She swung the blade at the rotting creature in front ofher. It's belly was bloated, and it's arms were grayish, except for woundringed by loose rotten flesh with a blackened hue. The loose flesh reminded herof barbecued chicken that had been left on the grill too long. The face on thebody was pedestrian, forgettable. Good, she thought as she swung theblade at the dead woman's head. The blade caught her on the side of the skull,and the force sent jarring vibrations up to her elbow and shoulder. All shemanaged to do was knock the creature off balance, so she stuck her leg out andwatched as it toppled over on its side, and then she was down on her knees,using the sword to stab the creature in the eyes as hard as she could. Theblade sunk into the rubbery eye, caught on the thin orbital bone behind it, andthen slid home, ending the second life of the dead thing at her feet.
As she stood back up, the survivors all around her foughtto escape their would-be tomb. There was no time to watch the carnage. Theirsituation was too precarious. There were too many of them. Amanda took a stepforward, sticking close with Rudy on her left and Chloe on her right. They hadbeen through a lot together, and Amanda had no intention of being separatedfrom them. Chloe's handgun blasted in her right ear, while the sweaty sound ofRudy chopping away with his sword filled her left.
In front of her, another figure appeared, a former policeofficer. His hair was short, but he was tall, certainly more than a match forthe 5'7" Amanda. The officer's reach was long, and she had to get closerthan she wanted to in order to take down the cop, but she moved in tight,stepping into his grasping arms. There was no going back now. She swung thesword, trying to take one of the officer's arms off, but it just clanged offthe bones in his arm. Sure, it cut through the flesh like it was made of air,but the bones were the true bitch.
She swung the sword again as the officer grabbed ahandful of her hair, wrenching her head sideways. The blade of the sword landedaround the officer's neck, but did no significant damage. The officer pulledher closer, its teeth yellow in the sunlight. The pungent odor of deathemanated from the man's mouth as it leaned in for a bite.
Amanda panicked and reached out for whatever she couldfind, dropping the sword from her hands. It was too late for the sword. She wastoo close; the sword couldn't help her now. She pulled something from thepolice officer's belt, something heavy and hard. It was a nightstick. She droveit under the officer's chin, knocking the creature backwards, its hands still clutchingher hair. She bent forward, her arms pinwheeling to catch her balance, and then,without warning, she was free. Suddenly, she tumbled backwards, catching aglimpse of Rudy's sword, a bigger version of her own. He had cut her hair. Herscalp ached from the force of Rudy's chop, as the blade of the sword had beendulled against an unknown number dead bodies..
She scrambled to her feet with the nightstick in herhands, and she ran to the police officer, swinging the stick like a bat. Itimpacted the side of the creature's head, and it fell to the side, stillclawing for her. She stepped on the officer's throat, keeping it on the ground.Then she bludgeoned its skull until her arms were numb and it could no longermove. Before she could take account of the situation, hands were propelling heralong, Chloe's hands.
Screams broke out on the sidewalk in front of the theateras they ran, sprinting past the crowds of the dead, their heads turning thisway and that, trying to find all possible threats. The dead were everywhere.The survivors knew their goal; they knew which direction they needed to headin.
****
Blake stuck to the middle of the group, his rifle aliving thing in his hands. He could no longer hear the powerful crack of therifle, but he could feel it in his hands and in his shoulder when the butt ofthe rifle kicked against his flesh. Behind him, Mort stood guard, a handgunclutched in his weathered and scarred hands, hands made rough by hours ofexposure outside, living under bridges and hopping trains to new towns. Mortwatched his back for any possible threats. Blake trusted him completely, andthey worked as one, moving through the crowd of the dead, Blake firing offrounds from his hunting rifle, Mort taking shots when they were clear, andlaying waste to anything that came close to them... and they were all close.They were all near.
As soon as they had opened the door, the dead surgedaround them. The dead that clung to the walls like sucker fish, scratching atits bricks, turned and trudged towards them almost immediately, a tide of the dead,looking to break over the small pocket of humanity that tried to escape theirgrasp.
The survivors mowed through them, and when Blake's rifleran out of ammo, he slung it over his shoulder and pulled another gun from the baghe was carrying. It was a cannon of a handgun. Sleek metal, a kick like a mule,and a report that would send shivers up the spine of anyone that was using it.He couldn't hear that part, but just as with his rifle, he could feel it.
Not all of his shots hit their mark, but enough so thatthey could keep moving through the crowd. Then they were through, spinning aroundin the open, looking left and right, trying to see if anyone needed their help,their eyes wide like cattle being herded into the kill chute of aslaughterhouse.
Blake saw Katie, unaware that a corpulent dead man wassneaking up behind her. He held his handgun in front
