The big stack of metal boxes fell next. A zom closed in on Benny, and he shoved one labeled LAW RKTS in its face. The zom flew backward into others. The container case slid off the stack and crashed down on its corner. The impact popped the hinges so the case flopped open. Benny glanced at it and saw something that vaguely resembled a gun, but it wasn’t anything he understood how to use. He ignored it and kept scrambling backward.

That was when Benny almost died.

He heard a sudden growl. Not a moan—a growl—and he looked up to see a zom climbing over the other zoms. Climbing fast. It was one of two zoms dressed in green jumpsuits—and Benny remembered too late the notations he and Nix had read on the clipboard, about the zoms in green.

This is an entirely new classification . . . able to negotiate obstacles . . . avoid many of the objects thrown at it . . . use simple tools. This reanimate appeared to be able to grasp certain concepts, particularly stealth and subterfuge.

The zom snarled at him. Its eyes were not dead eyes. They were more like those of the lions who had surrounded the camp. There was intelligence in them. If not human, then some new order of primitive intelligence.

A hateful intelligence.

The zom came clawing and scrambling its way over the others, howling out its hunger, racing straight at Benny.

Behind it, the second green-jumpsuited zom tore free of its bindings and hissed like a snake.

Benny backed away, his torch falling from his hand.

He spun and ran as fast as he could.

The zoms crawled over the others, dropped onto the metal deck, and ran after him.

Benny dove through the cargo bay hatch, across the narrow corridor, slammed into the cockpit door, jerked the handle hard, shoved his weight against it, jumped inside, slammed the door shut, and shot the handle back into place.

Then Tom spoke in his head for the first time in hours.

Some zoms can turn door handles.

Benny thought it was a slice of memory served up in a moment of need, but it still sounded like Tom was right there behind him.

He looked down at the handle.

It began to turn.

With a cry, Benny grabbed it and shoved it to the locked position. There was a shallow well around the handle so the whole door was flush.

The handle jerked and rattled with incredible force. This was not the fumbling of a zom, not according to everything Benny had seen. This was coordinated. This was powerful.

Benny thought he had already reached the limit of how high his terror could soar.

He was wrong.

He held on with one hand while he desperately scrabbled in his pockets for something he could use to wedge the handle in place. The only thing he had that was strong enough was his quieting knife.