The sniper's bullet had left a jagged scar in the asphalt inches from my front tire. I could still feel the phantom heat of it searing my nerves. Behind us, the Jeep's engine growled like a cornered animal, and Clara's voice cut through the dust-choked air.
"We can't sit here forever! The horde's gonna catch up, and I'd rather not be zombie chow and target practice!"
Max squinted up at the billboard looming above us, its faded ad for a pre-apocalypse soda now peppered with bullet holes. "Sniper's got the high ground. But if we can get closer, maybe we can—"
"Maybe we can get our heads blown off," Clara snapped. "Got a Plan B?"
"I've got a plan," I announced, slamming my hands on the Jeep's hood like a general rallying troops. "And it's brilliant. Trust me, you'll love it."
The group exchanged glances. Clara tilted her cracked sunglasses. "Define 'love it.'"
