"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"We don't have time for this," the black man hissed as he bent down and draped a woman's body over his shoulder. He couldn't remember the man's name, but he recognized him as well.
"We gotta make it to the river, or we're dead!" he said.
Allen nodded. It was true. Though Tejada was fast on their trail, if they sat around waiting for him, they would never escape. They were too exhausted. Allen felt like he could just fall on the ground and go to sleep, and he was in pretty good shape compared to the motley lot of survivors before him.
"We'll lead the way," Allen said, indicating both himself and Epps. Epps nodded, and they ran ahead of the group, running close together, their hatchets dangling in their hands. His legs were fresher than his arm, and they managed to plow through the snow, the survivors following in their wake behind them. For a second, he felt like a sled dog bounding through the snow. Then he caved in the head of an Annie that only came up to his knee, and the feeling disappeared.
He gasped for air, and the snow felt like it was thicker against his legs. "How you doin'?" he asked Epps.
"Feel like my legs are made of Jell-o over here."
"Where are we headed?" Allen asked over his shoulder.
Behind him, the familiar man gasped, "There's a river. It's the only way out of this valley. Just keep heading west."
Allen did just that, stumbling and pushing forward. His legs burned. Each step forward involved pushing the snow out of the way with his legs, and each step made the burn increase. He was at the limit. He didn't know how long he could go on like this, and then they tumbled out of the woods onto a flatter surface. They stood on a road he surmised as he peered right and left.
"It's just ahead," the man's voice said from behind him.
"Let's get there," Epps said. "I'm exhausted."
Allen didn't even have the energy to speak. He looked over his shoulder to see if everyone had made it. The Annies were close, right on their trail. He swallowed his fear, though it threatened to stick in his throat and choke the air out of him.
They scrambled down a gully on the other side of the road, though it was more falling than scrambling. He felt hands under his arms as someone behind him lifted him to his feet. The crying of a baby hit his ears. There's a baby! The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. He didn't know if it was a primordial reaction or his own love of children, but he somehow found the energy to get to his feet. A fucking baby! Incredible!
They pushed forward for another twenty yards. The way was clear; all of the dead were behind them. Ahead, he saw the black ice of the river. On the other side, there was nothing but a snow-covered hill dotted with pine trees. They would be safe over there, at least from the dead, though the cold still gnawed at him.
He stood to the side and unslung his rifle, ejecting the magazine and putting in a new one. "Everyone get across," Allen said. "Epps, you and me are gonna hold the fort."
Epps let his hatchet fall from his hand.
"I don't trust that ice," a woman said.
"One at a time, lightest first," Allen advised. They didn't wait to debate it. There was no time for that. The dead were coming.
A pregnant woman with cold dark eyes hit the ice first. She slipped and stumbled across its surface. The woman he recognized, the pretty one, hobbled across next, catching herself as the butt of her wooden spear slipped on the ice.
They weren't moving fast enough. Not nearly. Allen took aim with his rifle and dropped the nearest Annie. A brief cloud of red hung in the air, and then it sank into the snow. "I got everything to the right of that body. You got everything to the left," Epps said.
"Good deal," Allen replied.
Behind them, the last two pregnant women started across. The Annies came at them in a semi-circle, constricting like a noose. Gunsmoke filled the air, and the sounds of Epps' unmuffled rifle echoed throughout the valley. Still, the dead came.
"Alright, I'm goin' across," the older, familiar man said as he hoisted the unconscious body of a skinny woman onto his shoulder.
"Give us a yell when you've made it," Epps said.
Allen continued to fire methodically, dropping the dead as quick as he could. He made every shot count. He ejected an empty magazine on the ground and slammed home a half-spent magazine. It was his last one. After that, his silenced M4 would be nothing more than a high-end paperweight. There were too many of the dead, certainly more than he had bullets for. He took aim at the head of an Asian man with a broken nose and missing fingers, and then he missed.
He missed because behind him, he heard the cracking of ice, followed by a scream. He spun around quickly to see the black man plunge into the cold, black water of the river.
"Come on, Epps," he yelled, and then, without thinking, he was on the ice, slipping and sliding towards the hole in the surface. As he approached its edge, he dove to his belly to distribute his weight. He saw a hand gripping the edge of the ice. He grasped at the hand, pulling as hard as he could while still trying to keep his weight spread out on the ice.
"I got you!" he yelled.
"Mort!" a woman yelled from the other side of
