Read Dead Highways (Book 3): Discord for Free Online

growl at her like a lion.
    Grrrrrrrr!
    Stop trying to boss me around, pussycat. I’m a fucking lion. I’m the king of the jungle. I’m Simba.
    Grrrrrrrr!
    But I didn’t growl at her because I knew she was right—that and I had more in common with a farm animal than a lion. It was true that while I didn’t have the gun skills of Ted or even Robinson (I was more like Harry from Dumb and Dumber), I was better than her.
    My big claim to fame.
    I was a better shot with a gun than a woman who used to trade blowjobs for cash money.
    I’d take it.
    I grudgingly switched places with Peaches. In the passenger seat, I took out Sally and made sure she still loved me. It had been at least a week since she’d gotten any action. She always let me be in command, my Sally, never talked back or had a bad word to say about me. The perfect woman.
    We got moving again, leaving the golf course once and for all. Ted led us out into the street, west down St. Charles Avenue. Abandoned cars cluttered both sides of the street, giving us tough passage. Fortunately, the median contained an old streetcar railway. Even better, the police had blocked all traffic from crossing to the opposite side of the street, leaving our path wide open for many blocks.
    Not so surprisingly, the infected also found the train tracks better for travel. For her part, Peaches did a great job maneuvering around the dead. Because they were heading the same direction as us, most didn’t see us coming until it was too late—until we were many yards in front of them. They’d moan and trudge forward faster but not near fast enough to catch up to us.
    Despite following on Robinson’s bumper, which was risky enough, I was most worried about Aamod and Naima behind us. I kept looking back, making sure they were okay. Naima didn’t have any way to defend them if some renegade zombie should grab hold of their cart. Her father was more than willing to drive and shoot, a pump shotgun no less, if it came down to it. So far, the shotgun remained down by his waist, but still I sat nervously in the cart in front of them, glancing back every few seconds, expecting to hear the deafening sound of his shotgun crack apart the quiet morning air.
    We rode the train tracks down to South Carrollton Avenue and then continued following the tracks north. Very few infected chose to follow us. Carrollton was even more packed than St. Charles, but the median was just as clear. The police most likely wanted to keep the tracks unobstructed for quick transport of people or supplies during the first days of the outbreak.
    About a mile and a half later, we came to an abrupt stop at a major intersection where Carrollton met Claiborne Avenue. It was the end of the line for the train tracks. We stopped under an awning where people used to sit and wait in the shade for the next streetcar to stop. Today the benches were empty, but the highway in front of us was anything but. Parked cars everywhere, bumper to bumper, including in the middle of the intersection.
    Ted hopped out of his cart and started talking to Robinson and Bowser. After a moment, I joined them.
    “We gotta find another way,” Robinson said. “We’ll never make it. We’ve been lucky so far. But…just look at that. It’s not like we can just drive through them.”
    Them.
    Zombies. Hundreds. Navigating through the crowd of cars west down Claiborne.
    “We might have to ditch the carts,” Ted said. “Find a way to sneak by.”
    Robinson shook his head. “You sure there’s not another way.”
    “In order to get to Dixon we have to cross this Claiborne, unless you want to backtrack and take the long way around. And I’m talking hours, not minutes. And even then, there’s no guarantee we don’t run into worse conditions somewhere else. Forget that these carts won’t last that long anyway. I can check the map again if you like. But the map can only help us determine the shortest route, not the safest.”
    “Go. Check again,”