanded Dave. “Those things usually last twenty, thirty years, don’t they?”

Craig saw Mandy roll her eyes. He knew that her budding romance with Dave had decayed as quickly as the body parts left in the streets during the first weeks of the zombie uprising. Odd parts had putrefied back then, when fresh meat was easy to come by and leftovers had time to rot. Now, there were too many zombies and not enough fresh flesh left to be eaten—now victims were gnawed to the cracked bone and the marrow sucked out by the ravening mobs of moaners.

“Don’t think anyone’s going to honor the warranty,” snipped Mandy. “Besides, I think the fluctuating, low voltage from the generator burned it out before its time. Probably not covered.”

“That’s it, then,” murmured Dave. “We die of frickin’ thirst.” He stared at Craig and narrowed his eyes. “I’m not drinking my pee. Understood?”

“Jesus, Dave,” replied Craig. “Don’t get so dramatic. I’m not drinking your pee, either. Okay?” He gestured toward the pantry. “Most of the food is freeze-dried, but there’s still some canned goods. You know, peas and corn and stuff packed in water. Besides the rain barrels should pick up more now than they did over the summer, at least until things freeze during the winter.”

“You mean when we freeze,” murmured Dave.

Mandy interrupted. “Maybe not.”

They both turned to look at her.

“You ever look under the tarp in the garage and check out Brant’s wheels?”

Craig shook his head. “Nah. The Beemer wasn’t in its usual parking spot when we pulled in with my Camry. I assumed the tarp is over the old Cherokee that Brant used to use to go camping.”

“Me, too,” replied Mandy with a head bob. “But I got curious when I was passing through the garage, coming up from the basement.”

“What is it?” whispered Dave, his eyebrows raised, his eyes puppy-dog wide and plaintive.

Mandy actually smiled. “Come look-see.”

Mandy had apparently left the garage light on when she left—a terrible waste of power when you are on generators with limited propane—but Craig didn’t care, not one little bit, when he turned the corner and saw the massive, red metallic and gleaming chrome Mercedes SUV.

“See,” beamed Mandy. “He has a bitchin’ Jeep. Brand new. Still has the sticker on it.”

Craig glided toward the sticker as if in a daze. “It’s not a Jeep. It’s a Mercedes G63 AMG, loaded. It cost more than my condo.” He slid his hand down the window with the sticker while he read about all the features. “Five hundred thirty-six horsepower. Extreme off-road capability. Great ground clearance. Can climb a 36° grade with more than 28° of sideways tilt. It’s got a chrome rail guard up front to protect the vehicle body when you are going through brush. ABS, killer sound system. And more, lots more.”

Dave looked over Craig’s shoulder for a few seconds, then huffed and turned away. “Nice to know you can still have an orgasm, Craig, but I don’t think that Parktronic and Blind Spot Assist and Distronic Plus, whatever the hell that is, is going to save us. Unless it magically produces water, all it’s good for is a source of carbon monoxide when we find the thirst and the cold to be unbearable. We can all commit suicide in comfy leather seats listening to killer tunes.” He paused for a moment and his voice became less sarcastic and more wistful. “Drifting to sleep seems preferable to freezing ... or getting torn to shreds.”

Mandy, still at the entrance to the garage, threw up her arms. “You don’t get it, do you, Dave?” She turned to Craig. “Explain it to him. My ex-boyfriend is not only a whiner, he’s an idiot.”

Dave started. “Ex-boyfriend?”

Craig cut him off. “Duh. But, not now. Jesus, please let’s not get into that. Not now. Let’s stick to the subject. Survival. We never would have gotten anywhere safe in my old Camry, not anywhere but here. It’s light and low and not build for anything but streets and highways, but this ...” He walked around the vehicle as he spoke, not looking at the others, but only at his salvation. “This is different. Brant was more prepared than we knew. He was not only prepared to stay; he was prepared to leave. With this, we can leave the road if it becomes impassable, we can mow down the zombies if they stand in our way, we can push through a roadblock or a barrier or go around and down into a ditch and back up and out. This, this can take us to safety, if there is any to be found. We don’t have to kill all the moaners, just the ones that get in our way.”

Mandy grinned. “Thought you would like it.”

Craig grinned back. “Great find. Let’s load up supplies. We’ll leave at first light. That should give us good visibility for three, four hundred miles before we need to worry about what’s hidden in the dark.”

They worked all night. Frankly, it was the hardest they had worked since they had arrived, but Craig didn’t mind, not one bit. He knew that things might go bad, go very, very bad. A destroyed bridge over a deep river, a cliff—as tricked out as the SUV was, it couldn’t swim or fly. And there was no assurance there was anyplace safe left to go. But they would escape with plenty of style and power to spare. Ever since the outbreak, he had wanted some payback ... had wanted not to feel helpless. And with five hundred thirty-six horsepower and a kangaroo grill, he aimed to take a few zombies out along the way.

Hell, there were so many now, he wouldn’t have to aim.

He could tell Mandy felt the same way. She was the happiest he had ever seen her ... and smart, too. She made good decisions about what to pack and what to leave. They filled the back of the SUV, as well as most of the back seat. There was just enough room left there for Dave.

Craig was driving. Mandy was riding shotgun at Craig’s insistence. Not only was she literally riding with a shotgun, Craig couldn’t deal with the possibility that Dave would scream like a school girl every time a moaner went flying over the hood.

Finally, they were locked, loaded, and ready to go.

Craig fired up the engine and revved it a few times, listening to the throaty roar of power in response. He elected four-wheel drive to start—he could always switch it off if unneeded once they got to speed—then thumbed the fob to open the automatic garage door, flipped on the headlights high beam (even though they probably weren’t necessary in the dawn’s early light), paddled the transmission to drive, and punched down on the accelerator.

He was pressed back against the cushy, leather seatback as the car rocketed into the morning, down the straight driveway and, with a quick jerk of the wheel, onto the street. He wasn’t sure if it was the bright lights or the roar of the engine, but the few moaners nearby lurched out of the way as he made the turn and barreled toward the bulk of the hoard, now congregated by the school.

Uh oh.

As he straightened the car out and picked up speed, more moaners scattered, some of them so intent on gnawing on pale white bones as they shuffled forward they barely made it out of the way, but that’s not what concerned Craig. There were plenty of zombies to kill; he didn’t care which ones he hit. No, the concerning thing was a stuttering in the speed of the SUV as they pushed on. He felt his back jerk forward just slightly then slam back again, then jerk forward in a brief burst of staccato deceleration and acceleration.

Dave apparently noticed, too. “Jesus, Craig. Don’t you know how to drive a stick shift?”

“Yes, I do,” snapped Craig as his eyes ran over the instrumentation, “but it’s in automatic mode, now, so that shouldn’t matter.”

“Maybe the gas has gone bad, sitting so long,” suggested Mandy as her body jerked forward and back as the car farted forward.

“Should have thought of that back in the garage,” whined Dave.

Craig eyed the tachometer. “Revs are smooth.” Despite the hesitation in the acceleration, they were still picking up some speed.

“You’re not supposed to drive a new vehicle at top speed for the first two hundred miles,” suggested Dave.

“Shut up,” growled Craig. He flicked his eyes over to Mandy. “Check the manual.”

She nodded and started pawing through the map compartment.

But then they hit a smooth patch—clean gas ... lighter, hotter oil working through—Craig didn’t know and didn’t care. As the power began to surge through the vehicle and their speed increased, he stopped focusing on the dashboard and instead looked ahead, toward the mass of moaners completely blocking the road a quarter mile ahead.

Time for warp speed. Thank heaven Brant didn’t skimp on the options.

He punched it, thankful for the bellowing power that surged in response.

Mandy gasped.

Yeah, baby, I’m gonna plow through these suckers. He flicked his eyes toward her, expecting her to be staring wide-eyed through the windshield at the zombie carnage he was about to inflict, but instead she was staring at the manual, open on her lap.

That’s when, without any action by him, his body lurched forward, straining against the seat belt as the car braked heavily. Boxes and cans and crap flew forward from the back of the car, peppering him with bruises as the big, powerful SUV came screeching to a halt, inches away from the near edge of the massed zombie hoard.

“What the ...” Craig screamed, pounding at the steering wheel in frustration as the zombies engulfed the SUV and began rocking it. Dead flesh pressed against the windows and an unholy stench began to filter in despite the top-end climate control. He felt Mandy’s hand on his arm and looked over at her, her face terrified, tears streaming from her eyes.

“I found out what Distronic Plus means,” she said, looking down at the manual.

“Who the hell cares?” shouted Craig.

“You don’t understand. It slows you down, it stops you, if you’re about to hit anything, anyone. It’s a collision avoidance system. State of the art.”

The moaners were rhythmically jostling the big SUV back and forth now.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Bits of dead flesh and ooze flew up as dead hands and heads pounded on the glass.

“Damn Brant,” he growled as Dave started bawling in the back seat. “Always had to have every single option.”

Mandy laughed maniacally, pointing at the print. “It comes standard.”

A super-powered SUV with frickin’ collision avoidance. What kind of lame ass vehicle was that for a zombie apocalypse?

The moaners pushed again and the shotgun Mandy had tucked next to her started to fall to the floor as the SUV wavered, then whomped back from two wheels to four after the push, but Craig managed to snag the gun with a quick grab.

The no-brainers would tip them over in a few moments.

All this luxury, but there was only one option left.

Two shells loaded. The rest had fallen to the floor, out of reach.

First Mandy, then himself.

Dave was on his own.

Nobody likes a whiner ... except maybe a moaner.

(Originally published in Bumps in the Road, Edited by Chad Lutzke (Black Bed Sheet 2016))