7/28 11:14am (2 of 2)

Dave’s lead shot tore through two goners. A third’s back was broken, sending it down- but not out. It kept right on moaning, heading toward me with dead eyes and inhuman resolve.

I instinctively ducked as he fired three shots into the moaning crowd, cowering away from angry lead streaking toward me. Have no idea how close it actually came, but I could swear my jacket got new ventilation.

Another four clambered out of the storefront window, slicing and shredding their hands as they did. Realizing that the odds were against me, I retreated back to the other two, while Daisy yapped away, hackles up. I saw several more in the darkened interior of the store, shuffling toward us.

Dave nodded to the house on opposite side of the street, and we booked toward it. James, still in complete shock at the sudden violence, turned to follow us a moment later. The old man and I were not in the mood to slow, and James realized this. “Don’t leave me!”

Terror, absolute, total, and complete, filled his quaking voice. He raised a hand toward us.

And he tripped.

I turned, barely inside the door of the house. He fell, and fell hard. Unsteady limbs collapsed. The ax fell, cutting edge striking the curb, chipping with a sharp clang.

Dave turned, further in than I, and put his hand on my shoulder. His face was set in hard lines. “Damn fool. Can’t risk that mob killing us too.”

I paused, much less certain. My mind flashed back to Rob, that night. Dave was right, of course. I should have learned Rob’s lesson and not stopped, not even for a moment. I saw a whole set of moaners stumbling out of the store, toward James’ fallen body. I knew that the possibility was good that we would all die in a fruitless last stand. But I stopped, for just a moment. Uncertain.

That’s when Daisy slipped out the door. In a flash, she was out next to James, then she was past him. Hackles raised, she loped toward the invading moaners.

Dave cried out. I paused a moment more, surprised witless. That damn dog was was acting more loyally than Dave or me.

Daisy snapped and retreated, trying to scare the moaners. What worked for all canines for all time past did not work for her. These walking corpses have more in common with Roombas than any animal wolves ever fought. They don’t stop, don’t turn, don’t even blink. They just move forward, dog or not.

I ran out, Dave’s slack grip not letting me go. Old, congealed blood flew when I got close. The slugger pushed them back, Daisy snapping and snarling. Goners want us, people that is, more than animals. But they still grabbed at her. They still got a couple bone crushing swipes in.

Dave was next to James by then. He didn’t worry about counting his rounds then. Blasted into the crowd, screaming. Not words, just screaming.

The goners died for their second and final time. Every single one. Done. Holes punctured, blouses blasted, faces smashed. Few had hamstrings ripped loose, bloodied by Daisy’s fangs.

In a minute, maybe less, the firefight was over. Three of us breathers trying to run and gun’s one thing. Trying to move without being seen, trying to avoid loud noises. We’re pretty weak, doing that. But fangs, bat, and a shotgun bent on murder are another story entirely.

Daisy was huffing and puffing by then. Blood matted her fur, too much. She swayed on her feet. Without comment, the old man picked up his dog. She’s not a small pup; Dave didn’t care.

I helped James up, who’s mouth still hung at all the carnage, and we caught up to the veteran. He wasn’t waiting for us. He was murmuring to Daisy, who wagged her tail off and on, whimpering.

We made it through a few blocks down, and we’ve set up in the top part of a store, the part above that doubled as the owner’s home.

The lumber yard is burning now, across the Spedwater. We were lucky. Out of the frying pan, for sure. But what the hell kind of fire have we jumped into now?