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Baker to get out.
"It's easy, Professor. Just walk up and ring the doorbell."
The soldiers had shut the door again as soon as the convoy stopped.
Martin and the others huddled in the darkness, peering through the
bullet holes and listening to what was going on outside.
Martin ignored the shocked and frightened mutterings of his companions,
and turned his thoughts to Jim. He knew that the Lord had protected his
friend from harm, at least as far as the leap from the truck was
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concerned. Jim had been up and moving even as they'd passed from sight.
But what had his friend escaped into? How many zombies had been involved
in the initial attack, and how many still lingered in the area? How many
guardsmen had died at their hands, and now joined their ranks?
Jim was on foot, weaponless, and alone amidst the living dead. The only
thing in his favor was that single-minded determination and love for his
son.
Martin bowed his head and began to pray harder than he ever had in his life.
Baker considered his options. If he refused Schow, they would shoot him
where he stood. On the other hand, if he re-entered Havenbrook, there
was a chance he could run past the gate and hide in one of the
buildings. If his theory regarding Ob was correct, however, the complex
would offer an even worse fate-death at the hands of the undead.
With both Schow and Gonzalez pointing their weapons at him, he turned
toward the gatehouse. His
282 feet felt light, as if he were standing on a conveyer rather than
walking toward it. His senses were hyper-aware. The sun was hot on the
back of his neck. His scalp ached where Schow had pulled his hair. It
was quiet, as if the land was holding its breath. No birds or
insects-living or otherwise. From behind him, he heard the squawk of a
radio set. Somebody sneezed and someone else jacked a fresh clip into
their weapon.
Now he was in front of the guardhouse. He'd driven through this entrance
twice a day for many years. When he'd fled from Havenbrook, only days
before, he'd never expected to see it again. He'd known the guards by
name; asked about their children and wives and gave them a bonus at
Christmas. Where were they now? Perhaps inside the shack, lurking in the
shadows and waiting for him to pass by?
No, that was ridiculous. If they'd returned to their posts after being
reanimated, they would have been there when he escaped. Then again, who
had vandalized the sign out front? That had been recent-extremely recent.
There was a burst of static as a nearby radio squawked again. He heard
gears turning as the tank turret tracked his progress.
"Let's go, Professor!" Schow yelled. "We don't have all day. We've got
incoming to our rear! Five seconds and I start shooting. Pretend you're
selling Girl Scout
cookies!"
Raucous laughter from the troops greeted this.
Baker took a deep breath, held it, and thought of Worm.
"I'm sorry." He whispered it over and over, like a mantra.
Then he walked through the open gate.
283
The wind was blowing in the opposite direction, and Jim heard them
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coming before he smelled them. Their slurred grunts and curses echoed
through the forest. Leaves rustled beneath their shambling feet as they
advanced toward his location, trailing after the convoy. A live bird
took flight, startled from its hiding place in the branches overhead.
Seconds later, it screeched as one of its undead brethren seized it in
midair.
Pulse hammering, Jim glanced around, his senses hyper-aware. The road
would be quickest, but it was too open. He'd be a sitting target out
there. The woods offered protection, but the thick undergrowth that hid
him would also slow him down.
Something rustled toward him, and he froze, holding his breath. He
caught a rancid whiff as it passed by and his eyes began to water. The
zombie was close enough that he could hear the flies buzzing beneath its
skin.
It passed him by, slogging toward the road. Jim quietly exhaled, and
waited for it to pass from earshot. When he thought it had passed, he
broke cover and ran.
Immediately, a hoarse cry sprang up behind him. He'd been spotted.
"Here piggy piggy piggy!"
Running parallel to the road, Jim dashed through the foliage. Branches
whipped at his face and jutting roots
284 threatened to trip him with every step. The dead leaves crunched
under his pounding feet, attracting further attention.
Something dead erupted from the bushes in front of him and he veered to
the right, farther from the road. The zombie hobbled along in pursuit,
dragging one useless leg behind it. Armed with a fiberglass compound
bow, it launched an arrow at him. The missile whistled over his head,
embedding itself in the trunk of an old oak tree.
Another zombie burst forward, and though Jim didn't know it, the corpse
had once been Worm.
"Guhnnuh git ewww."
It shambled toward him, its tongue flopping around in its mouth like a
dead fish.
Jim shouldered his way through a jumble of raspberry bushes and
continued on. His shirt caught on the thorns and he shrugged his way
free, leaving the garment dangling like a flag.
Scrambling up a brush-covered hill, he reached down and grabbed a fallen
limb. It was about the length of his arm and it felt solid as he hefted it.
A groundhog, entrails protruding from a hole in its side, chittered
angrily and snapped at his ankles. Jim swung, bringing the makeshift
club down across its head. The creature backed away and he brought the
limb down again with a mightier blow. The thing's head collapsed, one
eye bulging out of its socket.
Worm was right behind him now. Gaining higher ground, Jim turned to face
him.
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More zombies were pouring from the woods toward his position. Six, then
a dozen. Then two dozen. He could hear more of the creatures crashing
through the undergrowth, and plodding down the highway to his left.
Worm clawed at him and he shoved him backward, sending the zombie
tumbling down the hill. It crashed into three more, and they sprawled in
a heap on the forest floor.
285 He swung the club again, connecting with another zombie's jaw. There
was a sharp crack, and Jim cheered, until he realized that it was his
weapon, and not the zombie, that had broken.
The jagged limb looked like a spear now, and using it like one, he
thrust it forward, jabbing it into the creature's jaundiced eye. He
pushed with all his weight and heard a pop as the broken stick
penetrated the membrane and sunk into the soft tissue of the brain. Jim
tugged on the stick but it wouldn't budge, embedded in the zombie's
skull. Dropping it, he turned and ran again.
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