TITLE: Hound in Blood and Black
GENRE: dystopian sci fi
Last tank of gas, Kumari thought as the Jeep engine spit out a black cloud before picking up speed. It meant one thing: Last chance to make a catch. And that meant last chance to stay alive.
"Harder!" Kumari screamed over the battered engine's howl. Bastion punched the gas, pebbles spraying the old army Jeep. Dirt clawed her cheeks and scratched the surface of her shades. She adjusted the bandana across the lower half of her face. The air was murky, but she saw her shambling target.
"Left!" she shouted. The Jeep veered hard, tires skidding over the rocky desert. Kumari caught herself with a hard foot to the wheel well, steadying herself as the vehicle sped across the plain. The undead stumbled as they cut in front of it. "Damn it, Bastion. Don't run it over."
The Jeep jerked again, right, spewing more dust into the air. Her throat was dry. Only daybreak, and already hot as hell. Best to finish the hunt and get home before noon.
No pressure. People would only starve to death if she didn't.
She shook her head; enough thinking. "Focus, Kumari."
Handgun, kukri, boot blade and collar - all the things she never left home without. Kumari flexed her hand around the collar, the most important part of her arsenal. A wrangler's prime tool, the seven-foot pole's horseshoe-shaped tip was the best way to pin an undead; at an arm's length away and with minimal damage to the future gladiator.