The idling cars and trucks and vans and our one lone bus made a ring far out into the flat desert, the halo of light from the camp just barely visible in the distance. Could they hear us? It seemed doubtful. More than likely, we probably sounded like the desert wind to them, if anything at all.
“Ready?” asked Jackson, yet again.
“Ready,” we all replied, my gulp repeating on down the line, hopping from one throat to the next.
“March,” he then commanded.
We hopped out of the bus and scattered. There was, after all, still much work to be done, the zombies needing help to extricate themselves from their cars. After all, bending down was one thing for them, but straightening back up, well now, that wasn’t nearly as easy. Though for that, we’d only need to right about a dozen of them, the on
