“Find more or find me another rifle,” ordered Church as he climbed to a spot between the two breeches. Out on the field the Rovers in protective clothing were still blowing their whistles while the forest continued to vomit forth the dead in an unending stream. They were all coming from the sections of the forest where the Rovers themselves had emerged, suggestive of them having followed the whistles like the children of Hamelin following the Pied Piper. He frowned because there was something about that process that seemed wrong to him.

First things first.

He crouched behind an unbroken section of wall, propped his elbow on the top and leaned into the stock as he sighted his target. One of the Rovers was crabbing sideways to get a better angle on the wall twenty feet to the left of where the first grenade had hit. His frown deepened because it a was poor choice of targets. Whether the Rovers themselves wanted to invade the town or if they intended the dead to be a forlorn hope, it was a bad choice of target when you wanted to break down a wall.

If, in fact, that was their plan at all.

Time to sort it out later. Church sighted through the deer-hunter’s scope and drew his bead. Then he fired, leaning in to take the shot, keeping the weapon steady. He exhaled and squeezed the trigger just as the Rover was pulling his. The heavy bullet struck the launcher’s metal tube and ricocheted along the weapon, exploding the fingers of the man holding it and then glancing off to punch a red hole through his lower lip and out through his cheek. The Rover screamed and his finger jerked the trigger, but the launcher spun and twisted as he fell and the grenade went skittering and hissing across the grass toward the oncoming tide of bodies. It struck the ankle of one of the Rovers in bloody coveralls and exploded, flinging red rags across the faces of the dead.

The zombies went mad with the smell and taste of fresh meat and suddenly the driving herd was a disordered mess. The Rovers with the bloody clothes and whistles had to back sharply away from clutching hands. Two Rovers were splashed with blood from their dead companion and they vanished beneath a wave of the dead.

Closer to the wall, several of the zombies turned to rush at the man Church had shot. The bullet had done terrible damage, but he was alive. However, he was splashed with his own blood, as were the others in the RPG team. A dozen zombies swarmed over them, driven wild by the smell and sight of fresh human blood. It trumped the nullifying effect of the zombie blood on their clothes. Church watched this with a cold eye, noting the effect and nodding to himself.