He worked the bolt and shifted the rifle to another target—a pair of Rovers leading a huge mass of zombies—and fired a single shot. He aimed for a stomach shot and hit the Rover just off center. With only muscle and organs to punch through, the bullet went all the way through the first Rover and into the groin of the second. Lots of blood.

The effect was immediate and appalling. The zombies following the Rovers went from a shambling mass drawn only by the whistles and became a pack of predators sparked to frenzy by blood. They fell on the wounded Rovers and even from that distance Church could hear the screams.

He shifted and used his last round to get a similar gory effect on the left flank of the assault.

***

Dahlia stood watching from the wall and was amazed at the effect of three carefully chosen shots. It was surgical, calculated, and horrible. But it was perfect, too, because now the attack was in total confusion.

What disturbed her, though, was the complete lack of emotion on the old man’s face. He was not only an excellent shot, but ice cold, too. No flicker of human emotion showed at all as he caused people to die in awful ways. She wondered if that was something she should aspire to, or something she should fear.

— 45 —: THE WARRIOR WOMAN, THE SOLDIER, AND THE DOG

— 45 —

THE WARRIOR WOMAN, THE SOLDIER, AND THE DOG

We could see daylight through the trees and I signaled Rachael to stay low and be very quiet. She moved well, and we crept to the edge of the forest. Up ahead were three people dressed in what looked like white hazmat suits covered with black muck. There were no obvious rents or tears in their clothing and they moved with the coordination of living men, not the awkwardness of the dead. Baskerville sniffed and looked uncertainly from them to me and back.

I waved Rachael to a spot behind a tree and held a finger to my lips. She nodded and crouched, still but ready. I gave a hand signal to Baskerville to circle and take up a flanking position. While he was doing that I crept forward for a better look.

The three people in the white suits were struggling with a big plastic cart. The left rear wheel had come off and they were trying to fix it without the use of any tools. There was a lot of cursing. Dead people don’t curse. Their language was very colorful and included descriptions of improbable sexual acts that would have been both gymnastic, humiliating, and painful. I caught one comment, though, that told me who they were.

“Big Elroy’s going to have your balls,” said one of them.

“Yeah, well fuck your mama with a donkey dick,” was the reply. “Are you going to help me with this thing or not?”