Clutch did a slow three-sixty. Sweat dripped from his brow. “We have to keep moving. Too much open space. We’re easy targets out here.”
As though on cue, two zeds stumbled around the corner. The first, a farmer in jeans and cowboy boots, lumbered forward. At its side came a heavily tattooed biker zed with an intricate dragon climbing its sunbaked arm.
Two shots and the zeds fell. I turned to find Tack with his pistol still leveled where the zeds had been standing a second earlier.
Clutch sucked in another breath. “Let’s move out. It won’t take long for these guys’ pals to catch up.”
It took all my strength to push off from the wall and propel myself forward. Every boot step pounded the pavement. Every building seemed a mile long. We wheezed air. I stumbled over a curb.
At the end of an old warehouse, a bridge waited, its iron trusses reaching upward like welcoming arms. Several cars were smashed on it, preventing any vehicles from crossing.
Bodies rotted on the ground, but surprisingly, there were no zeds walking around.
I came to a stop at the same time Clutch and Tack must’ve seen it. A truck was parked not far from the bridge. The machine gun mounted on back was pointed right at us.
The Dogs were waiting for us.
Chapter XXV
“Shit!” I flattened myself against the wall, and Clutch and Tack did the same. “Think they saw us?” I asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But they had to hear Tack’s shots,” Clutch replied. “They’re probably stationed there to hold us back until the herd gets here. They’ve got front row seats for watching us get shredded.”
“There’s no way we can cross that bridge without getting gunned down,” Tack said.
“And there’s bound to be zeds in the river,” I added.
A zed came around the far corner of the building. It moaned and kept walking toward us, followed by at a least a hundred more, and more kept showing up. My heart lurched. “Looks like the party is about to start.”
“Time’s up,” Clutch said. “We have to take our chances at the bridge.”
“Wait,” I said, and I examined the iron bridge. “What if we go under the bridge?”
Both men looked at me.
“The undersides of some of these bridges are just big I-beams. We might be able to shimmy across.”
Clutch’s brow furrowed. “It could work. If we stay low and behind the roadblock, the Dogs might not be able to hit us.”
Moans and shuffling steps grew closer. The herd was halfway down the building now.
“Give it a shot?” Tack asked.
“Why not.” Clutch took off in a hunched-over run.
I followed and Tack hung back to cover our flank. It was hard to run bent over, weighted down by what remained of my gear and exhausted from nearly four hours of running through half the alleys and backstreets of Chow Town. I stumbled and Tack helped me back to my feet. My legs were jelly, but from somewhere deep inside, fresh adrenaline numbed my body and senses, and I kept moving behind Clutch toward the bridge.
Two zeds emerged from the bridge and came at us, but they were easy enough to maneuver around. I dove to the edge of the embankment. Clutch already had a leg over the embankment. He held out a hand. “Grab on to me,” he ordered. I reached out, and he snatched me against him and took a step down the embankment. He lost his footing and slid onto his back, pulling me against his chest. We slid several feet down before Clutch found traction again.
One of the zeds rolled past us and into the river below. The second followed a second later, grabbing Clutch’s arm on its way down. We were dragged several feet before I was able to kick it loose, and it tumbled away.
Clutch held me tight. I lay against him, panting. I looked down, and swallowed. If we’d slid another fifteen feet, we would’ve landed right on top of a couple dozen hungry zeds hungrily trapped at the edge of the river. They couldn’t climb the steep incline, and they couldn’t enter the river without being swept away (which I suspected was what had happened to quite a few zeds already).