As Timothy centered his sights on the first Variant, he noticed a collar around its neck.
“You were right,” he said to Horn. “Someone’s controlling these Thralls. As soon as we open fire, whoever’s in charge of them is going to come after us.”
Horn readied his M249, setting up its bipod on the hood of one car, aiming north. “I’ll deal with the collaborators or whoever the hell else might be here if they show up. You take the beasts down.”
“You’re sure?”
“We got no other choice, kid.”
Timothy aimed at the diseased flesh of the lead monster dragging Boyd. A hot anger rushed through him, and he squeezed the trigger.
Rounds punched through the chest of the monster, and the grotesque mutant collapsed to the wet asphalt next to Boyd.
The other two creatures let out furious roars and got down on all fours. Timothy lined up his sights and held in a breath as they barreled toward him.
He squeezed a burst off into one of the beasts, rounds lancing into its barreled chest and limbs. Blood sprayed from the devastating wounds as it tumbled over itself, skidding across the asphalt.
Before he could adjust his aim for the third monster, gunfire north of their position exploded behind him. He had been right. The assholes controlling the Variants weren’t far. Rounds pinged against the car where Horn had propped up his M249.
The heavy thump of the machine gun was nearly deafening, drowning out the shrieks of the monster galloping toward Timothy.
His world narrowed down the scope of his rifle. He took another breath and squeezed the trigger. The bullet found the target, but the creature still kept coming.
“What the fuck,” Timothy said.
He centered his aim again with the Variant only a few yards away. The burst finally knocked it off course, and it slid across the ground.
Timothy put a final round into the head, just to be sure. Then he turned to look in the direction Horn was firing.
Two collaborators ducked behind cars, trying to get close. When they made a move, Timothy took one of them down, and the second man dove for cover.
A spray of rounds from the M249 cut down another enemy rushing down the street for a new position. Timothy roved his scope over the body to see it was a human collaborator.
Scouts, probably.
Thoughts of his father, of his captivity in Mount Katahdin, and of the destruction of his former home in Maine flooded his mind.
He wanted to tear apart every last one of these evil men, but the wooden beads of the bracelet Tasha had given him bumped against his wrist, reminding him he had more to live for than revenge.
Even if he and Horn were better shots, the collaborators might already be sending people to surround them. The two of them couldn’t hold out forever. Most importantly, they had a bigger mission at stake.
“Cover me, and I’ll get the anthrax,” Timothy said.
Horn gave him a nod before unleashing a hail of bullets. Return fire speared into the cars as Timothy sprinted away. More bullets seared through the air past him. A couple sparked against the wet asphalt. He slid next to Boyd and hid behind the first Variant he had killed as rounds thumped into both corpses.
Timothy reached over and searched Boyd’s pockets for the syringe of anthrax. Boyd’s throat was torn open, and his eyes were locked open in a look of horror.
“I’m sorry,” Timothy said.
More bullets slammed into the Variant and Boyd, forcing Timothy to draw his hand back. He waited a moment then tried a new pocket and found the plastic syringe.
“Got it!” Timothy yelled.
He stashed it in his vest and drew himself up into a low firing position, providing cover fire for Horn. The big man raked the M249 back and forth, then took off running.
Shouts from the collaborators carried over the rain as Timothy retreated to the backyard of the closest house. Horn was huffing and puffing, but managed to keep running toward the golf course bordering the backyards. They didn’t slow until they found cover in a tree line, and even then, they pushed themselves forward, never completely stopping until they reached the edge of the webbing-covered tunnel.
Water ran over the sides and down into it, turning it into a muddy mess.
“I’ll cover you,” Horn heaved. He aimed back the way they had come.
The ground seemed to rumble, but this wasn’t thunder. The monsters in the tunnel were close.
With the anthrax in one hand, Timothy dropped to his belly, still gasping to catch his breath. He lay flat and stretched to reach one of the tendrils within the tunnel. With a jab, he got the needle into the throbbing red vine and depressed the plunger.
A howl erupted from deeper inside the tunnel. The stench of rotten fruits filled his lungs. His body shook as the walls trembled more fiercely. The click of joints and growls of bloodthirsty monsters echoed toward him.
“Hurry up,” Horn said.
Timothy backed out and began to stand, but Horn yanked him down in the cover of the tall grass.
“We got more company,” Horn said. “Collaborators caught up to us.”
“Can’t stay here. The Variants aren’t far behind.”
“I fucking hate running,” Horn said. He stood, ready to move. “Don’t leave me behind, kid. I still haven’t given you permission to date my daughter.”
Timothy almost laughed but a burst of gunfire made him flinch.
Another terrifying tremor rumbled the ground, the shaking more violent. Another spot of grass twenty yards to their west pushed upward.
A familiar, terrifying clicking shriek sounded from the newly formed hole as Timothy took off running with Horn. They both watched the ground burst upward in a geyser of wet soil and long grass. An Alpha pulled itself out, and Variants poured out after it.
“Faster!” Horn yelled.
Timothy had never run harder in his life. He pushed himself to his physical limit, his lungs burning with the effort. Horn was starting to fall behind. Timothy eased up and took a moment to look at their pursuers.
Monsters galloped over the wet ground,
