When you create an opportunity for counter-attack you must waste no time and show no mercy. Overwhelm the attacker with as many strikes, kicks, head-butts and bites as you can manage. Do not let up because if you give him even a moment to catch his breath he will come back harder. Take that option away completely.

Neeko did exactly that. In the space of a single fractured moment he head-butted the Rover in the nose, kneed him in the crotch, stamped on his instep and ground the man’s foot-bones, bit the side of his neck, boxed his ears and punched him in the throat. All of the blows were sloppy with fear, and no single strike was crippling, but the cumulative effect was akin to being dropped into a threshing machine. The man staggered and Neeko pivoted to kick him on the kneecap with a flat-footed attack that filled the air with a huge dry-stick crack.

Dahlia saw all of this out of the corner of her eye, but all of her other awareness was drawn to the leader of the Rovers, who drove at her with a furious attack. The bayonet slashed and chopped and stabbed. The woman was shorter but very solid, with ropey muscles and catlike speed. Her attacks drove Dahlia back step by step.

Never allow the enemy to fight his fight. The rules are yours to change.

Dahlia suddenly threw herself sideways into a tight shoulder roll and came up with a handful of dirt and small stones. She rose and hurled them at the woman, forcing her to shield her eyes and turn away. The woman tripped over a root and fell heavily, losing her knife.

That’s when Dahlia made her first mistake.

Mr. Church taught her to press an advantage, to never leave an enemy able to regroup. One part of her knew that and understood the logic of it, but another part—an older, less confident and perhaps more moral part—shouted that to press the advantage meant killing these people. All of them. She was not sure she could commit five murders. Not in cold or hot blood. Killing the living dead was one thing; this was something entirely different.

And so she ran to Neeko, grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him into the woods with all of her strength.

“Run!” she yelled.

He gaped at her and looked past Dahlia to where the Rovers were all climbing back to their feet. Then he gave a small cry and vanished into the woods. Dahlia knew that in a flat race no one was going to catch the little scout. He was as fast as a weasel and slippery as an eel, and terror put wings on his feet.