Genesis by Michaelbrent Collings

bite.
     
    He threw a quick look over his shoulder.  Dorcas was on the ground, the fat man on top of her.  One arm was twisted strangely at her side.  The other was pressed flat against the fat man’s forehead, trying to push his teeth away from her face and throat.  And failing, an inch at a time.
     
    Ken grunted.  Stepped back and tried to play the world’s deadliest game of Crack The Whip as he spun the zombie around in a tight arc.  At the same time, he fell to his side.
     
    The move jerked the lug wrench free with a snap and a spray of blood and sludge.  It also tore the zombie’s head sideways, pulling off a good amount of skin.
     
    There was no way Ken was going to get his feet under him in time to counter any further attack.
     
    But that was the risk he had taken.  Hoping that this zombie, like the others he had seen who had suffered major head trauma, would lose whatever sense guided it to attack only humans.
     
    And it worked.  The thing’s face swiveled as the wrench pulled out of it.  Its gaze fell on the fat zombie that was only an inch from chewing through Dorcas ’ cheek.
     
    The younger monster, still oozing puddles of viscous pink slime, fell on the back of the fat man with a scream.  Began beating at it with fists, biting the back of its neck.
     
    Ken got to his feet and ran at them both.  He body checked the fat man, pushing the squirming mass of madness partway off Dorcas .  Then he yanked her the rest of the way out.  She screamed when he pulled her by her broken arm.  He ignored it.  No time to be gentle.
     
    The young zombie and the fat one were biting at one another.  Screaming.  Blood and flesh started to flow as they pulled each other apart, one piece at a time.
     
    “Come on,” said Ken to Dorcas .  He pulled her to her feet.  She almost fell, her knees wobbly from fear or shock or pain.  “Come on ,” he said again, giving her a quick shake.
     
    He leaned down and scooped the lug wrench off the ground, then stood and put Dorcas ’ good arm over his shoulder.  He didn’t know if she needed it or not, but he wasn’t going to chance his only friend in the Apocalypse falling over and dying of shock.
     
    Not when there are so many more exciting ways to die.
     
    “Ken,” she said.
     
    “If you’re about to say, ‘Just leave me,’ forget it.”
     
    She snorted.  “I was going to say, don’t you dare leave me.  Not after I saved your ass.”
     
    He almost laughed.
     
    But didn’t.  He had to save his breath.  Because he heard something that sounded like thunder.  Only there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
     

34
     
     
     
     
    They were on South Americana Boulevard, crossing West River Street.  A few blocks ahead of them, the massive footings of the I-84 freeway dropped to earth.  The freeway curved and dropped down a ramp and converted gradually to city streets.
     
    The thunder sound was coming from in front of them.  From the rear.  From all sides.
     
    “What is that?” Dorcas panted.
     
    Ken just shook his head.  He had no idea.  But knew it couldn’t be anything good.
     
    Ahead, the darkness where South Americana crossed under the freeway ramp seemed to roil.  It billowed in on itself, then exploded.
     
    Dorcas cursed, the word spitting out of her like a bullet.
     
    It was like the bees again.  Only this time it was a mass of things that had once been human.  He couldn’t make out any details, couldn’t see the eyes or the madly gaping mouths.  But he didn’t have to.  There was something tremendously unnatural in the way they were running.  Pounding along the blacktop at bullet speeds, but not in any way he associated with a panic riot.
     
    They were running as a unit .  Coordinated.  No unnecessary bumping or shoving.  Together in a way that was almost as disconcerting as the mayhem he felt rolling off them in waves.
     
    He skidded to a stop.  Turned.
     
    Saw another dark mass of death speeding at them from