The woman spun out of the backpack, Annies closing in on her.
"She's in trouble," Allen said.
"Well, that's it, man. Tejada told us not to be heroes."
"Fuck that," Allen said.
"I knew it. I fucking knew it," Epps said. "This always happens when I'm around you."
Allen sprinted forward. He heard the reassuring crunch of snow behind him. Brown and Epps followed. Through his NOD, he saw the woman bring up her shotgun. Don't fire it, don't fire it, don't fire it. But he was not a telepath, and the flare of the shotgun briefly blinded the display of the NOD. The boom cut through the night. As the display resolved and he could see the world again, he saw the woman stumble away from her backpack, from the food that she had risked everything for.
He put his rifle to the side, letting it hang from its strap, and he pulled his hatchet free. "Gotta get that bag. Epps, you get the woman. Let her know you're alive before you approach. Don't wanna get filled with buckshot."
"Got it," Epps said.
"Brown, you and me are gonna get that bag. Hope your swingin' arm feels good."
"I hate you so much," Brown said.
"Hate me later. Help me now."
They rushed forward, swinging at the front end of the horde. He didn't go for kill shots; he couldn't afford to have his hatchet become lodged in the brainpan of one of the dead. He knocked the Annies down to his left and right. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. He chopped and chopped, swinging at arms and faces. There was no artistry to it, just savagery. He screamed in the night, the fear of those gleaming white teeth sinking into his flesh sending him into overdrive. It felt good to knock them down. It felt good to bash their heads in. This one's for Day, he thought as he pounded another Annie to the ground.
He was standing over the backpack when he heard a strangled grunt to his right. He leaned down and scooped up the bag, backing up and spinning to see Brown pinned underneath one of the Annies.
He rushed over and brought his hatchet down on the back of the Annie's skull. He swung too hard, and as he tried to pull the hatchet free, the blood-soaked handle slipped from his grasp. He squatted down and pushed the body off Brown, abandoning his weapon.
"You get bit?" he asked quickly as he saw Brown's wide eyes and panicked face.
"Don't know," he said, getting up off the ground. They turned and ran. There would be time enough later to check their bodies for wounds, but right then, they were still alive, and there was still a shitload of dead heading in their direction. He scanned his surroundings, and saw them streaming from every direction. The woman's shotgun blast had brought them all. This place was crawling.
He spotted Epps dragging the woman along twenty yards ahead, a hatchet in his free hand. The lady stumbled behind him. She was on her last legs. As he and Brown ran to catch up, he noticed small splotches of black on the snow. Someone was bleeding…
Allen didn't speak of it to Brown. He would find out soon enough. They quickly caught up to the encumbered Epps, and Allen took the lead, unslinging his rifle and clearing their way. He wasn't worried about ammunition now. He was worried about survival, about finding a way out of the mess he had gotten them into. Tejada had ordered them not to sacrifice themselves, but he was not sacrificing himself, none of them were. They would get through it.
"Which way?" he called to the woman.
"Straight ahead, take a right at the next street. We're almost home."
Allen nodded. He saw the stop sign on the corner, jutting up out of the snow. "Can we go up and around? Come back to it? We gotta lose this tail."
The woman spoke with shaky, exhausted words. "Go… a… block… up. There's a street."
Allen looked back over his shoulder. Brown and Epps were carrying the woman now, each propping her up with one shoulder under her armpit. He had to slow his pace, but the promise of safety loomed ahead.
They passed the street that was their destination and continued forward for a long, cold block, dodging between the pockets of the dead. The dead all moved now, driven into action by the sound of a shotgun blast. The ones in the distance, blinded by the night, were ignorant of their passing. But the Annies close to them swung and faced them.
"Alright," Allen gasped. "This is the hard part, then we're home. We gotta go as fast as we can and lose these bums, or else we'll be trapped where we are. I'm gonna need you to put your feet on the ground and run as if your life depended on it, because it does, and that means our lives depend on it too. Can you run?"
"Yes," the woman rasped.
"Good. Epps, Brown, you go as fast as she goes. She falls, you pick her up. I'm gonna clear out anything in front of us."
"Check," Epps said.
"Affirmative," Brown said.
Then they were running full-tilt through the snow. Allen paused every now and then to line up a shot and take down one of the dead with one of the precious rounds from his M4. He would be sad when he was out of ammo for the rifle. It was the best weapon that he had ever had.
They moved forward, curling around a block, Allen clearing the way.
"This is it," the woman said.
Allen turned and clomped up the porch steps of a townhome with a wraparound porch. At the door, he paused and spun around. Epps
