***
Dylan stared at the advancing horde through her binoculars. They were getting close. Too close for comfort.
“How much longer do we have?” Jackson asked as he wired the fifth bomb.
“Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe,” Dylan estimated.
“Shit, then we’d better move our asses,” he said. “Here, hold this.”
Dylan dropped to her haunches and helped Jackson finish setting up the second-to-last explosive. When they were done, she jumped up. “One more to go.”
“Let’s hurry,” Jackson said.
Together, they rushed toward the far end of the bridge. It seemed wrong to run to the horde and not away from it, but they had to finish the job. As they worked, Dylan kept glancing over her shoulder at the advancing zombies. She no longer needed binoculars to seem them. “Ginger, how’s the tripwire coming along?”
“I’m done,” he cried, straightening up. “You just need to attach it on your end.”
“Thanks,” she replied, applying herself to the task.
“Get back to the truck so long, Ginger,” Jackson ordered. “Dylan and I will be right behind you.”
“Okay, but you’d better hurry.”
Dylan frowned at the mess of wires beneath her hands. Richard had made it seem so easy the day before. Now, she was second-guessing everything she did, and her hands were shaking like an alcoholic’s in need of a drink.
“Damn it!” she cried when she cut her thumb on a piece of steel.
“Keep it together, Dylan,” Jackson said. “We’re almost there.”
“Easy for you to say,” Dylan grumbled as she sucked on her injured finger.
The first zombies had reached the edge of the bridge by the time they were done. Dylan watched as they shuffled closer while Jackson did a last-minute check. This was the last bomb, but it was also the most important. It was placed at the mid-point of the bridge and was linked to a tripwire.
When the leading infected set it off, a large part of the horde would be committed to the bridge and caught in the center of the blast. That way, a huge chunk of them would be killed on the spot. Incinerated.
“We’re done. Let’s go,” Jackson said, tugging at her arm.
“Are you sure?” she asked with a frown. Her eyes ran over their handiwork, tracing each wire to its proper position.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jackson said, his voice growing thin with barely-suppressed panic. “We need to go now.”
A glance over her shoulder sent a shiver of electricity down her spine. The horde was so close she could make out individual faces. The front runners were almost on them, and the vibrations of hundreds of feet thrummed throughout the structure.
“I’m right behind you, Jackson.” Straightening up, she grabbed her tool bag and sprinted in the opposite direction.
Up until that moment, they’d been hidden from the undead’s eyes by a metal strut. That changed when they ran, and a ravenous howl rose behind them as the infected gave chase.
Her feet pounded on the ground, each step vibrating up her spine and into her skull in an agonizing beat. A steel girder flashed past her on the left, and deep blue water churned far below.
Behind her, they advanced: A faceless mass of men, women, and children. Together, they belonged to every class and occupation known to man. They were the rich, the middle class, the poor, and the homeless. They used to be teachers, pastors, engineers, scientists, doctors, beggars, plumbers, homemakers, cleaners, cashiers, and artists. They came in every size, shape, and nationality, and had little in common except one thing: They were all dead.
Dead and hungry.
Driven by a microscopic host to make more of their kind.
More and more and more.
All of these thoughts raced through Dylan’s mind as she fled from the horde’s open maw. She had to get across the river. On the far side, safety beckoned. Solid ground and a rumbling truck waited to ferry her back to the fort.
Suddenly, her foot landed on a stone, and her ankle rolled to the side. Sharp pain lanced up her leg, and she cried out with horror. Each step after that was agony, and a white-hot flame kindled inside the injured joint. Her pace slowed to a crawl. Even tossing the tool belt didn’t help.
“Run, Dylan. Run!” Jackson cried, his long legs carrying him ahead. He was almost on the other side while she lagged far behind. This was one race she wouldn’t win, no matter how hard she tried.
A final look over her shoulder almost caused her to give up. The nearest infected was only a few lengths behind her. At that moment, she realized she wasn’t going to make it. I’m done for.
She was two-thirds across when a terrific explosion filled her ears. A deep rumble traveled through the steel and concrete beneath her feet, and she almost lost her balance. A second blast followed the first, and then a third, and a fourth and a fifth.
Jackson stood next to the truck, his expression horrified. She pushed her body to the limits, reaching out to him with one beseeching hand. She was almost there. So close. “Jackson!”
The sixth and final explosion hit her in the back like a supersonic wave. Her feet left the ground, and she was thrown head over heels through the air. Molten heat enfolded her limbs, and her eyes were fixed on the way she’d come.
The bridge was gone. There was nothing left but a mess of broken steel, concrete, and tar. Flames and black smoke roiled among the ruins, incinerating everything it touched, including the horde. The undead were no more, and neither was she.
Dylan hit the water with terrific force. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh as she impacted with the hard surface of the river. Clear liquid surrounded her body and flowed across her vision as she sank to the bottom. Unable to move, she watched as air bubbles escaped her lips and floated to the surface.
She tried to fight against the paralysis that
