DENISE
The town of Acton, Massachusetts had earned its place in history during the American Revolution. The part they played in the call to arms initiated by Revere, Dawes, and Prescott remained a part of their colonial heritage since the 1800s.
Over two centuries later, on the day the world ended, the town rallied together again. This time, it was in defense of their borders.
Twenty-first century Minutemen, armed with everything from rakes to hunting rifles, descended on Woodlawn and Mount Hope cemeteries before the morning frost had melted off the ground. Together, they stopped the undead invasion before it began, terminating most of the dead while they dug themselves from their graves. Forest Cemetery on the northern edge of town was the only battle they hadn't responded to in a timely manner, but its small size meant it was less of a threat than the four graveyards near Maynard, or the hospital in nearby Concord.
Town historian, Revolutionary War reenactor and mayor, Gregory Prescott – proud, distant relation to the patriot who awoke locals from their slumber generations ago – knew they lacked the manpower to enforce barricades around the town. Shutting down the two interstate highways intersecting the town's school district and shopping malls alone would have required twice as large a force as they could muster. For this reason, he decided to resort to a modern take on historic tactics in the fight to save his hometown.
Denise and her companions soon discovered this for themselves, after pulling off the interstate on their way east. Their flight from the base left them short on supplies and the means to treat Captain Tate's wounded leg. Acton seemed the likeliest spot to satisfy all their needs.
At least it did, until the local militia materialized from the woods, armed to the teeth.
Since the group outgunned them by a factor of four to one and Captain Tate was out of commission in the back of the truck, she ordered the others to disembark and surrender to the civilian force. Realistically, it didn't make a difference if they were shot by hostiles on foreign soil or a mob of frightened townies. Dead was dead... until it wasn't, of course.
"I'm really getting sick of people pointing guns at me." Lloyd glared at the armed townsfolk surrounding them in the parking lot off Main Street.
"I should think you'd be used to it by now." Denise stood shoulder to shoulder with him. She was stuck reaching for the moon, the same as everyone else.
"I am, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."
"State your business," a voice shouted from the group pointing a variety of rifles at them.
It took Denise a moment to pinpoint the speaker in the crowd. She finally narrowed it down to a wiry figure wearing a checkered shirt and a Red Sox ball cap.
"We're not a threat," she declared. "We're on our way east to hook up with Colonel Hayes and his men. Our captain was shot. We're just looking for some place with the supplies to treat him."
"You found it," he replied, nodding a head towards the Acton Medical Associates sign on the clinic behind him. "And this is as close as you're going to get to it."
"You must be the town comedian," Lloyd snapped.
"You hear anyone laughing?" the man shot back.
"Didn't say you were a good one."
"Lloyd," Denise growled. He rolled his eyes and fell silent.
She took a step towards the men, keeping her hands up. They fidgeted in place, their fingers tensing on the triggers.
"Easy," she said. "We're all breathing here. We're all on the same side."
"The two don't necessarily boil down to the same thing, soldier," the man in the ball cap uttered.
"Sergeant. Denise Lowe." She patted her chest with one hand, looking like an explorer meeting a lost Amazonian tribe for the first time.
"That's close enough, Sergeant Denise Lowe," another voice called out. She stopped to marvel at a gaunt figure approaching from the corner of the building. Upon seeing him, she had to shake her head to make sure he wasn't a ghost or a figment of her weary imagination.
The man was dressed head to toe in the colonial outfit of a Minuteman, from the sleeved waistcoat and breeches to the tricorn hat. The only thing about him that didn't look like a relic from the past was the semi-automatic rifle in his hands.
"If you're thinking of trying something, you'd better think again. You can't see the rest of my men hidden in the shadows, but I assure you, they can see you."
"And you are?" she inquired.
"Mayor of this town. Gregory Prescott," he replied. "I apologize for the less than warm welcome you've received to Acton, but under the circumstances, we're closed to visitors."
"Look, I get it. You're only defending your home. I assure you, we're not the enemy. We have wounded. All we need are a few medical supplies and we'll be on our way."
"What happened?" Prescott asked.
Denise hesitated, debating the wisdom of revealing everything. They were already suspicious of outsiders. Hearing about Major Nelson's coup probably wouldn't help with their trust issues.
She looked over the men holding them at gunpoint. Her gaze stopped at a scared-looking teenager. He barely looked old enough to hold his liquor, much less the shotgun he pointed at her head. Seeing the boy in their ranks, she knew she couldn't hide the truth from these people. There might come a day when they're forced to defend their lands from Nelson and his men. It would be better for them if they knew the real enemy threatening their borders.
"We came from Fort Weaver," she said. "Escaped from there, to be more accurate. After Colonel Hayes left for operations in Boston, Major Sam Nelson led a rebellion against Colonel Andrews. He convinced the men that they could hold up behind their fence and wait things out."
"Kind of like what you guys are doing," Lloyd added.
Denise flashed him a dirty look over her shoulder. That's not helpful, her glare said.
"They incarcerated everyone loyal to Andrews. During our getaway, the colonel lost his life and the captain took a bullet in the leg," she continued. "We're not your enemy, Mayor Prescott, but I assure you that Nelson and his men are. Once they run low on supplies, they're going to start looking at pillaging the outlying areas. When that happens, Acton won't stand a chance. The only hope your town has is for us to reconnect with Colonel Hayes' squad and retake the base."
Prescott mulled over her words for a moment, before stepping forward. "Sergeant, do you know who John André was?"
Denise blinked. She wasn't expecting her dire warning to result in a history lesson. "Um..."
"Didn't they mention him on Jeopardy last week?" Lloyd teased.
"John André was a British spy in collusion with Benedict Arnold. After months of staying under the radar in Benjamin Franklin's house, what finally brought him down was something as simple as a case of mistaken identity," Prescott said.
"Your point being?" Denise urged.
Prescott raised a hand, unperturbed by her distraction. "When they arrested him, he had letters on his person proving Benedict Arnold was working for the British. Instead of keeping this information secret, Lieutenant Colonel John Jameson refused to believe it and sent a letter to Arnold, informing him of the situation. His doubt resulted in one of America's most infamous traitors escaping capture."
Denise glanced at Lloyd, who shrugged his shoulders, looking as lost as she was. "Sorry, but I'm still not seeing the point."
The radio clipped to Prescott's belt snorted a quick blare of static.
"I'll not follow Jameson's mistake and take you at your word. You could be deserters and looters, for all I know. You might even be scouting our town with the intention of returning with a larger group to overrun us."
"What? No..." Denise protested.
"How can we even be certain that you're army at all? He isn't." Prescott pointed at Lloyd. "You could have stolen this vehicle and those uniforms from the base. Is that why the military was shooting at you?"
"Are you serious?" Lloyd barked. "I think that hat you're wearing is cutting off the oxygen to your brain."
"About the only true thing you said is that we did steal the truck," Denise admitted. "How can I prove to you that we're telling the truth?"
"You can start by surrendering your weapons," he replied. "Don't think we haven't noticed that gun tucked away behind your companion's back."
"If you think I'm going to trade one jail cell for another..." Lloyd muttered.
More static issued from Prescott's radio.
"Then it appears we're at something of an impasse here," he declared.
"...scott," a voice squawked from the walkie talkie on his belt.
Prescott frowned at the newcomers, before placing the radio against his ear. "This is Mayor Prescott. Go ahead."
"Oh, th... God," the voice on the other end exclaimed, his voice wavering between chops of static. "...damn walkies are crap... range."
Denise looked down the road. The sound of a motorbike grew louder. She suspected it belonged to whoever was on the other end of the radio.
"We're busy at the moment," Prescott said. "What is it?"
"Our lookouts in South Acton spotted a large herd heading up Main Street. It's only a matter of time before they cross the bridge at the Erikson Grain Mill and overrun us. You need to give the order to evacuate."
"Out of the question. We will not abandon our home."
"But the herd—"
"Return to your post," Prescott said. "I'll send a couple of divisions to support you. Under no circumstances do we retreat, am I clear?"
The man on the other end fell silent.
"Tell me you copied my orders," Prescott demanded.
"Yes, sir," the voice muttered coldly.
The rattle of the motorcycle slowed further down the street, then turned and sped away.
"That sounds serious," Denise said. "Do you have a plan for dealing with it?"
"Don't worry about it," Prescott replied, clipping his radio back to his belt.
"The man's got a point," Lloyd said. "This is not our problem."
"I'm just curious to know what you intend to do, that's all. This sounds like a crucial battle. If you lose, there's a good chance the dead will overrun your town."
Prescott glared at her. She had put him on the spot, casting doubts on his leadership in front of his men. Everyone fell silent to see what he would say next.
He smiled. "The Ambush of Geary."
Denise shook her head.
"We lure them into town, then hit them from both sides in a single strike."
Denise shrugged, unconvinced. "Sounds dicey. Allowing the herd a foothold in your town leaves you vulnerable. They'll scatter, turning your ambush into a free-for-all. In the chaos, people are going to get killed."
Denise caught more than a few of the men casting nervous glances towards the mayor.
"Besides that, the shooting will only bring more," Lloyd added. "Noise is like catnip to these things."
Prescott crossed his arms. "So what do you suggest?"
"Your man on the radio mentioned a bridge. If you placed some cars across the road in staggered positions, it would break up the herd as they approach. Put two more cars in an open V wedge against the bridge guardrails and you can funnel them even more. Forget the guns. They should be coming at you slowly enough to take them out with close combat weapons."
"Hmm. Leonidas, huh?" Prescott mused.
"These things aren't sophisticated. I figure an old school tactic would work best."
"Perhaps so." He weighed the value of her counsel, before turning to his man in the ball cap. "Let them tend to their wounded. They've earned that much."
"Thank you, Mr. Mayor."
"Alright, you've earned yourselves a chance to prove who you say you are." Prescott leveled a shrewd grin at them. "You're joining us on the front lines."
"We are?" Lloyd cried.
"It's only fair, seeing as how we're putting the fate of our town in your hands."
Denise started to respond, but a voice from behind cut her off. "As Sergeant Lowe stated earlier, she has an important mission to fulfill."
She looked back at Captain Tate standing by the truck, supported by Private Hopper. Sweat beaded Tate's forehead, but his eyes were clear and intense.
"However," he continued, "my men and I are at your disposal for this and the battles to come."
Prescott's gaze darted between them. Finally, he nodded. A look of relief flickered across his features. Though the mayor was dressed the part, Denise figured he was probably relieved to have a trained soldier to strategize with during this crisis.
He turned to one of the men on the line, a balding figure sporting a Browning rifle. "Gary, unlock the clinic and tend to their injured. The rest of you, get the soldiers armed and start making preparations at the bridge. We don't have a lot of time."
While Lieutenant McGaffrey helped Private Dunn inside the clinic, Hopper and Tate stopped by Denise for some parting words.
"It's up to you, sergeant," the captain said. "Find Colonel Hayes and convince him to send reinforcements." He removed his dog tags from around his neck and offered them to her. "Show him this. Tell him..." He smiled. "Tell him he still owes me for the rook. That should convince him I sent you."
"I don't know if it means anything," Prescott said, "but word on the radio is that the military has set up some kind of safe zone at the air force base in Bedford. You might want to start looking there."
"Thanks. I'll do that." She slipped the captain's tags in her vest pocket. "I won't let you down, sir. If he's still alive, I'll find him."
Before heading inside, he gave her a parting salute. She snapped to attention and responded in kind.
"I left the M16 in the back of the truck," Hopper told her after they finished. "You should take it. You'll need it more than us."
"You're not coming?" Denise asked.
"Thanks, but I think I can do more good here."
A salute wasn't going to cut it. Denise held out her hand. Smiling, Hopper took it in his.
"Thank you," she said. "You really saved our bacon today."
"Thank you, Sarge, for reminding me why I wear the uniform."
He led the captain inside. Prescott followed close behind them, still discussing military tactics and historic battles of the Revolution. The man was a walking, talking history book. Perhaps between him and the captain, Acton might actually stand a chance.
Denise hoped so. Humanity had endured enough losses today.
"So..." Lloyd approached her with his hands in his pockets. "I guess that leaves us to find your stray colonel."
"This could be dangerous. Hell, what am I saying? It definitely will be," she said. "You did more than enough already, Lloyd. I wouldn't hold it against you if you decided to stay behind."
Lloyd chuckled. "What, and miss all the fun? Not on your life, Dee."
LLOYD
They were back on the road again, rumbling along in their kickass military truck, and all was right with the world. It was just him, the woman he adored, and their semi-auto rifle against countless legions of the dead. Throw in a few beers and a hard rock soundtrack and Lloyd was in Heavy Metal Heaven.
Denise chose to bypass the Concord Turnpike and its potentially dangerous proximity to Emerson Hospital. Instead, she opted for a more direct route to Hanscom Air Force Base through the center of town. Lloyd concurred, though he wasn't sure there would be much difference. In his experience, all those walking corpses tended to gravitate somewhere. Given enough time, they usually managed to find populated areas all on their own.
Doak Street at night was a blur of dark trees and unlit homes. They both kept their eyes peeled for movement, fighting exhaustion with every mile they left behind.
"Thanks, Lloyd," Denise eventually said in a low voice, breaking the relaxed silence lingering between them.
"For what?"
"For everything. For today. For being here. To be honest, I really didn't want to end up facing this nightmare alone."
"It's the end of the world. Where else would I be?" he said. "Besides, I'm still waiting for you to pay me back for rescuing you from the car, like you promised. I'm thinking... sponge bath."
Denise considered him with a hiked brow. "Oh, really? That's some imagination you've got there."
"It does tend to keep me up at nights."
Denise snickered. "You're hopeless."
She looked back in time to spot a dark blur in their high beams darting across the road. Denise hit the brakes, slowing them down with a hiss of air. "Shit! Lloyd?"
"I saw it." He scooted to the edge of his seat, searching the blackness for any trace of the creature. "Something big. A moose, maybe? I think it went in those trees."
"It was moving too fast to be dead," Denise noted. "Right?"
He settled back, though his attention remained riveted on the dark homesteads passing them by. "I wouldn't worry. With everything that's going on, it probably got spooked and wandered out of the woods."
"A few seconds sooner and we might've hit it. Maybe we should find someplace safe to hold up for the night." Denise glanced out his window, at the location the animal disappeared.
Lloyd shook his head. "We're still too close to that hospital for my liking. I say we push on through Concord and try to meet up with your pals in green."
"I thought you weren't a fan," she said.
"I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of being around more guns. I just have a problem with them being in the hands of megalomaniacal dickheads."
Denise yawned.
"Are you tired?" he asked. "You need me to spell you off behind the wheel?"
"I already crashed once today. I should be good for a while."
"Okay. Let me know if—"
Something heavy slammed into the side of the truck, rocking them sideways with a squeal of tires. Lloyd's gaze flew to his mirror. "Christ, what was that?"
A shadow ducked around the rear of the truck. He only caught a glimpse, but it looked like a large animal of some kind. Probably the same one they saw crossing the road moments before.
"Was it the moose?" Denise cried, also checking her mirror. "What happened? Did it get turned around again? Did we hit it?"
The shape reappeared in Lloyd's mirror. He leaned closer, staring in disbelief at the beast chasing them. The red glow of the taillights revealed a haggard coat of fur, loosely draped over exposed sinew. The animal sneered at them through a muzzle of teeth and bone, while its bloody mane twirled restlessly around its missing ear. Its powerful legs pistoned hooves against the pavement, striking with enough force to shoot sparks from its horseshoed feet.
Lloyd gulped, tasting his frozen heart in his mouth. The monster chasing them was a nightmare in both the figurative and literal sense.
"Not a moose. A horse. From Hell." They exchanged frightened looks. "Step on it."
Denise tramped on the gas, spurring the rumbling vehicle through the dark at a precarious forty miles an hour. The grim visage of the undead beast chasing them gradually fell behind, fading into the shadows. Lloyd rolled his window down a crack and listened. He thought he could still hear the faint clapping of the creature's hooves under the mechanical whine of the truck's engine.
"What do we do?" Denise moaned. "We can't lead that thing into Concord."
"I don't know. Can we run it down?"
"We're driving a truck, not a tank."
"Yeah, a big ass monster truck," he exclaimed.
"I'm not about to risk crashing by trying to roll over a horse, Lloyd."
"Fine. What do you suggest?"
Her gaze dropped to the rifle by his legs. "You got the M16. Can't you shoot it?"
"In the brain? While a speeding truck bounces me around in my seat?" Lloyd remarked. "Sorry, babe. Next time you mug a soldier, make sure he's carrying a rocket launcher."
Denise checked her mirror. She eased up on the gas. The whining motor slowed in response.
"Why are you slowing down?" Lloyd cried.
"I need to keep that thing behind us. If I can find another road up ahead, maybe I can lead it away from Concord."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. Maybe speed up, pull in somewhere and go dark until it passes, and then sneak away behind it." She shrugged. "Unless you've got a better plan."
"Run and hide." He nodded. "That actually sounds pretty good to me."
They fell silent, watching both the dark road ahead and the darker trail behind. The narrow road swallowed them in the shadowy branches of trees hanging over their heads.
The clatter of hooves echoed louder. Lloyd glanced in the mirror. The equine horror reappeared from the shadows, bathed in blood and moonlight. He scrutinized the undead steed, marveling at the demonic force that kept it on its spindly legs.
"How is this thing running so fast?" he wondered aloud. "Why isn't it creeping along like the rest of the dead?"
Denise glanced over at him. "You're asking me?"
"It has to be the brain, don't you think? I mean, everything about these buggers revolves around the brain. Maybe the more complex it is, the more the virus or whatever's inside it must have to work to control the rest of the body."
"I guess," she replied with a shrug, stealing a glance at the creature chasing them. "Wouldn't that mean the horse should be slower, though? It must have a big brain to control such a big body."
"No, a horse's brain is wired differently than ours," he said. "It's far smaller in comparison to its body size."
"How on Earth do you know that?" she inquired, surprised by his insight.
Lloyd shrugged. "Afternoon documentaries on the Nature Channel. Being unemployed does have its advantages."
She smirked. "It certainly did today."
A slam rocked the truck, tossing its occupants in their seats. The galloping horse veered away, and then rammed the box with its shoulder again in an attempt to force them off the road.
"We could afford to speed up a little," Lloyd suggested. "It's not like Secretariat back there is going to wear himself out."
Denise stepped on the gas, watching the needle creep up by five more miles per hour. Lloyd breathed easier, noting that the steed had begun to fall behind, but not so much that it faded from sight.
A terrible thought popped into his head. "Do you suppose everything is turning zombie now?"
Denise threw him a disturbed look.
"I mean, do you think we need to start worrying about zombie birds and fish? Zombie insects? Do you suppose we can get infected by a mosquito bite now?"
"Lloyd," Denise cried, her voice uneven. "Would you please shut up?"
He glanced at her. She didn't meet his gaze, keeping her focus trained on the road ahead. Her face was ghostly pale in the dashboard lights. His train of thought had terrified her. Truthfully, it didn't do wonders for his own peace of mind.
"Probably not," he muttered. "Maybe it's just infecting mammals... Yeah, I guess... That makes sense, right?"
Denise exhaled sharply without responding. Lloyd took the hint and stopped while he was ahead.
He looked back at the road ahead in time to catch something else in the sky. A blinking light appeared through the branches overhead, winking a couple of times before disappearing from sight.
"Hey... Did you see that?"
"What now?" Denise moaned.
"There was a flashing light in the sky a second ago. I think there's a plane up there."
She peered up into the moonlit sky. "Well, we are near the air force base," she said. "I guess it's possible they're flying night patrols. They're probably keeping an eye on the zombie migration."
"If that's the case, then wouldn't that mean—?"
"Shit!" Denise suddenly cried. "Hang on."
Lloyd looked down again. Their headlights caught a mob of shadows directly ahead. The dead from Emerson Hospital had followed the roads north to the populated neighborhoods around Doak Street. Now they milled together in a group, occupying both lanes of the road into town. A few of the ambling corpses wore blue hospital frocks, but most appeared to be former men, women, and children caught up in the initial swarm invading their properties. Every one of them responded to the sound of the oncoming truck with groans and a languid march towards the speeding vehicle.
Denise gripped the wheel tighter and tramped on the gas. Lloyd held onto his seat. In his mirror, the undead steed was falling behind again. It was a cold comfort next to the gruesome obstacle blocking their escape.
Lloyd glanced at Denise. She sat hunched over the wheel, gritting her teeth in a mask of concentration. He looked back out the windshield. The first of a field of misshapen bodies disappeared under their hood. The truck jarred, knocking Lloyd back in his seat as they plowed over the dead man in a spray of gore. Others quickly followed, slamming into the truck's bumper and grill like oversized insects. The vehicle bobbed and slipped on the pavement as its massive tires ran people over in a pounding of crushed bones and spraying viscera. Denise steered left and right, compensating for the rough ride as if they were traveling over icy terrain.
In seconds, black fluid splashed across the hood and drenched the windshield. Denise kicked in the wipers. Tacky blood smeared across their field of vision. Lloyd didn't mind it obscuring his view. He figured he'd sleep better tonight without picturing the grisly details of their high speed slaughter.
The front wheels lifted in the air, landing with a screech a moment later. Lloyd clutched his seat with both hands and focused on not biting off his tongue. The rough ride through the barricade of corpses was taking its toll, not only on the truck but also on its occupants. If they didn't reach the end of the herd soon, he wasn't sure which was going to give out first, the truck's battered frame or his frayed nerves.
Through the gore-streaked window, he glimpsed the flashing light reappearing in the sky. It blinked at a steady pace now that they were clear of the dark branches hanging over the road. He leaned forward and stared at it. The light hung in a relatively close orbit above them, not at all like an airplane.
"What is that?" he muttered.
"Brace yourself!" Denise screamed.
He looked back at the road. The dead had collected around a crashed car blocking both lanes of a stone bridge across the Sudbury River.
Denise steered the truck toward the car's lighter rear end and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. By now, the M35 was belching steam like a volcano and hitching something fierce. Lloyd figured the undercarriage probably looked like something from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
He held on tight as they smashed through the last of the zombies and ran into the back of the car. An angry scream of twisted metal and a splash of shattered glass filled their ears. The side of the sedan crumpled under the M35's bumper. The truck lifted at an angle into the air, its front tires clawing over the wreck. Lloyd wailed and dug his fingers into the seat. He felt certain that they were going to fly off the bridge and end up nose down in the river.
They didn't. Somehow, the truck managed to touch down on the road again, leaving the car crushed and dangling off the side of the bridge in its wake.
"OhmyfuckingGodIdon'tbelieveit!" Lloyd whooped with joy. He barely noticed Denise start by his outburst. He was too preoccupied trying to wrap his head around the notion that they had somehow managed to survive.
Grinning like a madman, he checked his mirror again. The remaining zombies pushed across the opened bridge in pursuit of the fleeing truck. Where once there were more than he could easily count, he now noticed only a handful still on their feet.
His smile faltered a second later. The undead steed chasing them for the past couple of miles had reappeared. It trampled the dead underfoot and knocked others off the bridge in its tireless stampede.
"Oh, shit. Dee..." he moaned.
"I see it," she said, also checking her mirror.
"We need to get—" he started to say.
A spray of fluids exploded from the truck's busted grill. The M35 lurched, tossing them both back in their seats. Denise tapped the gas pedal, but it was no use. The truck had decided it had gone as far as it was going. It rolled to a stop in the middle of the road and went silent.
"No, no, no." She tried to turn over the engine. It hiccupped lifelessly and refused to catch.
Lloyd grabbed the M16 from the floor and looked at his mirror again. The horse had made it past the wrecked car and the horde slowing it down. Crushing the skull of its final obstacle underfoot, it charged after the taillights of its original target.
"It's coming," he uttered.
"Don't get out," she said. "The cab's high enough that maybe we can hold out here until help arrives."
"Help? Wait a minute. Where's—?" He looked out his window at the moon, and then did the same through the windshield. Finally, he spotted the lights in the sky again. A glance at Denise confirmed that it wasn't his imagination. She saw it too.
The lights were growing brighter.
The chopping of a powerful motor reached their ears. Denise gasped next to him. As the flash of twin rotor blades clearly came into view, she leaned across the seat and grabbed his arm.
"Get down," she yelled, ducking in her seat and pulling him down with her.
An explosive hiss from above echoed through the night, sounding as if someone had taken a mallet and cracked open a dam. Lights flared, streaming across the inside of the cab. The helicopter's backwash shook the truck under them as it altered course overhead, soaring away. Then the world broke apart in a deafening roar.
A hail of debris rained down around them in a torrent of stone, metal, fire, and gore. With his ears still ringing, Lloyd slowly sat up and stole another peek outside. Where the bridge once stood, congested with the wrecked car and scores of dead, now a plume of dark smoke billowed from the riverbank. There was no trace of the horse or much else. The missiles had reduced everything behind them to smoldering rubble.
He exhaled and smiled at Denise. She rose in her seat and gaped around at the scene of devastation left in the wake of the attack. The wind stirred again, shaking the branches of nearby trees and rocking the M35 on its wheels.
An Apache attack chopper lowered from the sky and hovered a few feet off the road in front of them. Dust and smoke blew everywhere. A spotlight kicked in, pinning the occupants of the vehicle in its bright gleam.
"Let's hope this time they're on our side," Lloyd muttered.