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fluke that he had seen the spray painted message and map on a billboard outside of town.
    The message had been simple: “Going to the Fort.” The map had been a little confusing, but Rune already knew where the fort was located. He had the misfortune of meeting up with some bandits that had designs on a fortified construction site down in Ashley Oaks a few months back. Hopefully, the fort was still standing.
    Rune never stayed long in any of the survivor encampments he had come across. He didn’t like trusting his safety to others. Most of the time, the survivors had very little food or weapons and were just holding tight waiting for rescue. They were damn fools and they didn’t like it when he told them that. People had a tough time figuring out that no one was coming to save them. They were on their own and the longer they waited, the more vulnerable they became to the undead hordes.
    In a field next to the winding road, a herd of cows slowly sauntered toward shelter as the wind grew colder. It smelled like an ice storm, and Rune hoped to God in Heaven the fort was still alive and that he’d be able to grab a cot for the night.
    The Harley roared around a long curve, and Rune quickly braked as a bunch of vehicles parked on the road came into view. Sliding his Glock out of its holster, he wove through the tangle of big vehicles. As the bike came out the other side, he saw a group of people milling around among the remains of some pretty rancid zombies.
    A young man with blond hair and a worried expression looked toward him, surprise filling his features. “Hey, you!”
    “Hey, yourself,” Rune answered grumpily.
    Ahead of him was a van covered in zombie guts and blood. A few people were on top of it, moving to get down, while others were reaching up to help.
    “Hey! You! Slow down! Who are you?” the young man persisted, jogging to keep up.
    To everyone’s surprise, a young woman suddenly hurled a little girl across the road just in front of Rune’s bike. He skidded to a stop, one foot planted firmly on the bloodied asphalt.
    The child jumped to its feet, whirled around, and let out the terrifying screech of the walking dead. The little girl hurtled across the road straight for the startled humans, all of them raising their weapons. Rune was faster and his Glock barked. The bullet slammed into the side of the kid’s head, blowing a pretty good size hole out the other side. The little zombie crashed to the ground.
    As the gunshot echoed away into the distance, the surviving humans all stared down at the small, sad figure. One by one, their gazes shifted toward him.
    “Name is Rune. Just passing through,” he said. The battle appeared to be over, but he was not sticking around for any grand finale.
    “Good to see you, you sonofabitch,” a gruff, familiar voice called out. His gaze was drawn to the top of the van where an older woman with waist length hair dressed in a gypsy skirt and flowing blouse was being helped down by none other than his buddy, Dale.
    “I’ll be damned,” Rune exclaimed. “What the hell happened at the rescue center?”
    “Got overrun when some people decided to try to get supplies from the grocery store. They brought a whole mess of them down on us. The doors didn’t hold,” Dale answered. He acknowledged Rune with a short nod of his head, then helped the Indian couple down.
    “Okay, people. Let’s get off this road and to the fort!” an older, grizzled man called out. “We’ll check you for bites and if you’re clean, you can come to the fort to stay.”
    “That was our destination before it all went to hell,” Dale answered grimly.
    “Let’s move. The longer we stay here, the more likely we’ll get more of the damn zombies on our asses. C’mon! Let’s go.”
    The pretty woman with the black hair was standing nearby, her head down. She was staring at the little girl she had hurled away to save herself.
    Around him, people began talking again, hustling the newcomers