Jeff's father said he'd be right back.

That was two days ago. Maybe three.

The dead outside the car don't just shamble anymore. They think. And some of them have been circling the same sedan for the last day now, pressing their faces to the glass, searching.

Jeff has been watching them through a peephole his father bored in the side of the trunk — the only place in the car where you can see out without being seen. He's been sitting still for hours. They're shaking the other cars now. Working their way closer.

So Jeff is going to quietly open the trunk.

And step out onto a stretch of highway choked with abandoned cars, where those dead things are hungry.

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