He and Finn both swore.
An infected fell upon someone to their far left who was caught out reloading. A high-pitched squeal filled the air. Finn quickly shifted, lining up his target. The top of the thing’s head turned a red mass as its brains exploded.
But it was too late.
The man fell to his knees, clutching at the remains of his throat, helpless to staunch the flow of blood pumping out through his fingers.
“I need to get to the garbage truck,” Finn said. “We have to close the gap.”
“There are too many,” said Dan.
“We have to push through.” Al revved the engine. “Get in the back.”
Finn turned to Daniel with teeth clenched tight. “I’m begging you, get her out of here.”
“If we need to make a run then she’s right where we want her,” Daniel said. Panic ripped through him like broken glass in his gut. The thought of letting either one of them out of his sight squeezed those shards tight. “Here’s the cavalry.”
Another pick-up truck pul ed up alongside them, Santa behind the wheel. Erin and three men were in the open-top cage up back.
They were armed to the teeth, with an assortment of guns and ammunition lying loose around their feet. Erin handed Dan a couple of pistols, popping off shots at the gate all the while. The woman stayed strong despite the pallor of her face.
“Thanks,” he said.
“We’re going for the garbage truck. Cover our backs.” Finn seemed to avoid Ali’s worried gaze when he passed her by and climbed onto her pick-up’s tray in one smooth jump. “Wind the window up, Al. Whatever happens, you stay put.”
Daniel followed the gunslinger, standing up high, hanging on to the metal frame sitting behind the cab. If possible, things looked worse from up there. He blocked out the cries of panic and pain from nearby, muted the moaning and concentrated on doing his part, gunning down the infected shambling toward them. They were taking her straight into it.
His shoulders tightened and he prayed the gun wouldn’t start shaking.
If they could just all live through this, all three of them get through it in one piece – it was al he asked. And it was a shitload to ask at such a time.
Finn knocked once on the cab roof and they were off. A hot, putrid wind rushed toward them as they drove into the oncoming sea of infected.
CHAPTER FORTY
Finn stood behind the cab on the back of the pick-up, concentrating solely on one lone target at a time. He took it nice and easy, though he could feel the sweat dampening his back, and the trickle of blood running down his front. Not letting the fact that his girlfriend was driving straight into danger mess with his focus.
Shit.
He wanted Al away from this, but Dan was right. Keeping her close was best.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
More dogs appeared, slinking in, cautious now. They growled and bit at thin air. They fell upon the scene like it was a feast. Infected or no, it didn’t seem to matter.
Finn laid the rifle at his feet and Daniel slapped a semiautomatic Browning into his hand. The two trucks moved forward, side-by-side, toward the garbage truck, lowering the risk of friendly fire. It was a bumpy ride, since many of the infected had fal en. There was no clean path.
It was less than a hundred meters, but it felt like miles.
Al kept going till the vehicle’s front gril bumped against the side of the garbage truck. She had made the vehicle into a walkway, delivering him straight to the driver’s-side door.
A zombie banged against her window and Daniel dealt it one to the head.
Finn slipped his pistol into his belt, climbed up and over the cab, and stepped onto the pick-up’s hood. The engine vibrated beneath his feet.
None of the garbage truck windows survived. Andy lay where he fel , slumped against the steering wheel.
Finn pulled open the driver’s-side door.
The world lit up from the wrong direction. Lights appeared, dazzling him, shining in from out of the darkness beyond Blackstone.
From the outside. Finn shielded his eyes with his hand.
An army Hummer rolled toward them, heading for the gap in the wall. Men walked alongside, picking off the infected as they came close. Some carried pistols, not unlike his own, but not all. The staccato bursts of an Uzi or something similar cut the night apart. About nine men, max, dressed in haphazard uniform. Ex-military, perhaps.
What the fuck is this?
Five, six of the dogs stood snarling, caught between guns firing inside Blackstone and this new line of attack. Trapped. They were going to lose civilians to friendly fire if these new people weren’t careful. The moaning of the infected picked up. Many were milling about, likewise caught between Erin’s truckload of gunners and this new development.
“We’re here to help,” someone yelled before one of the men up front struck up a flame thrower. “Stand clear!”