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“Jenni, her hand,” Felix said, his voice ragged.

Her eyes fell from the girl’s face to the tiny hand clutching the thick leather of Jenni’s jacket. Blood was seeping from a wound just below the little finger. A chunk of flesh was missing.

“No,” Jenni gasped.

Looking up, she saw the little girl’s dark eyes growing dimmer. Beneath her hands, she could feel the tiny heartbeat growing fainter.

“Jenni!” Felix exclaimed.

“What is it?” the big guy asked.

The woman with the flowing skirts and blond hair prepared to jump down off the van. “W

hat’s wrong?”

The Indian grandparents began to reach down to grab the little girl.

Jenni saw the fire, the spark of life, the spirit, or whatever it is that makes a human something other than a monster fade out of the girl’s eyes. With a scream of anger and fear, she threw the girl away from her.

The child hit the ground and rolled.

Her family cried out in angry tones in their own language.

Then the little girl sprung to her feet, twisted around, and snarled.

2. The Biker From Hell

Rune had been on the road a long time and was anxious to lay his head down for a much needed rest. The big Harley under him roared with power as it raged over the weed infested road. He adjusted the goggles over his eyes and tucked his long braid of white hair into the collar of his leather jacket.

The darkened sky and barren hills were not welcoming. He had a bad feeling the day was going to get worse fast. He was on his way to meet up with his old buddy, Dale, and a bunch of other people who had escaped a rescue center outside of Waco. Since the zombie rising, he had been on the road nearly nonstop. He had been by the rescue center once before, and it had seemed safe enough. Barely any zombies had been stumbling around in that town. But on his last cruise by the old center, he had nearly been dragged off his bike by a throng of zombies. A few grenades into the crowd had cleared his way. His helmet and leathers had kept him safe from hungry mouths and grasping dead hands. It had been a fluke that he had seen the spray painted message and map on a billboard outside of town.

The message had been simple: “Going to the Fort. ” The map had been a little confusing, but Rune already knew where the fort was located. He had the misfortune of meeting up with some bandits that had designs on a fortified construction site down in Ashley Oaks a few months back.

Hopefully, the fort was still standing.

Rune never stayed long in any of the survivor encampments he had come across. He didn’t like trusting his safety to others. Most of the time, the survivors had very little food or weapons and were just holding tight waiting for rescue. They were damn fools and they didn’t like it when he told them that. People had a tough time figuring out that no one was coming to save them. They were on their own and the longer they waited, the more vulnerable they became to the undead hordes.

In a field next to the winding road, a herd of cows slowly sauntered toward shelter as the wind grew colder. It smelled like an ice storm, and Rune hoped to God in Heaven the fort was still alive and that he’d be able to grab a cot for the night.

The Harley roared around a long curve, and Rune quickly braked as a bunch of vehicles parked on the road came into view. Sliding his Glock out of its holster, he wove through the tangle of big vehicles. As the bike came out the other side, he saw a group of people milling around among the remains of some pretty rancid zombies.

A young man with blond hair and a worried expression looked toward him, surprise filling his features. “Hey, you!”

“Hey, yourself,” Rune answered grumpily.

Ahead of him was a van covered in zombie guts and blood. A few people were on top of it, moving to get down, while others were reaching up to help.

“Hey! You! Slow down! Who are you?” the young man persisted, jogging to keep up.

To everyone’s surprise, a young woman suddenly hurled a little girl across the road just in front of Rune’s bike. He skidded to a stop, one foot planted firmly on the bloodied asphalt.

The child jumped to its feet, whirled around, and let out the terrifying screech of the walking dead. The little girl hurtled across the road straight for the startled humans, all of them raising their weapons. Rune was faster and his Glock barked. The bullet slammed into the side of the kid’s head, blowing a pretty good size hole out the other side. The little zombie crashed to the ground.

As the gunshot echoed away into the distance, the surviving humans all stared down at the small, sad figure. One by one, their gazes shifted toward him.

“Name is Rune. Just passing through,” he said. The battle appeared to be over, but he was not sticking around for any grand finale.

“Good to see you, you sonofabitch,” a gruff, familiar voice called out.