After The Zombies Came: Day 22
Stephen gunned the accelerator and felt the Ape 50’s front wheel slipping. “Italian piece of shit,” he muttered, his breath crystallizing in the unheated cabin.
The figure haunting the narrow road was hitching toward him. He slapped the stick to Reverse, pacing wider the gap between himself and his adversary. The mid-day light illuminated the sky of snowflakes as the helixed to the earth, painting white all but the hood of the Ape and the shoulders of the thing in his way. First, second, third — Stephen slowly brought the scooter-truck to speed, taking aim. He eyed the axe on floorboard. The figure in the road shrieked as he sped toward it. “Fucking shit, fucking shit,” yelped Stephen as he assessed his target’s frantic waves, “mother fucking human.”
His tug on the steering handles came too late. The windshield cracked as his victim rolled over, resting briefly in the tiny truck bed before being thrown as it careened off the gravel shoulder. Stephen felt his jaw crack as his head smashed into the cabin ceiling. His knees fell into his chest as he was tossed. His thoughts turned to the axe loose in the cabin; he could hear it clanking near his upturned feet. Another tumble: his lip split. A grove of cedars braked the Ape.
Stephen tongued the roof of his mouth, wiggled his loosened molars, and spat a mouth full of blood at the driver’s side window, which faced the snowy ground. He closed his eyes to rest a while, not minding his rag doll contortion. He wished he could reach his flask without moving the arm he reckoned was broken.
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