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all sides.
    Smith revved the engine and edged the Pontiac slowly forward. Zombies clung to the car and stood in front of us, preventing a fast getaway.
    “Get out the way, you rotten pieces of shit,” Smith yelled.
    The back windshield shattered, showering the rear seats and the back of our necks with chunks of broken glass. Grasping hands reached in through the broken window, trying to seize hold of anything they could. A middle aged, female zombie, who looked like a former hippy, tried to climb through the broken window. Fortunately for us, she wasn’t quite slim enough to fit the whole way through the gap. Her torso and shoulders squeezed inside the car but her excessive belly stopped her crawling all the way inside. She reached out with a seizing hand at the back of Smith’s hair. He tilted the Desert Eagle backwards and fired a shot into the woman’s head. The skull evaporated into a mist of crimson. Blood and brain particles splattered the Pontiac interior and showered us with clammy clumps of flesh and bone.
    “Ah, Jesus, that’s fucking disgusting,” I whimpered.
    “Quit bellyaching,” Smith growled. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
    The car inched forward but the throng of zombies surrounding us weren’t going to give up easily. They clung to the car, determined not to let us escape. The passenger window obliterated inwards into small pieces, showering me with glass. Hands reached in grabbing the back of my hair and shoulder. The incessant pounding of dead hands continued on the windshield and roof. The only piece of good fortune was the dead woman plugging the back window. The car lurched from side to side as the dead continued to hunt us. I thought we weren’t going to make it out of there. My guess was a body lay under the front wheels stopping Smith from pulling away. All I saw were ghoulish, hissing faces with those milky white eyes and grasping hands banging at the windows in a desperate attempt to rip us to pieces.
     
    Chapter Six
     
    Smith hit the gas and the Pontiac reeled forward. Zombies tumbled off the car roof into our path. Smith swerved the vehicle from side to side to shake off the hordes of undead clinging to the car. A pair of grabbing hands clawed through the shattered passenger window and clasped onto my hair. My head was wrenched towards the broken glass. I fought with every ounce of strength in my body. I swung the golf club in small, desperate clubbing movements at the snatching hands. The zombie’s mouth came close with dribbles of saliva running down its chin. He was a male dressed in the hospital security uniform. Smith leaned over and blew the zombie’s head into splinters, showering us with more shit.
    “I’ve had enough of these diseased motherfuckers,” Smith spat. “Look what they’ve done to my fucking car!” He pumped the gas and we bumped forward inching our way closer to the exit.
    Rosenberg started to roll his car forward. He didn’t want to be caught in the same shit storm as us. We pulled away from the parking lot and into the exit lane, gathering speed. Several zombies fell by the wayside but still some clung to the roof and the side doors. I banged their diseased hands with the golf club but they registered no pain. The Pontiac drew alongside Rosenberg’s Honda and Smith made a twirling motion with his finger, telling him to get moving.
    Both cars pulled out of the hospital parking lot and onto the highway with a flow of chasing undead. Smith jammed on the brakes a few yards down the road and two zombies tumbled off the roof into the road. Smith swerved around them and gunned the engine. Rosenberg struggled to keep up in his crappy Honda.
    A mile down the road, Smith pulled over in a lay by on the outskirts of the urban area and waited for Rosenberg to catch up. He pulled up behind us and rested his head on the steering wheel. Smith looked around for zombies and got out of the car to inspect the damage when he was happy we were free from