airway.
Fighting out from underneath his would-be-killer, James rejoined the Padre, resuming the hack and slash and stab routine they’d used on the fence-line infected minutes earlier. The strategy worked though not nearly as well as it had, principally because, despite splitting themselves between James’ group and Harry’s, the infected swarmed them in much greater numbers and with an increase in speed.
A sea of grasping hands and lethal teeth flowed mercilessly to and over both groups. Screams rose from the volunteers. Some broke formation and began to run, hoping perhaps to re-enter the Kirk. The fleeing people were brought down almost immediately. Some were devoured, some bitten and left to turn, adding to the savage tide of infected.
Most of the volunteers swallowed their fear and found the kernel of courage they needed to push back against the dark desire hunting them. Metal rained down from living hand to dead head. Feet stomped. Knives slashed, stabbed and pierced. Teeth bit and hands tore at flesh. Blood ran free and warm in rivulets along the courtyard, finding the cracks between slabs and dyeing patches of frost black-red in the moonlight. Some slipped and fell on its oily slickness. More blood and gore washed over those who fell. Some rose and rejoined the fight, some became yet another victim and then another enemy.
James and Stevenson fought as a single unit, protecting their team when they could, silencing those who had been bitten and mercilessly dispatching the infected who continued to run ferociously at the living.
Ignoring the lactic acid burn of their muscles, the soldiers eliminated the infected, thinning their numbers. Chests heaving with exertion, adrenalin surge spending the last shreds of their strength, eventually the makeshift squad of soldiers and survivors rid the courtyard of those who’d threatened to overwhelm the group scant minutes before.
Limbs sagging under quivering muscles, relieved finally to be given quarter, James assessed the battleground.
Somewhere in the melee the two groups had joined forces, drawn together by the marauding infected. Of the fifty men and women who’d exited the Kirk, less than twenty remained.
The survivors were scattered along the steps to the Kirk. Some lay on their backs, staring up at the clear, starry night sky. Some were praying for forgiveness or in gratitude. Some vomited or wandered bewildered amongst the fleshy detritus of the infected and their fallen comrades, searching for something they recognised or for any lingering signs of life still needing extinguished.
One man sobbed and laughed loudly, sounding as though his mind had fractured and couldn’t choose which release valve to pull.
None of them had survived intact. Not in body and not in spirit. Cameron moved quietly through the survivors offering platitudes, consoling, shoring up spirits. He also checked for bites. Many were wounded but none of the remaining people, mercifully, were bitten. None awaited final silencing from one of the group.
The four soldiers stood staring out at the courtyard and at what their mission had cost. Did securing almost two hundred people justify this? Thirty dead to ensure the safety of almost seven times that many? James knew that for Cameron it was a no-brainer, and he agreed. He also knew with certainty that Harry would be broken inside because of the lives spent so cheaply.
Cameron banged heavily on the Kirk’s main entrance, startling some of the survivors in the courtyard back to their senses at least somewhat.
“All clear,” he shouted. His voice, quivering with adrenaline, was a shadow of itself.
“Leave the doors barricaded, we’ll come around back.”
James watched passively as Cameron ushered the remaining twenty men and women of the group back to the exit they’d come through ten minutes earlier with more than twice that number. Flicking some gore from the toe of his boot, James stayed in the courtyard with Harry
Fighting out from underneath his would-be-killer, James rejoined the Padre, resuming the hack and slash and stab routine they’d used on the fence-line infected minutes earlier. The strategy worked though not nearly as well as it had, principally because, despite splitting themselves between James’ group and Harry’s, the infected swarmed them in much greater numbers and with an increase in speed.
A sea of grasping hands and lethal teeth flowed mercilessly to and over both groups. Screams rose from the volunteers. Some broke formation and began to run, hoping perhaps to re-enter the Kirk. The fleeing people were brought down almost immediately. Some were devoured, some bitten and left to turn, adding to the savage tide of infected.
Most of the volunteers swallowed their fear and found the kernel of courage they needed to push back against the dark desire hunting them. Metal rained down from living hand to dead head. Feet stomped. Knives slashed, stabbed and pierced. Teeth bit and hands tore at flesh. Blood ran free and warm in rivulets along the courtyard, finding the cracks between slabs and dyeing patches of frost black-red in the moonlight. Some slipped and fell on its oily slickness. More blood and gore washed over those who fell. Some rose and rejoined the fight, some became yet another victim and then another enemy.
James and Stevenson fought as a single unit, protecting their team when they could, silencing those who had been bitten and mercilessly dispatching the infected who continued to run ferociously at the living.
Ignoring the lactic acid burn of their muscles, the soldiers eliminated the infected, thinning their numbers. Chests heaving with exertion, adrenalin surge spending the last shreds of their strength, eventually the makeshift squad of soldiers and survivors rid the courtyard of those who’d threatened to overwhelm the group scant minutes before.
Limbs sagging under quivering muscles, relieved finally to be given quarter, James assessed the battleground.
Somewhere in the melee the two groups had joined forces, drawn together by the marauding infected. Of the fifty men and women who’d exited the Kirk, less than twenty remained.
The survivors were scattered along the steps to the Kirk. Some lay on their backs, staring up at the clear, starry night sky. Some were praying for forgiveness or in gratitude. Some vomited or wandered bewildered amongst the fleshy detritus of the infected and their fallen comrades, searching for something they recognised or for any lingering signs of life still needing extinguished.
One man sobbed and laughed loudly, sounding as though his mind had fractured and couldn’t choose which release valve to pull.
None of them had survived intact. Not in body and not in spirit. Cameron moved quietly through the survivors offering platitudes, consoling, shoring up spirits. He also checked for bites. Many were wounded but none of the remaining people, mercifully, were bitten. None awaited final silencing from one of the group.
The four soldiers stood staring out at the courtyard and at what their mission had cost. Did securing almost two hundred people justify this? Thirty dead to ensure the safety of almost seven times that many? James knew that for Cameron it was a no-brainer, and he agreed. He also knew with certainty that Harry would be broken inside because of the lives spent so cheaply.
Cameron banged heavily on the Kirk’s main entrance, startling some of the survivors in the courtyard back to their senses at least somewhat.
“All clear,” he shouted. His voice, quivering with adrenaline, was a shadow of itself.
“Leave the doors barricaded, we’ll come around back.”
James watched passively as Cameron ushered the remaining twenty men and women of the group back to the exit they’d come through ten minutes earlier with more than twice that number. Flicking some gore from the toe of his boot, James stayed in the courtyard with Harry
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