SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

92

JAMES

"Everyone, get back inside," Colonel Hayes shouted, raising his voice over the howls of the dead and the panicked screams of the living. "Establish a defensive line atop that wall. We can thin the herd from there."

He stood off to the side of the path, making sure that Castle's defenders escaped to the fort. All but four of them were going in the right direction.

He recognized Sergeant Lowe running after Stan, accompanied by two civilians. Where they were heading was a bigger mystery to him. If it were anyone but Lowe, he'd figure they were fleeing for the boats. Knowing her, they had something else in mind.

He couldn't follow everyone inside until he was sure all of his people made it back safely. He'd lost enough good soldiers in recent days. He watched Sergeant Lowe and the others race by their zombie pursuers around the northwestern corner of the fort. Seconds later, the dead filled in this side of the fence, swallowing up the path behind them.

"Move it!" A soldier crossed his line of vision, shouting to the others. "Go, go, go!"

"Corporal," James called out.

Corporal Tim Dawson was young, but next to him and the sergeant, he was the highest-ranking surviving soldier from their disastrous rout from Harvard. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of the past few days, he wore the burden of his station well.

Jumping at his commanding officer's voice, Dawson turned and snapped him a quick salute. "Sir."

James returned the gesture. With any luck, this night wouldn't end with Dawson assuming full command of what remained of Harvard's army.

"Your sidearm," James said. "Give it to me."

The corporal blinked in surprise. "Colonel?"

"You heard me, soldier. Hand it over. Along with any spare magazines you're carrying."

"Sir. Yes, sir." Dawson produced his weapon and passed it over without question. While James checked the ammo and slipped the handgun into his belt, the corporal collected the rest of his gear. Two additional magazines ended up in his pouch.

"Now get inside with the others. Organize our defenses from the wall. You're in charge."

"What about you, sir?" the corporal inquired.

James turned and marched away from the dead throwing themselves against what remained of their barricade. "I'll be in shortly."

Or not at all, he added mentally.

GRAVES

Carl was having a hard time finding solace in his role as one of Mystic's saviors. Plugging the hole in the fort's defenses left them with a bigger quandary – making it back safely. With their backs to the barricade, a horde approaching from the parking lot, and the dockyard wall to their left, the only escape route that made any sense led towards the freezing cold waters of the bay.

The direction bypassed the majority of the undead army amassed near Castle's walls, but it wasn't exactly smooth sailing either. Their ride across the parking lot provided a big distraction for the zombies. Creepy dark shapes filled the gloom between them and the shoreline, all of them coming their way.

"That's fuckin' perfect. Stuck in the blender again," Tommy grumbled.

"Where else would we be?" Carl muttered alongside him.

"Wouldn't mind a tropical beach, just once."

Popping a fresh magazine into her gun, Denise started running for the zombies between them and the shore. "Stay close."