Free August Burning (Book 3): Last Stand by Tyler Lahey Page A

feet through those glades! Defensive positions in the ravine! MOVE!”
    Jaxton led them under the light of the firebrands, and shuddered at the wailing that surrounded them.
     
    …
     
     
    “ROTATE!” Jaxton screamed above the din. His second line jumped to their feet, from where they had been resting ten paces behind the fighting line. He could see a break in the flow. He waited till the last infected was cut down by one of his axmen, and called the advance. “NOW!”
    His front line of riot-shielders reeled back from the line and switched with a fresh batch of Lion troopers. They pressed their black shields into the blood soaked earth and took a step back from the line of corpses that littered the ravine’s floor.
    “How long can we keep this up?!” A muffled voice cried out from behind a black balaclava spattered with blood.
    “I don’t know,” Jaxton panted, wishing he could run to find a set of glittering dark eyes.
    “Brace!” He heard his officer roar, and another five infected slammed into the riot shields, clawing and biting them in raw futility. Jaxton hefted a weighty tomahawk and placed his left hand on a shielder’s back. Using it as a brace-point, he leapt up and buried his axe in an infected’s skull, where it was lodged. “Weapon!” He cried. A younger boy raced to his side, gingerly stepping over the hacked corpses, and handed him a maul.
    Jaxton turned to strike down another target when he saw a wall coming towards them. Most of the Lion froze, unable to process what was coming down the ravine at a breakneck speed.
    “Reserves to the front! Reserves to the front!” Jaxton screamed. His second line rose with confused and exhausted faces, unable to comprehend why their rest period was being cut so short. Then they saw it.
    The ravine was filled, as far as the eyes could see. The teeming mass that approached them was a mass of frenzied, bloodshot limbs and screeching faces. As they closed the final distance, Jaxton knew there were too many. He guided his shielders into position all the same, and braced against one.
    The impact sent them reeling, as if the line had been struck by another group of determined men, but these were no men. The mass of infected, stretching back in their hundreds, pushed and clawed at the wall with renewed vigor.
    “Take them down!” A brave soul roared, his husky voice rising up the rocky walls.
    With a bloodthirsty cheer his men set to work, hitting the infected with spears and axes, mauls and cleavers. The foe’s severed limbs and bleeding torsos hit the ground faster than they ever had before, but another always took their place.
    As Jaxton watched, his line began to buckle in the middle, where the weight of the infected was heaviest. The Lion’s line began to bow inward, the heavy shielders straining under the weight as their massive boots sunk into the bloody soil. Jaxton summoned all his men behind the wall and threw them at the center, where they hacked at the foe.
    Jaxton heard a scream as the moon hid behind the clouds, and one of his own tumbled back from the line, clutching his hand. His compatriots rushed to him, but Jaxton took a step forward to end his life; he had been bitten. At the same time, a shielder fell forward into the mass of infected, bitten on the calf, around the back of his shin-guard. The line faltered, sensing there was a hole. As another man moved to fill the gap, the infected surged into it. There were no shielders in place as they broke through and fell among the rearguard.
    Jaxton turned, caught in indecision. In that moment, an infected man rose behind them, his Lion patch shimmering. Jaxton cried out in horror, knowing this was the moment his precious faction failed. The strongest. The boldest. The Lion would die here. He could hear the horns behind him. The other factions were already retreating from the other ravines.
    “The Citadel is being overrun!” One of his troopers screamed, pointing. Jaxton threw a glance behind