Free American Infection (Book 2) by Justin Smith Page A

ground. Rob, Brian, Matt and Dale were in spread formation. Rob and Dale were moving forward, clearing a lane to the next set of back yards and fences. Matt was firing at a smaller group of infected moving toward us from our right. I moved to help Brian, who was dealing with a much larger mass coming at us from Price Street. The explosion and subsequent gunfire had attracted every infected within earshot.
    The group coming at us from Price was beginning to flank us, filling in the open spaces behind us. The group that had been following us through the yards was now climbing over one another onto the street, spilling over the fence we had just hopped ourselves. They were moving slower as they approached us, perhaps still human enough to sense the danger of our weapons, or maybe just confident that they far outnumbered our ammunition.
    I continued firing my rifle, but every time an infected fell there was one right behind it. I was certain they would overrun us when I heard Rob shout.
    "Let's go, up and over," he said. I turned to see Rob standing feet from a four‐foot high wire fence.
    Rob hopped over in one leap. Brian and I were right on his heels and followed him over a moment later. As Matt turned to sprint to the fence, an infected ran past him and sprung toward Dale, fingers digging deep into Dale's flesh as it tackled him to the ground.
    Matt ran past the creature and Dale, writhing on the pavement. As Matt hurdled the fence, I watched the infected sink its teeth into Dale's neck and rip away a chunk of skin and muscle, blood shooting from the wound and covering the creature's face.
    Rob fired two quick shots, ending Dale's pain, as we backed away from the fence. The horde hit the wire barrier, causing it to buckle almost immediately. We turned and vaulted into the next yard as the fence gave way and infected flooded into the yard we'd just left.
    As we sprinted from one yard to the next, I couldn't help but think of Dale's bloodied corpse being trampled or eaten, though I wasn't sure if the infected would continue feasting on a dead body. Either way, that street, Bradford, would likely be his final resting place. A man who had survived two tours in Vietnam, now reduced to maggot food on an American street.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Friday, 8:15 a.m.
    As the distance grew between the four of us remaining and the infected hunters behind, I noticed the homes seemed to be in decent condition. This block was all row homes, with small yards, and most only had a small stoop extending from the back door. From this perspective, most of the homes didn't appear to be damaged, although I'm sure the view from the street in front portrayed the horror that had taken place at the virus' outbreak.
    We jumped the far fence of the second last house and landed in a yard surrounded only by a short wire fence, putting us on full display for the dozen or so infected milling about in the street.
    With rage in their eyes, the infected tore towards the yard. Most were stopped by the fence, but a few tumbled over the low railing onto the grass just feet away from where we stood. Rob raised his rifle then fired, one, two, three shots, each perfectly striking the fallen infected in the center of their skulls. Black sludge‐like blood oozed from their heads onto the grass.
    Matt, Brian and I mowed down the remaining infected piled against the fence, then climbed over and into the street.
    "They're on this block, about halfway down," Matt shouted.
    "Lead the way," Brian said, still firing as more infected turned the corner from Price Street onto whatever road we were on.
    The homes on this block were slightly nicer. Doubles rather than rows, brick rather than siding. And no fences to hurdle, although that meant less resistance for the infected.
    It also meant the infected could filter into the back yards between homes, which they did.
    Matt was about twenty feet ahead of the rest of us, firing at anything cutting through the street out front into the