Free Twenty-Five Percent (Book 2): Downfall by Nerys Wheatley

to be the leader said.
    Micah looked up at him. “No.”
    “Did it sound like a request?” the man growled.
    Micah’s gaze flicked down again to Alex’s hip where his pistol sat in its holster. Apparently, the argument wasn’t over. Alex tried to indicate with his eyes that it was a terrible idea and would probably get them both shot. But either there was a problem in the eye to English translation, or Micah didn’t care.
    Unzipping his jacket, he stood and turned to face them.
    “You are not getting the keys,” he said. “However, if you leave now, you won’t get hurt.”
    “Oh, hell,” Alex muttered, stifling a groan as he pushed himself to his feet. Pain shot through his hip, leg and both arms. He tried to surreptitiously lean against the tree for support.
    The leader’s laugh sounded strained. “We have the guns and you’re giving the threats? Are you insane or stupid?”
    Micah leaped forwards, elbowed the nearest man in the face and grabbed his rifle. Instead of using it, however, he drove the butt into the man’s stomach, sending him sprawling backwards onto the ground.
    Alex waited to be riddled with bullets. It didn’t happen.
    Instead of pulling triggers, the men still standing looked to the leader uncertainly. Something wasn’t right.
    “Yeah,” Micah said, “thought so.”
    “Drop it!” the leader shouted.
    “Or what?” Micah said. “You’ll shoot me? With rifles that are useless because you have no ammunition?”
    Without aiming the rifle he’d taken anywhere in particular, he pulled the trigger. A sharp bang echoed from the surrounding trees. Micah jumped, looking at the gun in shock.
    A stunned pause was followed by the men all aiming at Micah and pulling their triggers. There was a short flurry of impotent clicks.
    When realisation dawned, the men rushed Micah all at once. Two of them were on the ground clutching parts of their anatomy in agony before someone got in a lucky punch and the remaining four grappled him at once.
    Everything stopped when the gunshot split the air around them. The men looked up to see Alex’s pistol trained on them.
    “Let him go.”
    Micah got to his feet and walked towards Alex, jabbing his elbow backwards into the face of the man who had punched him as he passed and wiping the blood from beneath his nose.
    “On your faces on the ground,” Alex ordered, waving his gun for effect.
    They looked at the ground uncertainly.
    “Did it sound like a request?”
    Mumbling their displeasure, with several mentions of “white-eye”, the men lowered to the ground.
    That was when the screaming started.
    The man Micah had taken the rifle from had crawled away, unnoticed in all the commotion. Eaters were emerging from the trees. Several of them were on him already, tearing at his flesh with their teeth.
    Hearing rustling behind him, Alex pushed away from the tree as more eaters plunged from the undergrowth around him. One grabbed his left arm, yanking it back. He bit back a scream of agony and fired his gun point blank into its head.
    Moaning erupted around them.
    The men scrambled up from the ground and ran for the trees on the far side of the road, a large part of the horde on their heels. One of them tripped and fell. He didn’t get back up.
    Alex fired at two more eaters who were almost on him and stumbled onto the road, his hip throbbing in agony. Micah took down three more.
    More screams sounded from the direction the men had run.
    “Come on,” Micah yelled, heading for the bikes.
    Alex limped after him as fast as he could, expecting to be overrun at any moment. Micah reached Alex’s bike, bending to lift it.
    “It’s too heavy,” he grunted.
    Reaching him, Alex grasped the seat and hauled it upright, adrenalin dulling his pain. Micah ran to the log and dragged it out of the way.
    “Key,” Alex called, reaching up to catch the key Micah tossed to him.
    “Duck!” Micah yelled, raising his gun.
    Alex dropped as two bullets whizzed by overhead. Two