36 Hours Read Online Free PDF Page A

Clearcreek. For home. Left the High School behind.
    Alive.
    Hannah gaped at me. “My brother…”

    8:00 a.m.

    Main Street
    25 Rosebud Avenue
    Revelation

    Main Street was a disaster. Accidents cluttered the roadway; cars burned; vehicles had slid into ditches. Smoke gushed from the burning skeletons of Miatas and Fords and Pontiacs. Vehicles went my direction, shakily swerving ahead of and behind me. Some went the other direction, high-tailing it out of downtown South Arlington. Infected walked the road and roadsides, legs cutting through a shallow morning mist that lapped at the street sides. Hannah hunched over, sobbing, repeating over and over, “My brother, my brother, my brother…”
    Peyton. I wasn’t going back. Sorry buddy. Not a chance. I jerked the wheel and swerved around the collision of a truck and van; a man was crawling out of the truck back window. I stole a look into the glass window and saw an infected rushing the truck. What had happened to these people? I really didn’t know. And still don’t. The scientists have never understood; it just sort of ran its course, and for some godforsaken reason, I was spared. Me and a few others. I felt bad for Hannah. But every time she said, “My brother…” I thought of Ashlie.
    I cared more about Ashlie than I did anyone else.
    The Jeep shook, an infected jumping onto the top. I could hear his scratching. Hannah looked up. I gritted my teeth. Slammed the brakes. The mutant flailed forward, hitting the hood, grasping at the smooth paint, fell next to my front tires. The Jeep bounded twice, crunching the body into the pavement. The wheels jammed. We were next to the entrance of a subdivision. The infected were pouring after us, running through lawns and backyards and coming right Anthony Barnhart
    36 Hours
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    for the windows. The wheels shook back and forth. No. No. The Jeep bounded forward, spraying the blood of the victim all over the sprinting infected.
    “Traffic,” I muttered under my breath.
    Smoke rose from Olde Clearcreek. Some buildings held shattered glass, others were billowing flames and smoke from the windows. Infected ran the sidewalks. Little children ran amok. The two little kid schools were on either side, and they emptied into Olde Clearcreek. The infected grabbed tiny boys and girls and attacked. The kids’ screams filled my ears even through the windows. Little kids always had such high-pitched shrieks. A little girl threw herself against the window; blood gushed from her scalp, stringing her clotted strands of hair. She stared at us through Hannah’s window, opened her mouth. I stamped the gas and sped away, rolling over her foot with the tires; she just watched us go, then turned on a panicking classmate.
    Everyone was panicking.
    A cloud of smoke blew over the Jeep, thinned. A seven-car pile-up blocked my way, the road home. I did a U-turn, ramping the sidewalk, nearly missing a light pole. I went back the other direction. A Honda erupted from the smoke, nearly hitting me. I turned right onto a road I knew fairly well. The road twisted and turned into a rolling mass of subdivision.
    Some homes coughed smoke. I went around an accident in flames, the broiled body of a human flailing about, writhing in fire. People ran out of their homes. Infected wandered and at acked all who moved. One tried to get to us, but we were too fast, leaving him dwindling behind. I saw with my own eyes horrible things. Men and women beaten down by infected; some walking without arms, crawling without legs, moving despite the loss of blood; little children from the schools wondering like zombies; accident victims feebly fighting off vicious assailants; infected coming out of homes, drenched in blood. So terrible. I wanted to cry. Husbands killed by wives, children tearing at their parents. I want to cry now.
    We pulled down another road. It was mostly quiet. Quieter . Another turn. People stood outside their doors, watching us, saw blood plastered over the