While he did that, Rachael came quietly out of the woods and stood on the far side of the cart. They glanced at her in surprise. Not unreasonable, considering Rachael wore parts of old-fashioned armor, had blood matted in her hair, and a big tear in the front of her Batgirl T-shirt. She was also giving them a look that would have frightened a crocodile.

“Who the hell’s she supposed to be?”

“I thought that was pretty obvious,” I said. “She’s Batgirl.”

I said it in a Christian Bale raspy voice, but they looked blank. Wrong crowd, or maybe the movie was too old for them. Whatever.

“Okay, assholes,” I said, “what’s the plan for Happy Valley? I mean, the whole plan. I want details and I want them now.”

The first guy snorted. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think—”

I shot him in the face. He fell backward and down and I took a step forward and pointed the gun at the woman, who’d stood closest to him and whose face was now painted with blood and brains. Rachael shifted toward the second man, and Baskerville moved quickly to stand within easy kill range of both Rovers.

The Rovers jumped and cried out when I fired my shot, but then turned to statues. Their eyes were wide, mouths open, and it was clear that any power that they perceived in themselves had crumbled away.

“I only need one of you to answer my questions,” I said, moving the barrel from one to the other. “That one gets to walk out of here.”

As it happened, they both decided that it was a good time for a conversation. Once they got in gear, I could hardly shut them up.

— 46 —: HAPPY VALLEY

— 46 —

HAPPY VALLEY

Dahlia recoiled from the flames that sprang up in long lines across the field. The living dead stumbled forward in their hundreds. A few staggered too close to the fires, and flames leapt onto dried flesh and rags of clothing, turning them into torches. Here and there some of these walking bonfires collided with other zombies, but the Rovers were there with long poles to knock them away before they could start a conflagration.

The mass moved on, getting closer to the wall. Soon they would be climbing toward the breech.

“Archers,” yelled Dahlia, and those members of the Pack who had real skill with bows drew arrows and began firing. The first volley hit home, with every arrow finding undead flesh, but only two zombies fell. “Aim for the head!”

They tried and the second volley was almost entirely wasted. Arrows struck eyes but the archers were shooting down and the barbs drove at the wrong angle. Most of the arrows passed over their heads and hit the chests of the creatures behind them.

The zombies surged forward through the alley of flames.

“Wait,” yelled Dahlia. “Legs. Shoot their legs.”