Hissers II: Death March
top of every one inside.
    They’re on the truck! she realized. They’re climbi ng on us!
    “Am!” Her father’s voice again.
    He was looking at her now, right side up, reaching out for her. She managed to get hold of his hand and yelped as he pulled her forcefully from the bottom of the pile. With a quick hug, he set her aside and tried to help other people up, yanking Mom up first, then another man she didn’t recognize.
    A bloody hand swooped down from the top of the truck , reaching into the back at her, swinging at her hair. She screamed and swatted the hand away, looked for a weapon, but there was nothing. The hand came at her again. She ducked, climbed over the pile of fallen people, realized she was climbing on her mother, who was trickling blood from her nose. “Mom!”
    “Am, help me.”
With the hand swinging just above her, she rolled over and began pulling people’s legs off her mother, freeing up her chest. It was clear she’d been kicked in the nose. A black shoe print tattooed the front of her face.
    “Mom!”
    The truck turned again and now bullets ripped through the sides, catching one man in the mouth and killing him instantly. “Stop shooting at us!” she yelled. But she knew the bullets were meant for the hissers climbing on the sides. She knew her voice was just more noise lost among the gunshots. If they didn’t get out of the truck they’d be killed. They had become expendable in the face of the bigger threat.
    “Mom, I love you,” she said, crying, not quite sure why she was saying it.
    “Move,” said her dad from above her. He reached into the pile and began helping more people, all of whom were desperately trying to stand up as the truck bounced and slid and slammed them from side to side.
    Out the back she saw a collection of hissers drop from the top of the truck and roll along the road , only to slowly rise up again with their limbs migrated to new areas of their bodies. In the sky, the helicopters were turning, going after spider monsters in the surrounding fields. Going after bigger game.
    There’re too many of them, Am thought. The helicopters can’t kill them all. We’re outnumbered. We’re going to die.
    Again, the truck slewed sideways, pitching everyone against the sides in a heap of bloodied lips and noses. Outside, the fields gave way to chicken wire fences and the edge of a small town, a truck stop with a diner and a used book store, a main street with closed-up shops beyond. It was abandoned and unfamiliar to Amanita. There were so many of these small towns all over the region. Just like Castor.
    As they sped down the main drag, the people in the bus began to right themselves, only to find it was for naught.
    There was an impact. The truck flipped up, somersaulted forward, and landed on its roof, sliding. All amanita saw were bodies flying past her. Then sky. Then pavement. She hit the road and felt all her breath race out of her, felt her insides explode in pain. Her momentum caused her to slide to a curb, where she did her best to crawl forward under a parked, abandoned station wagon, gasping for air. With her vision wobbling, and her ribs throbbing, she saw the transport truck a dozen yards ahead of her, on fire, swarmed by hissers. They came running from the surrounding buildings like insects. Sprinting toward fresh meat. Even as they ran into the flames and burned they pulled the bodies from the truck and began to feast. Blood began to run along the ground, bubbling as the fire ate it up.
    “Mom,” she whispered, just as the helicopter came back and sprayed bullets in the melee. “Dad. Please, Dad.”
    She didn’t see either of their faces before the helicopter’s missile came whistling in, hit the flaming truck, and blew everything into memories.
     
    TUESDAY, 12:14 PM
     
    The truck stop was abandoned, as they’d suspected. The gas pumps weren’t working, but they’d prepared themselves mentally for that too. “Shit,” Olive said, kicking the
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