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“Wait,” cried Benny, but then he broke into a run. Nix was faster in a fight but Benny could outrun her, and he did so now, leaping a fallen log and plunging into a dense stand of vine-covered pine trees. The ground sloped sharply away and he fell three feet down a decline, skidded on moss, caught his balance and outran his own momentum so that he emerged into a clearing in a fast run.
He ran straight into the center of a bloody battle. Not with another gorilla, nor with any other infected animal. She was fighting three big men . . . and with a shock Benny realized that these were the same kind of men he’d seen herding the swarms of zoms. All leather, spiked gloves, and chains. One held a big logging ax, another had a pitchfork, but the third clamped the stump of his right wrist as blood shot from it with fire-hose force. His hand, finger still hooked through the trigger guard of an automatic pistol, lay on the ground at Lilah’s feet, and there was fresh blood on her spear. Behind her, sprawled on the ground, was a fourth man who was covered in terrible bleeding wounds. He was different from the brutal attackers; dressed like a soldier, in forest-pattern camouflage and a military equipment belt.
The closest of the three attackers spun toward Chong and swung his ax, but Chong went into a sliding skid beneath the swing and fired his arrow while still in motion. The arrow struck the man in the shoulder, but the brute plucked it out of the thick leather without even a wince. He raised his ax for a downward killing blow.
Benny leaped into the air and slashed at him with a blow so furious and powerful that it cut the attacker nearly in half. Blood splashed the trees.
That left the wounded man and the one with the pitchfork. Nix shot the second man in the chest twice. A double-tap that knocked him back against a tree. He winced in pain, but then laughed and rushed at her.
It was so weird, so unexpected, so impossible that Nix froze for a second.
“He’s . . . he’s a zom!” cried Chong.
Benny pivoted and back-kicked the man in the ribs, knocking him sideways against another tree, and Lilah spun and stabbed him in the stomach.
The killer froze, his pitchfork falling with a thud, impaled on the heavy blade. But not dead. He grinned with bloody teeth and with a savage growl tore the spear from Lilah’s hands. He tore the blade from his stomach, spun the spear in his hands as if he was familiar with such weapons, and rushed at Nix.
She shot him three more times. Twice in the chest, which did no good at all. Her third bullet, however, punched through the bridge of his nose, and he went down all at once into a sloppy, boneless sprawl.
That left the third attacker. He bled
from the stump, but with his remaining hand he pulled a knife from a thigh sheath and tried to stab Lilah in the back. Then Morgie and Riot were there, closing in on him from two sides. Riot hit him in the throat with a ball bearing from her slingshot, and Morgie smashed him across the temple with the bokken. The man staggered, fought to remain on his feet, kept trying to stab.
Morgie hit him again. And again.
And again.
What was left of the man fell.
Benny started to rush over to the injured man these three killers had been attacking when something clamped around his ankle. He looked down in abject horror to see that the man he’d cut in two had an iron grip on Benny’s ankle. Blood swirled around the man, and Benny could see that it was both red and black, but the two colors were not mixing, as if the human blood would not tolerate joining with the oily black blood.
It sent icy needles through Benny, because he had seen this before.
This was how the R3 zombies bled. The ones who were smarter, faster, more dangerous.
But these men had used weapons. They were dressed like fighters, like members of a gang. Even the R3’s were not that sophisticated. What, then, was this?
Benny raised his sword and swept the blade down. The neck and the brain stem parted and the man’s hand twitched once and then relaxed.
Morgie stared at the fallen man. “Is he . . . I mean . . . what . . . ?”
“He’s an R3,” said Nix, her voice hushed.
“No,” said Benny, “he’s something worse than that.”
73
A GROAN MADE THEM ALL turn, and they hurried over to the injured soldier. It was easy to see that he was horribly injured. Dying.
“Morgie, Riot, stand watch,” said Benny as he knelt beside the man.
He, Lilah, Nix, and Chong did their best with strips of cloth to stanch the bleeding wounds, but they all knew it was hopeless. There were knife wounds all over the man’s body, but there were also bite marks. Human teeth. The man’s eyes were filled with pain, but he blinked them as clear as he could and looked up at the faces around him.
“You’re . . . you’re a bunch of . . . kids . . . ?” he gasped, struggling to talk. “Who are you? Are you from town?”
“Town?” asked Nix. “What town?”
The man seemed confused by the question. “There’s only one town. The settlements, the camps . . . they’re all gone. There’s only . . . New Alamo.”
