Free Dead World (Book 2): Headed North by Jacob Mollohan Page B

moving without thought now, swinging and sprinting, just trying to keep them all facing him he is forced to back pedal. If he gets surrounded it is over. So he moves around the outside of the group. Like wolves singling out the weakest. He is the wolf. He will be their swift death. He strikes whenever he has a chance.
    It seems as though it lasts forever. His arms burn from the exertion and his face is flecked with the black blood of the zombies he brings down. His breath comes in short gasps, and his fingers are numb from cold and the grip on the axe.
    The moaning and the wet thud of the axe are all he hears. Oblivious to everything going on outside of him. A couple times he feels arms reach out and grab at his sweater. Feels the fingers trying to get a firm grip but he is moving too fast. Faster than he ever knew he could.
    Swinging wildly he plants the axe in the skull of an older man. It lodges, stuck. Like cutting through wood and as the thing falls back Daniel’s arm finally gives out and the axe is pulled out of his hands, slick with gore.
    He falls to his back heavily. The wind is knocked from him and he gasps for breath as a zombie falls bodily on top of him.
    Daniel thrusts his hands out catching the thing by the neck. snow is turning the grass around him to mud. His fingers are frozen from the cold but even against that he can feel how damp and clammy the flesh of the dead is.
    Jaws snap perilously close to his face as he tries to force the thing back. He knows he can’t hold out for long and his arms are shaking from the effort of forcing the thing back. It is a war of attrition that he knows he will lose. These things never feel fear or tiredness. Never lose their desire to kill and maim.
    Just as he feels his arms losing their grip the things head snaps to the side. Isaiah stands over him with the rifle held in his hands like a club. He reaches a hand out to help Daniel up.
    Daniel reaches up to grab the hand before the world shrinks around him and he falls back into the freezing mud, the world going dark on him at last.

11
    Hardin, Montana
     
     
    Nightmares are nothing new to Peter. The only one he can’t handle is his wife face as she tears into their son. The son she loved and carried. That one nearly broke him. But for the first time in weeks he slept without her face haunting him.
    He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. The sun is up now and it casts a cold light on the wall, reflecting dully off the corrugated metal.
    “What do you think, Terry?” Peter asks, “How much time do we have?”
    “I think everyone is doing the best they can,” Terry replies, “We have been holed up in here for nearly a month now and we haven’t gone at each other’s throats. I think that is better than we could have expected for.”
    “It’s the constant threat of dying at every turn.” Peter says, “It has everyone on edge. You and I, we spent our time in hell. These people were not ready for this,” he nods at an older man, his eyes look lost and empty. “Any of this. It’s just too much for them to handle”
    “We can’t give up sir,” Terry says, “We will continue to reinforce the wall and in a couple weeks the ground and everything else will be frozen solid. These winters could freeze a witch‘s tit sir,” he says, drawing a strained smile from peter. His battlefield humor always helped make the worst situations bearable. Even though they are rare and often confusing Terry seems to get a kick out of his own terrible jokes. He is the type of guy who you laugh at because of their laugh.
    “You may be right. If we can keep everyone focused. Keep everyone working on rationing supplies,” Peter says, “Speaking of that, how are the food details coming along?”
    “We found enough food, sir. If we ration it we can buy ourselves a couple months just on the canned stuff. Of course no one is going to like going hungry for the most part but if anyone wants they can go outside the walls to find