I expected the streets to be clogged with vehicles trying to flee, but so few civilians were allowed to drive that our biggest obstacle was the swarm of zombies wandering the roadway. Alex took pleasure in smashing into them, and he hit so many with such force that he had to turn on the windshield wipers to clear away the blood. We drove straight up Broadway and hit the first checkpoint as we crossed the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. We approached slowly. The checkpoint had been overrun. Infected soldiers ambled about along with a mix of the city’s denizens. At the far end of the checkpoint, a heavily armed troop transporter stuck on a concrete barrier was surrounded by zombies. The driver was trapped in the cabin. “Hey, wait. Stop a minute. You see that?” I asked, pointing toward the back of the carrier. The door was open, and the remains of the troops who had been devoured as they exited were scattered. “Ya, I see him, but we don’t want to help that guy,” Alex said.
