Gray grit his teeth and yanked the wheel. The car wove through mobs of infected. Past scenes of madness and savagery. The Klowns turned and acknowledged them with the delighted surprise of seeing old friends.
Wade looked behind them. The crazies chased them in a laughing stampede.
Ahead, men on ladders were busy crucifying a cop to a telephone pole.
“Problem,” said Gray.
Rawlings glared at the back of his head as if looks could kill.
“Jesus Christ,” said Fisher. The man was losing it. “What the hell now?”
“Gas,” Gray barked back at him. “We’re on the reserve tank.”
“We’re not far from Hanscom,” Wade pointed out. “Maybe a mile.”
“Might as well be a hundred,” Fisher told him.
The car sputtered. Gray pounded the wheel.
“End of the road,” said Gray.
Another residential street. Abandoned cars, broken glass. They got out and stared at the flood of laughing maniacs pouring up the road.
Nobody gave the order. They knew what to do. They started firing.
–from THE RETREAT by Craig DiLouie, Joe McKinney and Stephen Knight