The UNDEAD: by Nick Venom (reading strategies book .TXT) 📕

“Ignore them, let’s keep moving. I don’t want to face the bikers head-on. They have more ammunition than us.” Myra added. Scar and Alvin agreed, pushing forward. Scar sprinted across the street, waiting to see if he attracted any undead, before beckoning Myra and Alvin to follow him. They continued this tactic for several blocks until Scar noticed something weird. The dead crawling on the streets had diminished the farther they went.

“Something’s off.” Scar said, hesitating to continue the tactic. He stood at the exit of the alleyway, taking another glance at the street before turning to face the others. “I’m seeing less and less undead. However, I can’t hear the bikers.”

“I thought it sounded more quiet than usual. I can’t hear the buzzing of the motorcycles’ engines.” Alvin said.

“We should move. I think we’re in some type of trap. It's too quiet.” Myra declared. “We should go in a different path, create as much distance as we can.”

“Myra’s right,” Alvin said. “Let’s go with her plan.”

Scar nodded. “Okay, let’s go down five or so blocks. It’s not much of a buffer, but we can’t waste too much time or we’ll be stuck outside at night. It won’t be safe at night.” 

“Don’t undead stories say that night makes them more dangerous?” Alvin asked.

Scar nodded. “You read The Undead Infection too?” He asked.

Alvin looked at him, his eyebrows darting upward. “You know that story too? I didn’t get to finish the second season, but can you tell me what happens? I, at least, want to know the end.”

“Of course!” Scar’s voice was louder than they wanted. Myra grabbed his collar and pulled him down.

“Shhh!” She told him. “Keep your voice down. Talk about your stupid undead story later. Let’s focus on leaving.”

Scar and Alvin nodded, Myra, releasing her grip on Scar’s collar. Now focused on the task at hand, Scar peeked around the corner again to see a new sight. Five trucks appeared and stood in the middle of the road between the two neighborhoods. The small caravan of trucks consisted of two tannish pick-ups, a white mini-van, a black Dodge Challenger, and a dark green jeep. Several people emerged from the vehicles, looking at a house on the block in front of Scar and the others. 

The people demanded numerous things from the inhabitants inside the house, but they received no response. “You know you’re surrounded, so how about this? Give us the women and we’ll let the others live? That’s a fair deal isn’t it?” The leader of the caravan, a green mohawk man, shouted. The man wore a white tank top that covered his vitals, but nothing else. It had numerous holes in it and was stained with some unknown substance. The man had tanned skin that was dirtied and bruised. His vibrant green mohawk was a style reflected by his crew of bikers.

Like his crew, he was armed with an AK-47, but it was a heavily modified gun that appeared to be from his personal arsenal rather than a gun he picked up from the streets. It didn’t look like it came from the police arsenal.

“We don’t want much, but the women. We won’t harm them, but… simply talk to them.” The Leader declared. Many of his crew snickered in response.

“Come on, don’t try to be a hero. Don’t lay down your life for some simple women. Grab the women and hand them over.” The Leader said. 

Scar turned away, facing Myra and Alvin. “Let’s go back the way we came. Distance ourselves from them.”

Myra shook her head. “Shouldn’t we help them?”

“We can’t do anything. They have bigger guns, more people, and more ammunition. A magazine or two won’t be enough to kill them all. Even if it was enough, I barely managed to kill undead point-blank. There’s too much of a distance between them and us.” Scar argued.

“He’s right. We’re out-armed here. Fighting him here will do nothing, but get us killed. Or worse.” Alvin chimed in.

Myra stared at both men blankly. “So we should just let them have their way?” She bluntly asked. “Should we let that crew of weirdos with mohawks rape and kill as much as they want with no consequences?”

Scar and Alvin audible gulped. They stared at each other before looking away sheepishly. They knew she was morally and ethically right - their lack of confidence and strength was on full display here.

“We can’t do anything.” Scar said defeatedly.

“Then… Do you have any more fireworks?” Myra desperately asked.

Scar shook his head. “All we’ll do is get ourselves killed.”

Alvin nodded his head in agreement. “We won’t be in a better situation if we face them head-on. It’s better if we leave and get to the safe haven quickly. Maybe we’ll have a chance of saving the survivors.” 

“I’m sorry Myra-” His voice cracked at her name. “-but we can’t help them. We’ll have to leave and hope they’ll survive on their own.” Myra stared at him, tearing up. She knew that they were logically right, but her emotions disagreed with them.

“However, you can help me.” An unfamiliar voice remarked. The teens’ head snapped to the origin of the voice, coming from an overweight man---three times the size of Scar---who appeared to be balding, even though he looked to be in his late thirties.

He held a baseball bat with both hands; his hands appeared to be nearly consuming the grip part of the bat. “I’m going to have a lot of fun tonight.” He thought out loud with a large grin on his face.

The teens froze in shock as the guy licked his lips, grinning at them. “You should’ve run a long time ago. Now you lost that option, you brats.”

TBC…

The teens took a step back, staring at the chubby man. He pointed his baseball bat at them threateningly. “Hand me the woman and you two can walk free.”

Myra glanced at Scar and Alvin. Alvin was considering the offer while Scar held onto the gun. He glanced at Myra and saw her pleading eyes. She is scared we would give her away. Don’t worry Myra, we won’t. He glanced at Alvin, who took in the offer and was having an internal battle about it. I won’t.

Scar raised the gun, pointing it at the chubby man. The man watched with wide eyes as the gun’s barrel was pointed towards him, raising the baseball bat to protect him.

It wasn’t enough.

Scar pressed the trigger a few times, blasting three holes into the baseball bat and through his neck and shoulder. The man was thrown back by the shots, laying against the wall. His body slid downward, a large bloodstain following his descent.

“Gunshot!” A voice shouted.

“From where!” Another voice shouted.

“Shut up!” The Leader’s whiny voice shouted. “Where is Jeff?”

“He went to that alleyway!” A finger was pointed towards the alley the teens and a dead body hid in.

Myra gripped her knife. “We need to go. They’ll kill us.”

Alvin and Scar nodded. “Follow me,” Alvin said, retracting their steps to a broken fence. He sprinted inside, beckoning them with him. The teens jumped into the backyard, moving to the road parallel to the one that the biker gang was on.

As they reached the street, they heard the shouts and cries of Jeff’s comrades. They had found the body of Jeff. 

“He’s dead. There are people here!” Somebody shouted.

“Search for them. Round up everybody you can find.” Leader’s voice echoed.

Alvin led them away from the biker gang. He peeked around the corner of a house and watched as the majority of the bikers were sweeping the alleyway and backyards. Soon, they’ll reach the teens.

“Undead in the houses!” A voice shrieked.

The Leader exited the hallway, two of his men following after him. “Kill the undead. Don’t let them get close to me!” He exclaimed. The Leader then turned away, returning to his vehicle, the Dodge Challenger, parked in front of the house holding trapped survivors. “Move everybody forward a few houses. Let Adam and his men take care of the undead. Everybody Else? Spread out and look for the survivors!”

Alvin watched carefully, searching for an opportunity. Once he found it, he took it. He sprinted across the street, Myra and Scar following him. They arrived on the block holding the trapped survivors, sticking close to the front of the houses, hiding in the shrubbery to avoid being detected from the undead on the road and the bikers behind them.

Scar glanced behind him, noticing that the bikers had reached their last hiding spot, in front of the last house on the block. One of the bikers stepped out onto the road, calling out to the Leader and arguing.

“Why don’t we go and help the survivors?” Myra whispered. “We’re not that far from them.

“It’s too dangerous. We shouldn’t lump ourselves with them. We’ll only end up like them.” Scar whispered.

“Scar’s right, we can’t risk it. Let’s keep moving and-” He glanced behind him, seeing Myra dart to her right. She headed through the backyard and towards the house with the trapped survivors.

“Myra!” Scar whisper-shouted. He followed after him with Alvin behind him. “That girl, she’s going to do something she regrets.”

Scar and Alvin ran after Myra, passing through the alleyway before jumping over a fence into the backyard of the house. Myra sprinted up to the door, knocking on it. Scar and Alvin caught up to her, grabbing her hands and dragging her back.

An upstairs window flashed open for a moment, an eye peeking out. It glanced at the teens before darting inside, the curtains closing. 

“We need to leave,” Alvin said, “before it’s too late.”

Myra shook her head, fighting them. “We should… help them!” She exclaimed.

The door opened ajar, a pair of eyes looking out. “Who are you?” A hoarse voice asked.

Myra shook the guys off, approaching the door. “I’m Myra, we’ve come to help you.”

Scar shook his head. “What she means is we’re getting out of here.” Scar grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Sorry for-” He was interrupted by the sound of sporadic gunfire. He pulled Myra down, laying close to the ground. Alvin followed his lead.

The door slammed close as the gunfire rampaged on. The sound didn’t appear to be coming from above them but in front of the house - not directly aimed at the front yard. Even so, Scar wasn’t chancing it. He would rather be on the ground than standing up where a bullet could ricochet and hit him or the others.

The door opened, the inhabitants beckoning them in. Scar pushed Alvin in first, before grabbing Myra’s arm and pushing her from behind. He was the last to enter.

The door slammed behind them, the teens now turning to face their savior. A slightly chubby kid faced them, multiple scars on his face. He wore a bright red polo and blue trousers that were a size too small for him.

He stared at the teens intensely with his hazel eyes, directing more of his attention to Myra. Scar stood in front of Myra, blocking his sight. He threw his hands up, like he was being ordered to by police, and apologized.

“I”m Gray.” The kid said, cringing as bullets dinged the brick walls of the house. “Do you know the people in the truck?”

“Truck?” Alvin questioned. “The