Chapter 7

chapter seven Okay, this is it, no playing, no waiting, no putting it off because of something dinky like "being horribly terrified." We're scouring Wakefield for June. Quint says I'm nuts. Quint says it's a long shot. Quint says the odds of one random girl being alive in this town that seems to have very few survivors is infinitely small. But like I tell him, that doesn't explain the feeling in my gut. He tells me the feeling in my gut is probably just gas and I sock him on the arm. I say, getting all serious, that none of his reasoning can explain the look in June's eyes when I saw her go back into the school that day. A look that told me I'd see her again. And not as a zombie. I'd see her alive. And there might even be a hug involved. So we're on the hunt. I'm behind the wheel of Big Mama, cruising down South Street, swerving

back and forth across the road to avoid zombies and overturned streetlights and other apocalyptic litter. First stop, Parker Middle School. I've been there five times so far, standing outside, yelling for June. But maybe she just didn't hear me. So today, I climb in the truck bed, grab a megaphone I nabbed from the fire station, and bust out a new strategy. June Del Toro, Are you in there? This is Jack Sullivan, Post-apocalyptic action hero here to rescue you.

Quint stares up at me from the passenger seat. "Post-apocalyptic action hero?! That's what you're calling yourself?" I shrug. "What? It's accurate." Quint rolls his eyes. "Well, it's better than Jack Sullivan, Cheez-It- Loving Kid in a Tree House!" "Well, then, I want a cool title, too," Quint says. "Quint Baker, Scientific Analyst." "You have the chance to give yourself any title you want and you land on Scientific Analyst?" Quint shrugs. "Scientific analysis is cool, Jack." I shake my head and go back to hollering at the school. We try for another ten minutes. Nothing. "Let's try the mall," I say, slipping back into the seat and putting the truck in gear. "Girls like the mall, right? That's a thing." But as I steer Big Mama up and over the curb and through a mailbox, Quint suddenly screams, "THAT'S IT!!!" "Huh? What? Where?! What's it!?" "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE, FRIEND!" Quint exclaims. "You need to learn how to drive." "What are you talking about. I'm a killer driver!"

Look, I think I'm doing pretty good for a guy whose total driving experience, up to this point, has been limited to holding an Xbox One controller and just squeezing R trigger as hard as I could. But Quint doesn't think that's good enough.

Two hours later, he's got me down by the docks, driving through cones and practicing three-point turns. Even the zombies are bored. And then Quint starts in on the parallel parking...

0K the curb is set at a thirty-nine-degree angle, So you*LL need to turn the wheel Counterclockwise to ninety—two degrees Finally I say, "ENOUGH! It's time we have a little fun." I gun it across the parking area. The engine roars. Big Mama is rumbling and shaking and the wheel feels gigantic in my hands. "Incoming loading dock!" Quint shrieks. I cut the wheel hard right and Big Mama swerves. We're careening around a corner, when— out of nowhere!—there is something alive in front of us! Whatever it is dives out of the way a moment before I hit it! I slam on the brakes and the tires squeal as we spin to a stop. "I think that was a person," I say. My voice cracks. "We need to get out and look." "Not necessary," Quint says, watching the side