Read Here We Stand (Book 2): Divided (Surviving The Evacuation) for Free Online

truck stopped. All was far from silent. A few horns blared, a few bumpers crunched, and a few voices were raised in anger at a driver who’d not stopped in time. Helena uncurled her fingers from the wheel and turned the engine off.
    They were on a shallow incline. Ahead and to the left, the road curved around a meadow. Beyond was a water tower, and the rooftops of a small town. On the right lay managed woodland.
    Three vehicles ahead, a four-wheel drive jolted forward, knocking down the fence delineating the field from the road. The truck behind it followed, its wheels churning up the dull winter grass. The minivan sped forward, managing ten yards before it got bogged down in the saturated soil. An impatient horn blared from the rig immediately behind. Tom turned in his seat, but the cab was too close for him to see the driver.
    “We’re walking, right?” Helena swiftly sorted through the food in the boxes, muttering, “Can’t take this. Or this. How far to the airfield?”
    “Seventy miles, give or take. Probably a bit less.”
    “We can walk that in three days, right? So water’s more important than food. What about the fuel? Can’t take that, I suppose. Seems a shame to leave it. Another two hours, and we’d have reached the airfield.”
    Two hours in a car, but three days on foot. They had more than enough supplies to sit here and wait that long, but what for? It was over an hour since they’d seen their last zombie, but that was just another way of saying that the nearest zombie was no more than a day’s lurch away. No doubt there were more creatures, and far closer.
    “Yep, we’re walking.” He got out of the truck.
    The driver of the rig stuck his head out of the window.
    “Move forward!” he bellowed. Ignoring him, Tom reached in and picked up the assault rifle. The driver’s head retreated behind the illusory safety of his windshield.
    There was no point moving the vehicle a meager few yards. The driver of the minivan was standing in the meadow by his vehicle, throwing covetous glances at the distant town, and hopeful ones at the people on the road. Perhaps the man was hoping for a push, or a tow. A few other trucks took to the meadow. Tom slung the rifle, checked his pockets for the sat-phone, tablet, and the 9mm he’d taken from RV. He picked up the machete. Helena passed him one of the bags and threw the other over her shoulder. She had her automatic pistol in her hand.
    “Any chance we’re coming back?” she asked. Before he could reply, she answered for him. “No. I guess not.” She dropped the keys on the driver’s seat and closed the door.
    Walking along the median strip, she picked her way through the stalled vehicles. Tom followed, a few paces behind, watching the people. They weren’t the only ones to leave their cars, nor the only ones armed. Most, however, looked better prepared than they were. There was a profusion of lurid fleece jackets, neatly strapped backpacks, and tightly laced boots. By contrast, his and Helena’s mud-splattered clothes, though they were the best pick of a bad selection, looked like rags. The better prepared were drifting off into the woods. It was those dressed in denim and cotton who stayed on the road. Tom’s attention was on the people staying in their vehicles. Usually it was a solitary driver, though sometimes with younger passengers. All exhibited the same shifting nervousness. Each passing refugee was further proof they would have to get out, but only emphasized that they were unlikely to find a better refuge than their vehicles.
    More troubling were the cars with a solitary occupant in the backseat. It was possible that some had weighed the slim chance of rescue as greater than that of a journey through the wilderness, but some were clearly unconscious. He met the eyes of an older man huddled under a tartan rug. The man gave a short, shallow shake of his head. Tom moved on.
    Two cars ahead, he saw a teenager in the backseat of a car. His