she—
Crack. Crack.
Emma jerked at the faint yet unmistakable report of gunshots. Her gaze snapped to the tree line a few hundred yards from the fence. "What the hell?"
Her voice sounded so loud in the normally quiet afternoon. Moments later, more gunshots blasted through the woods. Shaken from her momentary stupor, Emma raced to the nearest guard tower, launched the garden tool onto the tower floor, and quickly scaled the tall ladder. Up on the platform, she slipped free from the weapon slings and carefully placed the rifle and shotgun on the wooden floor. Her backpack landed next to them with a loud thunk . She unzipped the front pouch and retrieved an air horn and binoculars.
Crouched down for cover from stray bullets, Emma lifted the binoculars and scanned the trees. More gunshots popped in the distance. They sounded as if they were drawing closer, but Emma thought maybe they were being fired parallel with the fence. She hated the idea that people were being chased out there and running so close to the safety of her fence. They obviously weren't familiar with the area or armed with radios, or else they would have pinged her and begged for help.
Emma picked up the air horn and lifted it overhead. She pressed the button three times, waiting two seconds between blares. She hoped the noise would act as a guide. At the same time, it was a big-ass risk. Those zombies could hear just as well as the people she assumed were being chased.
But the risk of discovery and an ensuing firefight was acceptable to her. She would never be able to live with herself if she found out she could have saved human lives and didn't because of fear of drawing the undead to her doorstep.
Three more blares on the air horn, and she picked up the binoculars again. This time when she heard gunshots, they sounded as if they were being fired away from her, as if the shooters were running toward her and firing behind themselves. She fished a box of rifle rounds from the backpack and put them close at hand. She had five rounds loaded into the rifle. Hopefully she wouldn't need to reload.
Emma continued to watch and listen. She could hear the gunshots drawing closer. Male shouts met her ear. She started to get into her preferred kneeling position for rifle shots when seated this high—but when the first man burst through the tree line as if his ass was on fire, Emma gasped.
No, no, no. That’s not possible.
The second man who exploded from the tree line behind his companion and confirmed her first suspicion. The military uniforms? Their size? The speed and power of their movements? Those men weren’t human.
They were cyborgs.
She swallowed hard as a dozen bloodthirsty, raging zombies emerged from the trees. Cyborgs or not, those men were in trouble. She switched to a sitting stance, widening her thighs and scooting back against the top part of the ladder. Braced against the rungs, she adjusted the rifle against her shoulder, using her knees to support her elbows, and pressed her cheek to the stock. She closed her right eye, letting her dominant left eye take over, and looked down the scope. All those years of hunting with her father were about to be put to use yet again.
Finger squeezing the trigger, she exhaled gently and fired off a round. The zombie she had picked jerked as the bullet slammed into his forehead. He dropped like a sack of rocks, but she didn't take time to gloat. She racked the bolt and forced another round into the chamber.
The cyborgs snapped their attention to her guard tower. Their harsh faces frightened her. These men were killing machines, born and bred for warfare. They could take her apart at the joints and gut her like a deer in a minute flat.
But her conscience wouldn't allow her to abandon them. They weren't fully human, but they were close enough. Besides, they were allies in this battle against zombies. In rapid succession, she picked off two more zombies. Her suppressing fire had the intended effect and sent
Crack. Crack.
Emma jerked at the faint yet unmistakable report of gunshots. Her gaze snapped to the tree line a few hundred yards from the fence. "What the hell?"
Her voice sounded so loud in the normally quiet afternoon. Moments later, more gunshots blasted through the woods. Shaken from her momentary stupor, Emma raced to the nearest guard tower, launched the garden tool onto the tower floor, and quickly scaled the tall ladder. Up on the platform, she slipped free from the weapon slings and carefully placed the rifle and shotgun on the wooden floor. Her backpack landed next to them with a loud thunk . She unzipped the front pouch and retrieved an air horn and binoculars.
Crouched down for cover from stray bullets, Emma lifted the binoculars and scanned the trees. More gunshots popped in the distance. They sounded as if they were drawing closer, but Emma thought maybe they were being fired parallel with the fence. She hated the idea that people were being chased out there and running so close to the safety of her fence. They obviously weren't familiar with the area or armed with radios, or else they would have pinged her and begged for help.
Emma picked up the air horn and lifted it overhead. She pressed the button three times, waiting two seconds between blares. She hoped the noise would act as a guide. At the same time, it was a big-ass risk. Those zombies could hear just as well as the people she assumed were being chased.
But the risk of discovery and an ensuing firefight was acceptable to her. She would never be able to live with herself if she found out she could have saved human lives and didn't because of fear of drawing the undead to her doorstep.
Three more blares on the air horn, and she picked up the binoculars again. This time when she heard gunshots, they sounded as if they were being fired away from her, as if the shooters were running toward her and firing behind themselves. She fished a box of rifle rounds from the backpack and put them close at hand. She had five rounds loaded into the rifle. Hopefully she wouldn't need to reload.
Emma continued to watch and listen. She could hear the gunshots drawing closer. Male shouts met her ear. She started to get into her preferred kneeling position for rifle shots when seated this high—but when the first man burst through the tree line as if his ass was on fire, Emma gasped.
No, no, no. That’s not possible.
The second man who exploded from the tree line behind his companion and confirmed her first suspicion. The military uniforms? Their size? The speed and power of their movements? Those men weren’t human.
They were cyborgs.
She swallowed hard as a dozen bloodthirsty, raging zombies emerged from the trees. Cyborgs or not, those men were in trouble. She switched to a sitting stance, widening her thighs and scooting back against the top part of the ladder. Braced against the rungs, she adjusted the rifle against her shoulder, using her knees to support her elbows, and pressed her cheek to the stock. She closed her right eye, letting her dominant left eye take over, and looked down the scope. All those years of hunting with her father were about to be put to use yet again.
Finger squeezing the trigger, she exhaled gently and fired off a round. The zombie she had picked jerked as the bullet slammed into his forehead. He dropped like a sack of rocks, but she didn't take time to gloat. She racked the bolt and forced another round into the chamber.
The cyborgs snapped their attention to her guard tower. Their harsh faces frightened her. These men were killing machines, born and bred for warfare. They could take her apart at the joints and gut her like a deer in a minute flat.
But her conscience wouldn't allow her to abandon them. They weren't fully human, but they were close enough. Besides, they were allies in this battle against zombies. In rapid succession, she picked off two more zombies. Her suppressing fire had the intended effect and sent
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