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Katarina swung her rifle off her shoulder. “Did ya hear that?”
“Yup. I’m ready.”
It was time to kill zombies.
4
This Was a Bad Plan
Emma knew things were going to go wrong.
Though safe behind a high wall, hidden from view by the hunter’s blind, and armed with her grandfather’s rifle, her gut told her that shit was about to hit the fan. Without a doubt, Nerit and the others thought they had a good plan. Technically, she could see where it would probably work, but something felt off.
After diverting the massive horde of zombies, the people of the Fort looked exhausted and tensions were high. It was the type of emotional and physical state that resulted in mistakes. It was not an ideal atmosphere in which to make hurried decisions about how to obliterate yet another threat.
Listening to the constant stream of updates over the walkie-talkie, Emma leaned against the rail inside the hunting blind and peered out the open window cut into the fabric. The road ahead appeared clear except for the traps that were covered in cloth painted to look like the road from a distance. The layout was clever, designed to herd the zombies into the razor wire traps by setting off strategically placed fire traps.
Ingenious.
Still...
Over the walkie-talkie, a man’s voice said, “We have around twenty runners in pursuit. There are some slower ones scattered in the streets, but they’re not an issue. We’re about three blocks away from the traps.”
Emma rested her rifle butt on her hip while she listened. That many runners was a concern no matter how calm the man sounded.
“Runners are kinda smart,” she said, working through her concerns aloud.
In her periphery, she saw Katarina glance toward her. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“In the early days of the z-poc, they were smart enough to open car doors. That’s when I learned to always lock them. They used tools too. One threw a brick through the window of a building I was hiding in. If these runners are new, they might not fall for the traps once the first one goes off.”
Katarina grunted. “Shit. You got a point.”
“I might be wrong.”
“Yeah, but if you’re right this might not be as easy as we thought. Let me call in.” Katarina tugged the walkie-talkie off her belt. “These last few weeks have got us burned out. We don’t need to be making stupid mistakes.”
Emma was uneasy expressing her concerns. Being known as the zombie killer of an entire town was not something she was comfortable with at all. People could get the wrong impression about her and assume that she was some kind of know-it-all. She hoped she wasn’t coming across as arrogant or condescending.
While Katarina urgently spoke with the others with a grim expression stamped on her face, Emma studied the area. Since she wasn’t familiar with the town, she memorized every bit of the road in front of her. Even as the possibility of the plan going awry was discussed beside her, the noise of the Mustang’s approach reverberated through the streets. It was definitely loud enough to keep the runners’ focus and draw out any of the slower zombies lingering in the town.
“If they avoid the traps, open fire. It’s as simple as that,” Nerit said through the crackling of the airwaves. “If we pull more slow zombies to the wall, we’ll deal with them.”
Again, Emma experienced a twinge of unease. Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to working with other people. Being responsible for only her life was vastly more comfortable than worrying about others. At the same time, it would be foolish to dismiss the longevity of the Fort in a dangerous new world. It was formidable, an impressive testament to the tenacity of the inhabitants and the effectiveness of the leadership.
Still...
Emma caught movement down the block near the mouth of an alley. A tree or bush was casting shade against the brick wall, but some of the shadows were too compact to be foliage. Hoisting her rifle into position, she aimed toward the silhouettes that had caught her attention. The rippling shadows constantly changed shape. The longer Emma stared at them, the more certain she was that they were cast by something moving through the alley.
More runners?
Before she could share her concerns with Katarina, the Mustang roared around the corner two blocks away from the wall. It was an older model, a bit battered by time. A few seconds later, the runners appeared. Alarmingly fast, they sprinted after the car, howling. Keeping a tiny lead on the small herd charging after it, the sports car headed toward
the traps.
Flicking her gaze to the alley, Emma regarded the spot where it intersected with the road. The shadows were deepening. Maybe some of the runners were attempting to intercept the car by cutting through the narrow passage between buildings.
The Mustang was nearly to the first trap when a balding white man darted out into the road, waving his arms. Even from where she was perched up on the wall, Emma could see that he was alive and terrified.
