I gave Page another hand squeeze and scrambled forward, ignoring Haley altogether. That was a face I could not look at before I threw myself at death’s feet- literally.
I crawled over the back seat and jumped through the broken window, stabbing a Feeder that was headed for King’s face directly in the nose. I shouldn’t have been strong enough to plunge it all the way through, until the tip of my knife poked out of the back of his skull, but their bones were brittle and weak from disease, their brains mushy and ready for death.
I let the momentum of the dead body carry my hand to the ground and then stomped on his mutilated face so I could pull out my weapon.
I heard the slashing of blade into flesh and then felt the warm spray of blood across my back. When I righted myself with weapon in hand I watched another Feeder crumble to the ground.
Glancing up, I mouthed “thank you” to King who had returned the favor of a saved life.
I kicked out and then stabbed, kicked out and then stabbed. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. There was a synchronization in not getting eaten, I just had to find the right rhythm. We had maybe a minute before one of us got bit- if we were lucky.
But then it happened.
The familiar sound of tires speeding over pavement.
Unable to look toward the source of the sound I kept fighting, kept struggling to survive. I had to believe there was hope in that sound. I had to hope there was salvation.
And then the most beautiful sound of my entire life echoed through the ugly morning- gunfire.
And lots of it.
It sounded like machine guns as the fast popping beat out a frantic melody of death and rescue. I continued to fight through those closest to us. My arms were weakening and my stomach muscles were on fire as I threw every ounce of my body into every single kill. I would keep fighting until I died. I would keep surviving until there was nothing left of me.
Murky blood clouded my vision as it continued to spray across my face. I had worked my shirt over my nose, but it kept falling down every time I managed any quick, jerky movements- which was all the time.
If killing Zombies made me a freaking Zombie I was going to be so pissed.
The machine gun rattled off behind us competing with pounding footsteps now and handguns that picked off the Feeders closest to the van.
I swung out at Feeder inches from taking a bite out of my arm, but I missed. My blade sliced across the bridge of his nose, making a deep, bloody gash, but I didn’t make it all the way to the brain so he kept coming.
I pulled my arm back to do it again when his grimy hands caught my arm in his ridiculously strong grasp. He cocked his head back on impulse and opened his mouth to reveal jagged, black teeth coated in a white, sticky film. I kicked at him with my boot but he didn’t even register the force of my foot.
I tried to cry out for Hendrix, but fear of the moment had almost rendered me speechless.
Then a heavy arm over my shoulder and the cool, black metal of a gun slid by my face only to blow a hole right through that Feeder’s open mouth.
I sagged with relief and bumped into the firm body of the man behind me.
I turned to say thank you but he was already picking off the rest of the Feeders. Boom. Boom. Boom.
With each release of the trigger I breathed a little bit easier.
I was knee deep in the bodies of the undead and covered in their filthy, diseased blood, but I was alive. And when I swung my head to the left- so was Hendrix. So was King. So was Harrison.
Finally, the last of the Feeders were taken care of and the guns stopped firing. A deafening silence fell over us and my ears rang with the force of it. Going from the scream and cry of battle to nothing was a shock to my system but a welcome one.
My breaths were ragged and dragged in and out of my chest painfully, but I turned around so I could see if everyone else made it. I ripped my shirt off, turning it inside out in the process and then wiped at my face. I had a tank top underneath, but my bare arms felt extra exposed after such a vicious attack.
I met Vaughan’s eyes when I could see again and he raised an exhausted arm that let me know he was Ok. Nelson did the same thing and I marveled at our good fortune. I honestly could not believe any of us were still alive.
Finally my gaze fell on our unexpected help. Three black Suburbans sat parked askew in the middle of the highway through the small Oklahoma town that had almost been the end of us. Two standalone machine guns were propped in the back of two of the vehicles and armed men and women stood all over.
They were all older than us- rough and world weary with hard masks of silent anger. This was a militia group. Obviously a well off one.
But they had saved our lives. And they included women as active members of society. I hoped these were good signs.
The man standing closest to me reached out a hand to Hendrix and said, “Probably a good thing we happened upon y’all.”