by the blazing house. Frankie's head popped out of the water and she choked, gasping for breath. Immediately, something like a swarm of angry hornets buzzed over the surface. She heard the gunfire a half second later. She ducked below the surface again.
The water stung her eyes, but she opened them anyway, searching for an escape. The bloated creature walked toward her along the bottom, slowed by the water. Frankie darted aside and swung the butt of her rifle, colliding with the thing's head. Despite the fact that the swing was slowed by the water, the blow cracked the creature's skull. She swung a second time and it split open. The zombie sank to the bottom, the gray-black, curdled remains of its brain floating upward.
�
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Her temples throbbed, and her lungs felt like they would explode. She swam to the side, gliding as close to the bottom as she could. She could hear them above her, their shouts distorted by the water. She hovered near the pool ladder.
From her previous weapons training by one of Schow's soldiers, Frankie knew that the M-16 was fairly watertight, but the weapon relied on a gas-operated ejection system. The first round should fire no problem. But the others ...
Well, if they didn't, she was dead. Plain and simple. But then, she was probably dead anyway.
Teeth clenched and rifle gripped firmly in one hand, Frankie grabbed the ladder, swung her feet into the rungs and climbed for the surface.
Danny stared at the moldering corpse in horror and put a hand over his nose.
"Is ... is that?"
Don hung his head, fingers sliding ammunition into his empty clips.
"Yes, Danny," he answered quietly, "that's Mrs. De Santos."
Cringing, Danny stepped away and wrapped his arms around his father's leg, hiding his face in Jim's thigh.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Martin said.
Don shrugged, continuing to reload.
"After I-after that," he nodded to the remains, "I made sure the house was secure. I nailed plywood over the doors and windows and the garage door is chained shut. Won't stop them now, I'm afraid, but it should slow them down long enough for us to equip ourselves."
"You stayed in this room?" Jim asked.
"The whole time. Luckily, they didn't know I was in
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here. I still would be I guess, if I hadn't heard you folks come along."
Jim picked Danny up and kissed him on the forehead. This man, Don De Santos, had sat here in relatively comfortable safety while his son had faced endless nights of terror, peril, and hunger alone in the attic next door. He hugged Danny even tighter.
"I missed you, kiddo. I missed you so much."
"I missed you too, Daddy."
"How much?" Jim nuzzled him.
"This much!" Danny squeezed tighter.
"How much is that?"
"More than 'finity."
They both laughed, and Martin turned away to hide the fresh tears that sprang to his eyes.
"Okay." Don pocketed the extra clips. "I'm ready. Wish I had some ammo for your rifles, but I was never much of a hunter."
Jim grinned. "Even if you were, I don't know that you'd have any to fit the M-16s. They're not exactly deer rifles."
"Like I said, I'm a city boy." Don shrugged. "There's a knife there on the table. One of you can have it if you want."
"I'll take it," Martin offered. "That way, you can carry Danny."
Both father and son seemed to like the prospect, judging by the relieved looks on their faces.
"Not that it will do much good, I guess." The preacher sighed, picking up the blade. "Unless I stick it hard enough to go through their skull." He shuddered, remembering that he'd done that very thing earlier in the day, fending off not a zombie, but a fellow human. It seemed like years ago.
"Why is that?" Don asked, shoving bottles of water
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into a backpack. "Why does it have to go through the skull?"
"Damaging the brain is the only way to kill them."
"Makes sense, I guess. I figured as much. That was what it finally took-for Myrna."
"I liked her," Danny spoke up. "She always let me play with Rocky, and she used to babysit me when I was