Hell's Highway, a short story (R, gore)

A Ford Mustang, 1969 edition, sped down the road that had now become known as Hell’s Highway. Wrecks of cars, trucks, buses and army vehicles littered the road, making navigation difficult. The Freaks were also stumbling about, looking for food. Some were feasting on dead birds and animals, but most just looked for human meat.
The driver of the Mustang drove with one hand carelessly on the wheel, the other dangling out of the window. Gold-rimmed sunglasses covered his eyes, and a Marlboro cigarette drooped from his lips, unlit. ACDC’s Highway to Hell played ironically.
As the song finished up, the driver reached into his pocket, retrieved a custom Zippo lighter, and took both hands off the wheel to light his cigarette.. As he did this he accelerated, the speedometer reaching and passing 150 mph. He took a long drag, and put the precious lighter away.

A large group of Freaks blocked the road ahead. The driver smiled, and decreased his speed down the 30. He reached over to the passenger’s seat and retrieved an AK-47 Kalashnikov automatic rifle. He slowed even more, and honked his horn twice. He pulled his car so his window was facing the Freaks.

The wretched things spun to face him, and then began to trot in his direction. The driver swung the rifle up to face the Freaks, switched the action to full-auto, and opened fire. The sound of the weapon echoed for miles. The many bullets took the down Freak after Freak. The hot lead ripped through them as though they were butter, spraying gore and matter everywhere.

Despite the carnage, they just kept coming. The driver ran out of ammo, and instead of reloading, he tossed the rifle into the back, hopped out of the car and drew two M9 pistols. He walked up to the group and started popping heads at point blank range. The Freaks moaned, and stumbled to their deaths like cows in a slaughterhouse.

The driver ran out of ammo, and there were still ten left. Since he didn't have time to reload, he ran back to the car. He opened the trunk and grabbed the aluminum bat that lay there.

He turned and was almost tackled by one of the faster Freaks. Reacting quickly, he sidestepped the things lunge and brought the handle of the bat down on the back of its neck, killing it instantly. Looking up, another one of the Freaks was in range. The driver swung the bat upward for hit to the jaw. The thing was so rotten that its head almost came off.

The driver went on like this for another three minutes, dispatching all of the Freaks in his immediate area, before returning to his vehicle. He reloaded all of his weapons, pu the bat back in the trunk, lit another cigarette, and resumed driving down Hell’s Highway.