SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

91

TOMMY

The shitty fence everyone was so proud of went down with the setting sun. Tommy saw one of the poles shift with the weight of the dead piled against the chain links and didn't wait around to see what would happen next. Whether someone else spotted it tearing out of the ground or simply saw him hightailing it back to the fort, they yelled out a warning to the others.

"Fence is down!"

No shit, Sherlock, Tommy thought as he flew past everyone else. They were too preoccupied with jamming sticks in faces to catch on right away that their time was up. Instead of hoofing it to safety, they gawped at the breach in their defenses like morons.

Over his shoulder, the sound of their failure played out clearly. The thud of dislodged metal poles hitting the ground. The clinking of feet tramping over the wire mesh. The groans of their enemy as they pushed through to the other side. Unlike the men caught frozen in stupefied wonder, he didn't linger to observe the inevitable failure of their flimsy barricade. He'd already seen ghouls make short work of heavier defenses than this. The only thing that amazed him was that the scrawny metal weave had lasted this long.

It was hard to tell in the gloom, but back when there was still light to see, he figured the zombies outnumbered them three to one. It was probably more like five to one now.

He kept waiting for someone to pull out the real firepower. Fighting off a horde with a pointy stick made no sense at all to him. It wasn't as though the noise would be a factor. Every zombie in town already had an invitation to the party.

"Get back to the Castle!" someone shouted.

Way ahead of you, genius, Tommy thought, barreling past them for the front door.

He was under no obligation to risk his ass for these people. Graves had already filled him in on his plan to float away from here. Keeping himself alive long enough to enjoy their boat ride to freedom was his only priority. These clowns could figure out a way to deal with this shit show all on their own.

No sooner had the old vulture popped into his mind when he saw Carl running towards him with Sergeant Lowe and that Stan guy. They were heading in the wrong direction. He considered saying something, but then remembered that he didn't give a shit.

Graves slowed down and blocked his path with a raised hand. "You armed, kid? Bring your gun and follow me."

Tommy flashed him a scowl, and then looked over his shoulder at the dead traipsing over the downed fence. "Yeah, fat chance of that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess," Graves grumbled. "I'd ask your sister to help out if she were around. It's obvious she's wearing the balls in the family."

"Screw you, Graves."

The target of his insult didn't stick around to bear its sting. After saying his piece, Carl had run off again, chasing after the lunatics rushing towards the horde. Tommy growled and watched him go. The old bastard knew exactly what to say to push his buttons. The only thing that irked him worse than having Erica thrown in his face was not getting in the last word.

"Fuck."

Tommy tossed his spear, drew his sidearm, and ran after Graves' boney ass.

The senior citizen was many things, but fast wasn't one of them. It only took Tommy a matter of seconds to catch up to him.

"So do you guys have an actual plan," he asked the graying hitman running next to him, "or is putting the herd between us and safety some kind of suicide pact?"

They flew past the snarling mob. Ragged nails swiped the air after them. Dead feet stamped across the chain link carpet. Tommy glanced back to find their route to the fort entrance had been swallowed up by a wall of ravenous monsters. Whatever they were up to, there was no turning back now.