The moan came from behind me. Loud. Low. A grumble into an agonizing cry.

“Down,” Marf said.

I dropped and splattered into mud.

Heard a gunshot.

“Get up, get up,” Marf said.

I tried, but my shoes had no traction at all. They were coated in shit. My feet kicked and kicked, as if I was running in place.

Dave grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up. I turned around. The zombie was down.

He had not been alone. I saw heads bouncing. Couldn’t count them, but there were more than three. They were coming and they were coming fast.

Marf took another shot. Then another. “Go, run. Go!”

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday, November 1st -- 0212 hours

The dark was complete with the only light coming from the front end of Marf’s gun when he fired off rounds. I had not fired a shot. I held my rifle with both hands across my chest. Running was difficult, but I gave it my all. I slipped, slid, and felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Dress shoes sucked. I wished I’d changed out of them when I’d had the chance, back when I’d met my kids at my apartment -- long before the military Humvee rescued us from off the roof of the sidewalk plaza. I hadn’t, so now, I was stuck with fucking shitty shoes caked in crappy mud.

The good thing? Zombies hadn’t caught me. While I wasn’t looking back, I figured they couldn’t be doing much better in the mush. Fast zombies or not.

They groaned and grunted. The sounds forced chills racing up and down my skin, as if a skeletal finger made of ice traced my spine. I anticipated fingernails scraping my back. Each step I made was hopefully a step closer to getting away.

Dave and I ran side-by-side. His heavy breathing assured me I wasn’t alone. Once, maybe twice, when I stumbled, he grabbed my arm like he could see just fine in the darkness. I felt muscles tense each time he snatched me up, startled, sure it wasn’t him, but a zombie about to bring me down.

“Left!” Marf shouted.

We reached the end of the apartment. I think the fence was ahead. The gate to get out would have been to the right -- more back toward the way we had just run from, but to the right. Left only threw us deeper into the camp.

There was no time to argue. I went left, Dave now behind me. Losing my footing, I went down, and face planted into mud. I crunched my fingers against the butt of the gun when I fell on it. Dirty, cold and about to be eaten.

Dave, at least I think it was Dave, had hands on me. I felt the back of my pants and shirt pulled on.

I was lifted several inches, and then dropped back into the mud. I let out an Ooomph!

Something hit Dave hard, tackling him to the ground. They fought. Dave struggled, throwing wild punches from under the monster.

I attempted rolling over by using the rifle for leverage. I pushed on it, but before I could turn, a body slammed into me and onto me. The rifle flew out of my grasp. No chance holding onto it, because it was like my hands were slicked up with Vaseline.

The thing growled, hissed and its black tongue darted out of its mouth, licking at air, as if it wanted to clean the mud off my face. Putrid breath assaulted my nostrils. Acrid, and bile smelling, rotted flesh, like it decayed internally and the rancid fumes escaped from its mouth in plumes like smoke from a chimney.

Its jaws snapped at my face. I braced my forearm against its throat.

Clouds floated past the moon. That light was like a halo and outlined the zombie’s head. Perfectly encircled it. It illuminated dark veins in its skin that streaked from the neck toward the eyes. Most of its right cheek had peeled back from the face, leaving gums and teeth exposed, and flapping as he snapped at me.

Another zombie tried to stop. Its feet kicked up mud, resembling a cartoon character about to take off sprinting. Flintstones is what I thought of. The crazy things that came to mind when I was in trouble made no sense. The thing fell to its knees between Dave and me. It had its pick and could make a dog pile out of either one of us.

I heard several gunshots, but didn’t see muzzle flashes. Expected one of the zombies Dave and I fought against to drop, waited for brain chunks to rain down. Knew Marf was an excellent shot. The zombie on me, nothing. If he’d been shot, he didn’t show signs of it. His teeth nearly rattled loose each time he snapped at me and only snagged at bites of air.

The third zombie dropped onto me over my head. I gasped. Claustrophobia kicked in. I bucked, and arched my back. My forearm still restrained the one at my throat. The second kept trying to get an angle that would allow him access to my face. My rifle was way out of reach.

I had a knife with a giant blade on my hip. With my free hand, I reached for it, thinking for sure it wouldn’t be there, and the sheath would be empty, but it wasn’t. My muddy fingers wrapped around the hilt. I yanked it free. I brought it up and plunged it into the first zombie’s temple. The blade was sharp. It cut through the soft tissue and sawed clean into the brain. He fell forward, over me. Working like a shield, he protected me from the second zombie.

I tugged on the blade, but could not get a tight grip, because my hand kept slipping off. Using both hands, I pushed on his chest and rolled out from under him. The second zombie wasn’t fooled. He scrambled up over the dead one; the one with my knife lodged in his brain. My rifle was just out of reach. I clawed my fingers into the mud, dragging myself toward it.

Hands locked onto my leg, so I kicked my free leg at its arm, trying to pry it loose. The muddy shoes weren’t hurting shit, weren’t delivering any kick in the kick.

The rifle was right there. I could see it, but I just couldn’t get to it, despite the effort.

I sat up, balled my hand into a fist, and threw an uppercut at its jaw. Its head fell back, bounced forward. Its milky eyes rolled, I think. It screeched like metal being ground against a spinning stone. I would have plugged my ears if I didn’t need to get the creature off my leg.

I pulled up my knee and drove the flat of my muddy foot into its nose. Heard bone crunch. Dripping mud revealed a flattened snout and missing front teeth. That would certainly help, but I didn’t trust the lack of front choppers to save me.

The kick to its face might not have knocked him out cold the way it would have a real person. The hand did release my leg. I backed away, spun around and dove for the rifle. Falling on my back was the best I could do.

The thing was on all fours crawling at me. It was more wolf-like than we had been when we first rounded the enclosed camp. Its breath huffed from its mouth. Its head was low and it growled like a beast about to strike down prey.

I wrestled with the rifle, finger on the trigger and pulled.

White flames danced from the front of the muzzle. Six shots. Bullets tore its head to shreds.

Dave!

I got to my knees, ready to help my friend.

Dave straddled the zombie’s chest and, was in the process of destroying its face with hammering blows from the butt of his rifle.

No doubt in my mind that my shots would attract more zombies. I was winded. Lungs burned. Cold tears streaked the mud as they rolled down my face. “We have to find Marf,” I said.

“You okay?”

“I am. Killed two. Not like you. Only fighting off one.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Dave said, and smiled.

Chapter Fourteen

0247 hours

“Where’s the Lieutenant?” Dave said.

We stood with our backs pressed against one of the apartment buildings, both of us trying to control labored breathing. It began to rain again. The air was more than crisp. In fact, it was downright frigid. Temperatures seemed to keep dropping. Wet and muddy, I was cold.  “I didn’t see. No idea where he went,” I said.