Jacob grinned. It was a tired grin, but it was real. “Son, we’ve been running this loop for eight months. We’ve got a greenhouse on flatcar four, a chicken coop on flatcar six, and a still that makes a passable bourbon. We just go back and forth along sixty miles of track we cleared ourselves. When we reach one end, we reverse. We never stay in one place long enough for the hordes to find us.”
Four survivors. One destination. Two hundred miles of rotting America between them. zombie retreats
The group was small, the way all groups were now. Small meant quiet. Small meant fast. Besides Elena and Marcus, there was only Anya, a retired nurse with steely gray eyes and a bag of expired antibiotics, and Leo, a sixteen-year-old boy who hadn’t spoken in six months but could pick a lock with a paperclip. Jacob grinned
Anya shoved a hand over Leo’s mouth, and they stood frozen, chest-deep in the murk, as a dozen dead faces scanned the river. After an eternity, the heads turned away. We’ve got a greenhouse on flatcar four, a