SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

82

DENISE

Denise ran, leaving her regrets, sorrow, and fear behind. The only thing she brought with her was her sense of duty. That and the weapons needed to see her through the dangerous task ahead.

Her vision was laser-focused on the terrified men and woman racing up the causeway to the mainland. Most of them were barely staying ahead of the four-legged demons chasing them.

No sooner had she noticed the closing gap between them than the zombie dogs took down the person bringing up the rear. The pack, which consisted of a collection of larger breeds in varying stages of decomposition, tore the screaming woman limb from limb. Her companions mewled and ran faster, not daring to steal a peek at the gruesome fate that had befallen her. A few dogs gnawed at her arms and legs, apparently satisfied with their meal. Several others jumped over her bleeding corpse to resume pursuing their fleeing prey.

Castle Island's unkempt grass became a rocky shoreline that pinched both sides of the causeway. Better than 300 feet ahead, water flowed under the closer of two bridges connecting the inlets separating Pleasure Bay from Dorchester Bay. Denise poured on the speed, desperate to reach the span before the undead animals crossed it. The assault rifle thumped against her back. She forked a thumb through its strap to hold it in place while she ran.

The people from the guard post on this side of the bridge hesitated in their tracks upon noticing the armed soldier running towards them. Denise waved them on, not only to clear her path, but that of the other people fleeing the monsters behind them.

"Move it!" she shouted. "Come on. Get to the fort."

Uneasily, throwing her curious glances, two armed men and a woman raced past her in the opposite direction. Enlisting their help to stop the rampaging beasts wasn't even a consideration for Denise. These people were terrified, both of the dogs and of her. Scared people acted impulsively, recklessly; something that was apt to get more people killed.

The notion of her own mortality buzzed in her brain. She gritted her teeth and pushed the thought aside. Death marched behind her into every battle she faced. She could practically feel its breath on her back now.

Denise slid into position at the foot of the bridge, deftly unslinging the carbine from her shoulder at the same time. She reached into her pouch for the colonel's grenades, juggling them in her hands along with one of her own. If her inventory of explosives failed to hold the dogs at bay, she supposed Death might finally get its way. After losing everyone and everything she ever cared about, she barely gave the thought much consideration.

The last survivor sprinted past, moaning in terror. She barely noticed the soldier preparing to clear the path behind her.

Denise looked past her at the zombie hounds loping across the bridge. The one in the lead, a lean, black Doberman with gaping bite marks speckling its fur, turned its gaze from its escaping quarry to the soldier crouched next to the road. It snarled at her, revealing fangs that were stained with blood.

Denise pulled the pin on her first grenade and tossed it at the bridge. It bounced, rolled, and stopped under the creature's body. She ducked down in time to escape the shrapnel of rock and bone fragments as the blast shredded the Doberman like wet confetti.

When she looked up again a moment later, pieces of the animal were still raining in the water on either side of the bridge. All that remained of it on the now damaged and smoking causeway was a tarry smear painting the railings.

Growls revealed that her job was far from complete. The blast had shaken the rest of the pack, causing serious damage to a few of them. In at least one case, the animal was missing most of its front left side. The wounds would have been grievous had it not already been deceased.