half-open door they passed for signs of movement.
There was another gunshot up ahead. The old dude in the cowboy hat was popping off a few well-aimed shots at a section of the courtyard off to their right, and as soon as Billy stepped into the sunlight, he saw why. Several of the prisoners from his work detail were there, shambling toward them.
Billy glanced over the buildings behind them and saw a hotel. That’s where they’re coming from, he figured. And that meant there were going to be a lot more of them soon. This part of Sarasota was almost completely made up of hotels and businesses that catered to the tourist crowd. Few of the people stuck here would know the area well enough to get away quickly, which would turn them into sitting ducks.
A shot broke his train of thought. He didn’t so much as hear the crack of the report as feel the whistle of air as the bullet passed just inches from his face.
“What the fuck?” he said, and looked at the old dude in the cowboy hat.
The man pointed to the open doorway behind him with a nod of his chin.
Billy looked behind him and saw an old woman whose lower lip and part of her cheek had been chewed off. It looked like the fingers on her right hand had been bitten off, too.
And now, there was a bullet hole in her forehead.
Billy quickly gauged the distance between himself and the old dude who had just fired. It looked to be about forty-five to fifty yards. Billy didn’t like guns, but he knew enough about them to respect what they could do. And he knew shooting wasn’t as easy as they made it out to be in the movies. Even with a rifle, landing a kill shot at that distance wouldn’t be a guarantee. To do it with a revolver was either very lucky or the product of someone who was an extremely gifted shooter.
“Ed, what’s happening?” the woman beside Billy yelled.
“We need to make it to the nurse’s station,” the old dude in the cowboy hat called back.
The woman turned to Billy. “This way, come on.”
The old man in his arms was groaning, and Billy was suddenly aware of how roughly he was treating him.
“Sorry, guy,” he said. “Hang in there.”
The man only groaned.
Zombies were pouring into the courtyard all around them. They were in some kind of central hub for the old-folks’ home, Billy figured, and they were starting to attract a pretty big crowd.
For a moment, Billy fought the urge to drop the old man and run for it. There were still large gaps between the zombies, and he was fast enough that he could probably make it through without even coming close to an infected person. But just as quickly he shot that thought down. He wasn’t a coward, and that’s what he’d be if he dropped the old man and ran for it. No, that wasn’t him at all.
Billy’s group and the old cowboy’s group came together in the middle of the courtyard.
The cowboy looked at the man in Billy’s arms.
“Hey, Art, you okay?”
The old man tried to answer, but it just came out as a slurred mumble.
“I don’t think he got bit,” Billy said.
The old cowboy nodded. “You’re okay, carrying him?”
“I got him.”
The squat woman with the two kids came up and whispered to the cowboy, “Ed, what are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna have to shoot our way through. Can everybody move okay?” he said, looking at the others. They all nodded back. “Okay. Let’s get going.”
A zombie, faster than the others, had made it dangerously close to them. Ed motioned for Billy to stand aside. He raised one of his revolvers and dropped the zombie with an effortless one-handed shot.
As Billy watched, the old man released the catch on the revolver and opened up the cylinder. He depressed the plunger and ejected all six spent shell casings onto the grass. Then he took a speed loader from a leather pouch on his belt, fed it into the cylinder, twisted the knob to release the bullets into their chambers, and then with a flick of his wrist snapped the cylinder
There was another gunshot up ahead. The old dude in the cowboy hat was popping off a few well-aimed shots at a section of the courtyard off to their right, and as soon as Billy stepped into the sunlight, he saw why. Several of the prisoners from his work detail were there, shambling toward them.
Billy glanced over the buildings behind them and saw a hotel. That’s where they’re coming from, he figured. And that meant there were going to be a lot more of them soon. This part of Sarasota was almost completely made up of hotels and businesses that catered to the tourist crowd. Few of the people stuck here would know the area well enough to get away quickly, which would turn them into sitting ducks.
A shot broke his train of thought. He didn’t so much as hear the crack of the report as feel the whistle of air as the bullet passed just inches from his face.
“What the fuck?” he said, and looked at the old dude in the cowboy hat.
The man pointed to the open doorway behind him with a nod of his chin.
Billy looked behind him and saw an old woman whose lower lip and part of her cheek had been chewed off. It looked like the fingers on her right hand had been bitten off, too.
And now, there was a bullet hole in her forehead.
Billy quickly gauged the distance between himself and the old dude who had just fired. It looked to be about forty-five to fifty yards. Billy didn’t like guns, but he knew enough about them to respect what they could do. And he knew shooting wasn’t as easy as they made it out to be in the movies. Even with a rifle, landing a kill shot at that distance wouldn’t be a guarantee. To do it with a revolver was either very lucky or the product of someone who was an extremely gifted shooter.
“Ed, what’s happening?” the woman beside Billy yelled.
“We need to make it to the nurse’s station,” the old dude in the cowboy hat called back.
The woman turned to Billy. “This way, come on.”
The old man in his arms was groaning, and Billy was suddenly aware of how roughly he was treating him.
“Sorry, guy,” he said. “Hang in there.”
The man only groaned.
Zombies were pouring into the courtyard all around them. They were in some kind of central hub for the old-folks’ home, Billy figured, and they were starting to attract a pretty big crowd.
For a moment, Billy fought the urge to drop the old man and run for it. There were still large gaps between the zombies, and he was fast enough that he could probably make it through without even coming close to an infected person. But just as quickly he shot that thought down. He wasn’t a coward, and that’s what he’d be if he dropped the old man and ran for it. No, that wasn’t him at all.
Billy’s group and the old cowboy’s group came together in the middle of the courtyard.
The cowboy looked at the man in Billy’s arms.
“Hey, Art, you okay?”
The old man tried to answer, but it just came out as a slurred mumble.
“I don’t think he got bit,” Billy said.
The old cowboy nodded. “You’re okay, carrying him?”
“I got him.”
The squat woman with the two kids came up and whispered to the cowboy, “Ed, what are we gonna do?”
“We’re gonna have to shoot our way through. Can everybody move okay?” he said, looking at the others. They all nodded back. “Okay. Let’s get going.”
A zombie, faster than the others, had made it dangerously close to them. Ed motioned for Billy to stand aside. He raised one of his revolvers and dropped the zombie with an effortless one-handed shot.
As Billy watched, the old man released the catch on the revolver and opened up the cylinder. He depressed the plunger and ejected all six spent shell casings onto the grass. Then he took a speed loader from a leather pouch on his belt, fed it into the cylinder, twisted the knob to release the bullets into their chambers, and then with a flick of his wrist snapped the cylinder
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