SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

78

DENISE

"Get to the trucks."

Denise didn't have time to stop. She could only hope that her shouted directive was enough to keep the group she met during their escape from Harvard from bolting like scared rabbits, along with everyone else.

Martinez kept pace with her as they raced to rejoin their unit on the front lines. Neither woman uttered a word. They were soldiers, no strangers to battle, yet this was an enemy for which there was no way to prepare. The creatures charging their position were fearless, unpredictable, and dangerous enough on their own. Seeing them attack in a nonstop flood of contorted bodies, Denise had to fight the urge to turn and flee with every breath she took.

"Fuck, this is bad," Martinez moaned.

The soldiers assembled on the front line rained bullets on the enemy. Automatic weapons mowed down the leaders, but still couldn't stem the tide. The alleys between the three-story homes grew dark with figures climbing over one another to reach the military's defenses.

Denise spotted Colonel Hayes amidst the chaos. He stood at the front with his men, struggling to hold back the swarm with what would surely be an inadequate supply of ammunition.

"Don't let up!" he shouted. "We need to buy these people time to evac."

She and the corporal ran up to him. While she received her orders directly, Martinez took up the slack by firing off into the undead crowd.

"Sir."

"They're coming at us faster than we can keep them back, sergeant," Hayes said. "We won't hold this position for long. I need you to take several men and protect our right flank. Set up a secondary defensive position behind cover at that playground over there, before these bastards try coming around on us. I'm depending on you to protect our retreat when the time comes."

"Yes, sir." Denise looked around, assessing the closest soldiers within earshot, before shouting over the fray, "Martinez, Powell, Hanson, Dunn, you're with me."

A collection of children's slides and park benches stood under an umbrella of bare tree branches. Denise ran for cover behind a tiny log structure. Her team took up positions elsewhere in the playground, their guns trained on the rows of houses to the south.

A 120mm shell boomed from the smoothbore gun of Harvard's last remaining Abrams. Its explosive impact punched a smoking hole into one of the neighborhood homes, burying the enemy in burning rubble.

Everything was moving so fast, Denise barely knew where to look. There was no reprieve from the enemy assault. They just kept coming in waves; an unyielding force of nature packaged in blackened, rent flesh.

"Sarge," Martinez hissed.

Denise tore her gaze away from the battle waged further afield. Directly across from their position, the last of Lincoln Parkway's tract homes stood at the end of the cul-de-sac. Heads bobbed over the tall picket fence in the back yard. Figures ran to the open driveway between the house and the fenced-in skate park next door.

"Ready..." She aimed her carbine and thumbed the safety off.

Five ghouls clad in torn, bloody clothes appeared around the corner of the house a moment later. The growling, lurching figures sniffed the air as they came down the driveway. Before they could detect Denise and her team, she shouted the order.

"Fire!"

Gunfire blasted from the playground, dropping four of the monsters in seconds. The fifth, a hissing dead woman whose head hung sideways from a gaping wound in her neck, loped down the driveway after them. They riddled her with bullets, stopping her cold before she reached the street.