[u][b]Whiteshale Coal Fired Power Plant (Decommissioned), Whiteshale[/b][/u]

Dave and Marty stood on the outskirts of Whiteshale village in the scorching summer sun, listening to the screaming being carried to them by the wind. Rear Admiral Jegg ambled up behind them, machine gun hanging from its strap at his back, hands in his pockets. He looked down the wide, barren road and at the old power plant sitting tall and ugly on the horizon, the village at their backs.
''So, how many people went up there this morning?'' Dave asked, listening as the distant screaming intensified, rising into a piercing shriek before abruptly stopping.
''Four. Three Undeads and a Skelly.'' He replied blandly, fully aware of the minimal chances that the men would ever come home.
The three of them turned and walked back to the 4x4 they'd borrowed off Mayor Langham. It was sat on the verge at the side of the road next to an old, weather and pollution blackened highway maintenace storage shed, the vehicle's rusting black providing some semi-decent camouflage against any potential prying eyes. Jegg slid into the driver's seat and Marty climbed in next to him. Dave climbed into the rear, settling happily amongst all the explosives that were piled up on the back seat like a scarred, happy green hen, cradling his assault rifle in his lap.
''What did they think they were going to achieve?'' Marty asked, genuinely confused by the idea of four men - a fisherman, two farmers and a window cleaner - going up to take on what they believed to be a meteor mutated giant squid.
''Did they take any weapons? Explosives?'' Dave prompted, pulling on a pair of grenade loaded bandoliers.

Jegg eyed him in the rear view mirror as he drove down the weed filled road.
''They took one of those fancy new tractors - y'know, the ones with the removable fuel tanks, and a pair of shotguns, so far as I know.'' He replied blandly, ''You ever tried blowing up a tractor with a shotgun?'' He asked curiously after a second.
''Yep,'' Marty said, staring out of the window and at the looming concrete cooling towers, ''It ain't easy.''
''Can't just shoot it and expect it to go up like they do in the movies.'' Dave conceded, inspecting a bundle of dynamite.
''Then you have a fair idea of how little damage they'll do to that Mutant.'' Jegg replied with a sigh.
''From what you've told us about this monster, they'd be lucky to get a single shot off.'' Marty said. Marty then paused and mentally went over the last few sentences. He looked at Jegg quizzically. ''Have [i]you[/i] tried to blow up a tractor with a shotgun before?'' He asked curiously.
The Rear Admiral's permanent grin appeared to widen and the blue witchlight of his eyes flickered mischieviously.
''You never?!'' Dave exclaimed, stopping his fiddling with the explosives, ''Squeaky clean brass? Shit rolls off your lot and homes in on us!''
Jegg cast a quick look over his shoulder at Dave.
''Not so squeaky clean, Sarge. I've got more years on you. I've pulled more stupid, potentially career ending stunts than you could ever hope to perform.'' He said, adding, ''Thankfully a handful of my COs had a sense of humour. When the shenanigans weren't aimed at them directly, at any rate...''

''So this tractor...?'' Marty prompted curiously, refusing to let the subject go.
''You ever seen a tractor fly?'' He asked. The two tankers remained quiet and curious, ''Well, when me and the boys got bored of trying to shoot it into a fireball, we decided to let the handbrake off and fired it off the end of HMS Victoria's runway with the catch net. It got about twenty feet before it landed in the drink.''
''How did you get permission to do that?'' Dave asked sweetly.
Jegg's grin widened.
''When your last post as Captain is onboard one of the tightest run, most misery inducing aircraft carriers in the fleet, you let all kinds of weird stuff slide by just to keep the crew's spirits up. 'course, Admiral Raynard went light when he found out about it, but the Flying Tractor Incident kept the three hundred crewmen onboard amused for months. Happy crew, happy Captain.''
''Shit. And we ended up getting vanguard duty for five months straight just for filling up the officer's quarters with foam.'' Dave sighed, a mite sadly.
''Foam?'' Jegg asked, his own curiosity piqued.
''It involved plying the local fire service with cheap alcohol, learning how to operate a fire engine and a [i]lot[/i] of bubble bath that was followed shortly afterwards with a lot of angry shouting.'' Marty said, ''Every one of our COs that were ranked higher than Tank Commander smelled like violets and lavender for weeks afterwards.''
Jegg snorted and laughed.
''And then there was the hog-tie incident.'' Dave added, leaning forward between the seats, ''But that's a story for another day. Assuming we survive this...'' He said, nodding at the view before them.
They'd slowed down considerably and were now driving cautiously through the rusting main gates of the old power plant. Up ahead, the monstrous hyperboloid cooling towers loomed over everything, wavering slightly in the heat and casting shadows across the squat, crumbling buildings. None of them had heard the screaming of the Mutant since they left the outskirts of the village, the silence, to their minds, boding ill for the four reptiles that had taken it upon themselves to slay the Mutant on their own.

Jegg guided the 4x4 behind the small control room he'd hid in the other day and cut the engine once he'd shuffled it about to face back the way they'd come. They climbed out, gathered up their gear and a bundle of explosives each and pressed the car doors shut with a gentle click. They cast about, scouting the area, weapons raised for any signs of Reds, bandits and zombies. All they found was the tractor, covered in thick creamy slime and half crushed, detachable fuel tanks still in place and leaking red diesel.  It was sat next to the offending cooling tower, a trail of thick slime dripping from the concrete and steel supports, laying across the ground like a giant snail trail. The trail of slime led back into the cooling tower and was still oozing thickly down the side of the large concrete water pipe at its centre. Jegg stuck his head in and looked up at it. He could still smell the thing; salt water, river mud, moss and algae and rotting fish plus something he couldn't quite put a name to. Behind him, Dave gagged and grumbled.
''I've smelt some horrible things in my life, but this thing takes the biscuit.'' He grumbled in distaste, pulling his long, tattered olive scarf over his snout to try and fend off some of the smell, ''Should've brought my respirator with me.''
Marty nodded, a look of distaste playing across his bony face, ''Smells worse than Sid's arse after curry night.''

Dave edged closer to where Jegg was stood on the moss and lichen encrusted concrete lip of the cooling tower's basin, looking into the mud of the floor within. He dropped down with a thick splash and plucked something out of the mud that had enveloped his feet.
''What's that?'' Dave enquired, climbing onto the lip and squatting in place, really not wanting to get any of the thick black and green mud stuck between his toes or inside his claw-boots.
Jegg held it up and it glinted in the sunlight. It was a pale red finger, still wearing a silver ring.
''I think I found one of your Undeads...'' Marty piped up from the otherside of the tractor, ''He's a bit squashed though...''
Jegg clambered back out of the mud and stamped over to where Marty was, trying to dislodge some of the mud from the joints of his toes as he went. He looked properly at the mess that was once the bright green tractor and sighed.
''Squashed is a mild way of putting it.'' He said, ''Poor Albert.''
''You recognise this pulp?'' Marty said, surprised, looking from Jegg and back to the display of intestines, crushed bone and pulped brain that quivered and dripped, hanging limp from the crushed and twisted cab.  
''Yep. One of the farmers. Grows turnips, onions and radishes in three acres of field to the south of the village. His wife's gonna go mad.'' Jegg added mildly, eyeing up the mess of twisted metal, plastic, gore and slime.

He adjusted his bandoliers and slings of explosives and started for the door on the side of the tower, ''I think we might find the others inside...''
Dave and Marty hurried after him, rifles at the ready. The whole place was quiet; there wasn't even a whistle from a lone bird and it felt unnatural, putting them all on edge. Typically, there was at least one thing - besides their target - in the area that would be making a bit of a fuss. When the door swung open, a Skeleton hurled itself at Jegg in a frenzy of gibbering panic, toppling the Rear Admiral along with the panicked farmer back down the concrete steps. After ten minutes of trying to calm the Skeleton down, Jegg managed to extract some details from the irate man.
''Albert-'' He huffed, ''didn't even get out t'door! T'Screamin Moist snaked out of t'chimney and snatched t'tractor wi'him in it!''
''Where're the other two?'' Jegg asked, already knowing the answer, but fervently hoping he wasn't right in his educated guess.
The Skeleton, who was being held firm by the shoulders by Jegg blanched and tried to shrink like a turtle into his muck stained overalls.
''Where're your shotguns?'' Dave piped up.
The quailing farmer stared owlishly at the Undead tanker who clinked gently with grenades and bundles of dynamite everytime he moved.

''Screaming Moist et one of 'em. T'other's still in t'tractor behind t'seat...'' He said in a strangely hushed tone.
''I'm gonna have a rummage...'' Dave said and jogged back around to what was left of the tractor and its occupant.
Jegg looked the farmer over, trying to pair the strong northern accent with a name.
''Jeff, isn't it?'' He hazarded.
Jeff nodded dumbly and then pointed back at the cooling tower's door, ''Et one, smeared t'other around.''
''Okay, try to stay calm, we're going to do something about this Mutant, don't you worry.'' Jegg said, trying to sound reassuring. Then he asked, purely out of curiosity, ''Erm, Jeff, what [i]did[/i] you plan on doing with the tractor...?''
Jeff stared at him and the Rear Admiral got the vague impression that the farmer's mind was gently slipping from its moorings.
''Tek one of t'fuel tanks off and feed it t'Screaming Moist and try and poison it...?'' He said weakly, the original logic of the idea now bearing all of its flaws to him like the dirty old man in the park.
Jegg stared at him dumbly. He found the idea of poisoning something that eats poisoned meat on a daily basis difficult to grasp. If he were to be completely honest, though, he too was at an utter loss as to what to do about the Screaming Moist. What was the general protocol to doing battle with an overgrown Giant Squid that lived in the bowels of a cooling tower? Chances were, that there weren't any. On the upside, if they succeeded in destroying the creature, he could make a start on writing a book about doing battle with an overgrown Giant Squid that lives in the bowels of a cooling tower. Assuming the thing didn't tear him bone from bone as soon as it realised that he was there to make a stand against it. Meteor Mutants, they had realised quickly, were only dim to a point. 

''What're you gonna do about it?'' Jeff asked, staring at the Rear Admiral in horrified awe.
''Throw explosives at it until it's dead.'' He replied deadpan, quickly coming to conclusion that his plan probably wasn't much better than the farmer's and his now permanently deceased friends' plan of feeding it a fuel tank full of diesel.
Jeff looked at Marty who only shrugged noncommitally. This kind of madness was almost a daily thing for him. Then Jeff looked back at Jegg.
''Eeee lad, rather you than me. Again.''
''Thanks for the moral support.'' Jegg muttered quietly, ''Go wait over there in that control room. And don't come out until one of us comes to get you, understand?''
''And if we're not out of that tower by nightfall, take the four-by-four back to the village and stay there.'' Marty added.
Jeff nodded and scuttled into the little control room that sat squat and decaying a couple dozen yards behind their position. Dave returned to them with a mangled  double-barreled shotgun in hand and a blood soaked belt of cartridges in the other.
''Barrel's bent and the stock's split but I reckon most of these carts're still good to use.'' He said, ''We can give the gun to Trev to use as spares. He should give us something decent in return for it.''

''D'you think he'll swap it for a one-twenty mil rifled bore gun barrel?'' Marty asked.
''Not unless he can pull it out of his rotting arse.''
Jegg looked from one reptile to the other, ''Something I've missed?'' He asked innocently.
''We're trying to do up Drunken Shenanigans in case anything happens to Bone King. Problem is, the turret's more fucked over than we first thought.'' Marty supplied blandy.
Jegg's expression went blank for a moment. Then he seemed to come to some inner conclusion.
''If we get out of this in one piece,'' He said, gesturing at the tower's door with the muzzle of his heavy machine gun, ''write me a list of needs for the tank and I'll see what I can do, because the way I figure it, if we get rid of this thing, it's more than just Whiteshale that'll owe us big.''
Marty and Dave looked at one another, then back at Jegg.
''Then we better get some explosions going then, eh?'' Dave grinned and, with a grand sweep of one arm, gestured for the two Skeletons to take the lead as they were generally deemed the least edible of the semi-living and were therefore usually used as shields by those with some meat still left on their bones. 
Marty and Jegg tightened their numerous bandoliers, belts and holsters and climbed the concrete steps to the rusting maintenance door, gently clinking as they climbed. Dave put down the twisted shotgun by the foot of the stairs and carefully followed them up and into the cooling tower, not wanting to be the first snack of the three.

The inside of cooling tower two was a mess. The creamy white slime coated everything, oozing thickly down the interior of the high, curving hyperboloid tower and mingling with the long strands of moss and algae, dripping down into the basin and splatting thickly into the dark mud. Blood and gore and tattered strips of crimson stained cloth also smeared the concrete surfaces.
''Looks like the Screaming Moist's been busy...'' Marty muttered quietly, looking around.
Jegg cast a quick glance around, scanning the interior. A mangled torso, intestines spooling out from the lower half, rested at an awkward angle in one of the water runnels that ran around the cooling tower's inner circumference. Peeking out of the wide, mossy funnel was a long, pale red weather seared tail, smeared in mud and blood, chunks of the flesh recently torn free. And opposite, dangling precariously from the farthest of the five support beams that stretched from wall to water pipe was a severed arm, still in its sleeve, the bone jutting out and cutting through the pitted bicep. Still clasped in the attached hand was the other shotgun. Jegg nudged Marty and nodded to his find.
''Think you can get the other gun? It still looks to be in good nick.'' He asked softly, increasingly aware of the brewing activity going on deep inside the large concrete water pipe in the middle.
Marty looked across the tower's interior and the blood smeared prize.
''I reckon so,'' He replied thoughtfully, eyeing up the shelf of wood and concrete water runnels and troughs attached to the walls that encircled them.

He slung his assault rifle and climbed carefully over the rusting metal safety rail, hopping onto the first of the runnels. He waved his arms for balance, swinging his spikey tail up and tottered carefully across the greasy lips of the wide runnels. Deep in the pipe, the wet gurgling rose into a wail that escalated into a shriek. The Mutant's screaming cry made the whole tower vibrate worryingly, shaking the slime and lichen from the walls. A heavy lump of the slimey algae dropped down from high above, landing on Dave's head with a soggy splat. He cursed bitterly, blinded by the soft, pungeant strings of weed and suddenly found himself airborne, the wind knocked from him by a vicious blow from a darting tentacle. He hit the wall by the door hard, stars dancing in his blurred vision as his lungs burned for air. He swallowed hard, gulping down the foul air and swiped at the stuff blinding him with his left hand, raising his rifle with his right, silently relieved that he hadn't lost his grip on the weapon. He braced himself against the recoil, but the trigger didn't budge. He fumbled the safety, grumbling angrily, as a tentacle slid around his leg and lifted him off the ground, turning everything upside down, pain lancing through his thigh and hip. He was vaguely aware of Jegg and Marty shouting for him before opening fire on the other tentacles. More tentacles squirmed out of the pipe with a sticky pop, two big black orbs bulging out of the two shortest appendages, the mouth part thrusting itself up high, teeth gnashing, tongue flicking, slime flying. One of the tentacles swatted at Marty as he grabbed the shotgun, the Skeleton dancing around on the narrow beam, trying to avoid being smashed to pieces by the flailing, glistening pink limb. Jegg ducked another tentacle, rolled forward, bounced back to his feet and shot the offending tentacle, blowing chunks of meat from its length, leaving pockmarks and pits drooling thick crimson. Dave, swinging upside down ten feet above the walkway, his head ocassionally grazing the wall, lit his tentacle up blindly. The Mutant recoiled, squirming and screeching, a stream of bullets stitching down towards the pipe, forcing the thing to let go of him. He landed heavily in the mud below with a grunt and a squeal of annoyance from the Mutant.
''Dave!?'' Marty shouted, his hearing abuzz.
Dave looked up to where the others were still fighting, climbing unsteadily to his feet, '' 'm fine!'' He shouted hoarsely over the noise, wondering if he was going to go deaf within the next three minutes.

The two Skeletons concentrated their fire on a single flailing tentacle, shearing it off with a burst of twitching flesh and fountaining blood. The severed appendage flopped heavily into the basin below, eliciting a tirade of vicious curses from Dave who was trying to climb back up to the fight. Marty and Jegg, satisfied now the Screaming Moist was retracting its tentacles one by one shifted their attention to the central tentacle and its corckscrew of teeth and sinuous tongue. The Mutant spewed more of the thick slime into the air, the stuff raining down on their heads.
''I hope this stuff isn't acidic or anything...'' Dave grumbled as he scrabbled back onto the walkway, using his muddy shirt sleeve to wipe a gobbet of the slime from his fleshless nose.
He brought his assault rifle back to bear and rejoined the dwindling assault on the Screaming Moist, blasting more holes in its pulsing flesh. Jegg was the first to run his main weapon dry, slinging the large machine gun at his back and bringing his giant service pistol into play, unloading every bullet he had for into the squirming Mutant. Marty was swiftly on his heels, followed shortly by Dave. The Mutant writhed, screeching and moaning deeply, coughing blood and slime into the air. The remaining tentacles swiped lethargically at them as the three reptiles put more bullets into the thing. Jegg managed to nail one of the bowling ball eyes, putting his last two bullets into the shining black orb, spilling a reeking green fluid from the wounds and deflating the eye. A tentacle swung down and hammered into him, sending him flying into the wall behind. Another smashed into Marty, dropping him into the mud and gore below. Dave, the last man standing and the only one with a few bullets left to his name, took out the other eye with his sidearm, blowing the top of the orb off, spattering the central tentacle with the thing's own eye fluid. 

The Screaming Moist reeled, blinded and bleeding, making odd grunting noises as it squirmed painfully back into the old water pipe. Dave ran forward, pursuing it, unclipping grenades from his belts, bandoliers and vest, and chucked them into the pipe after the Mutant, followed by the bundles of dynamite, small parcels of explosive putty and the glass bottles of home brewed napalm they'd 'borrowed' from Trev. Jegg hauled Marty back up onto the walkway and they hastily joined Dave in ditching their explosive payloads down the pipe.
''Marty; go get the farmer. Dave; go get the truck. I'll meet you outside.'' Jegg said, unclipping the last of his grenades.
He slowly counted to fifteen, hoping that that was enough time to let them get themselves sorted out. Deep in the pipe, the Screaming Moist let out a low gurgle. He pulled the pin on his last grenade and tossed it into the pipe, watching to make sure it vanished into the wet darkness below. Then he turned and ran, jumped down the steps and tore after Marty and Dave, neither of whom had the 4x4 or Jeff the farmer. Anger washed through him. To their credit, Jegg mused darkly, when the two Tankers saw an angry CO charging their way, they didn't hesitate to turn and run full tilt in the opposite direction. 

They'd just made it to the outlying service buldings when the ground vibrated with a dull thud and flames and concrete dust erupted from the top of cooling tower two. They sprinted hard, heads down, towards the main gates and jumped into the nearby ditch, scrambling around to peer up and over the top. The cooling tower lurched on its foundations, a deep rumble coming from its core as its supports were shattered by the explosion. Then it slumped, slowly sinking to the ground in a billow of brown and grey dust. Chunks of concrete the size of their heads landed all over, thudding into the ditch beside them and cracking onto the road opposite. Smaller chunks of debris pattered down around them, as if they had been caught out in a sudden shower of stone. They hunkered in place, wondering if they'd managed to kill the Screaming Moist or if all they'd done was wound it and piss it off.
Dave, feeling significantly lighter and amazingly bruised, grunted and flexed, hissing as his spine crackled and his head throbbed.
''Little sod made off with our ride.'' He growled.
Jegg glared at the settling chaos before them, desperately trying to think happy thoughts.
''At least you managed to keep the shotguns.'' He said blandly, ''Keep 'em. In the meantime, we best get walking before the Reds or any other unwanted strays come to investigate all the excitement.''

They set off on foot back towards the village, opting to stay in the sun-dried ditch, ocassionally grumbling about the mess they were in and wondering about the ultimate fate of the Screaming Moist.
''This is bollocks. Whatever happened to gratitude, eh? You save a guy from being killed and he makes off with your stuff.'' Marty growled, picking a lump of congealed slime and mud from his left eye socket and flicking it into the grass, ''How you doing, Dave?'' He asked over his shoulder.
Dave, stuck between Marty and Jegg as they walked in line down the ditch, grumbled something under his breath and rolled his aching shoulders, ''I hurt all over. Pretty sure I have a cracked rib. How 'bout you two?''
''Muddy, slimey and sore.'' Marty replied.
''Muddy, slimey, sore and pissed off.'' Jegg growled, casting a look over his shoulder and back in the direction of the old power plant. ''He better have a fucking good excuse for leaving us like that.''
The distant sound of engines drifted to them over the still landscape.
''Reds?'' Marty asked in a hushed tone.
Jegg glanced at the sky, calculated the sun's position and nodded.
''It's noon, or thereabouts. Should be them for the daily feed.''
''Then we should pick up the pace, because I dunno about you two, but I'm out of ammo [i]and[/i] explosives.'' Dave said a little sourly.

They hastened their pace, hurrying along in silence, staying low in the ditch.
''Hang on,'' Marty whispered, halting them all, ''You hear that?''
Dave and Jegg tilted their heads and listened to the still air. Silence. Then they heard it; a low moan, the swish of dry grass and a gurgle.
''Fuck.'' Jegg muttered softly, edging up behind Dave protectively, drawing his combat knife, ''Stick close. There'll be more.''
Dave shuffled forward to the point where he was almost on top of Marty. As they pressed forward, the moans and gurgles of the dead became more prevalent. The further forward they moved, the louder and more numerous the zombies became. They also seemed to be heading in the same direction as the trio: Whiteshale village. And before long, they heard a familiar sound, one that everyone dreaded; There wasn't just a few zombies up ahead, there was a whole horde of them. They froze for a moment, listening in agonized silence at the droning of the gathered zombies up ahead of them. They couldn't see them nor what had attracted them so suddenly, but the three of them were in unspoken agreement that they were pretty much fucked. Jegg was about to start climbing up one side of the ditch to peer up ahead to see what was going on when something heavy and stinking dropped down, knocking him back and pinning him to the ground. The zombie that had toppled into the ditch snapped its broken jaw and clawed its way towards Dave, the nearest source of meat in the immediate vicinity. Jegg grabbed the zombie, sinking his sharp nails into its thread-bare tail and pulled, the tail pulling free with a wet tear, leaving Jegg grasping a maggot chewed appendage and feeling nauseated. The zombie, ignoring the Skeleton, snapped and swiped at Dave, crawling towards him on twisted legs seemingly unfazed by the loss of a major part of its anatomy. Dave, in turn, pulled his combat knife free and ducked down low, launching himself at the creature with a growl, knocking it flat on its back. Jegg, suddenly finding himself trapped beneath a rotting corpse with an appetite and an angry soldier, swore and tried to squirm free. Dave punched it in the chin with enough force to tear its split jaw away then plunged the serrated blade into one of the zombie's milky dead eyes and twisted the knife, slicing the brain up. The zombie made a horrible keening noise, hissed and clawed at Dave's chest, its twisted claws catching in the tattered material of his body armour. With a final gurgle, the zombie went still. Jegg wriggled free of the zombie and looked up. More of them were dropping into the ditch to investigate the noise.

''We need to go.'' Marty murmered as the new arrivals continued to pile into the ditch, blocking them in from behind and the front.
The zombies that had joined them had gone unnervingly quiet, standing stock still in clusters, staring at them with white, dead eyes. Jegg, Dave and Marty stared back at the clustered half eaten corpses that drooled at them, planning their next move.
''The warehouses...'' Jegg said softly, watching the zombies before him carefully, ''Out of the ditch, village-side. Follow me and don't stop running.''
Dave let out a little groan. He ached something fierce and his head felt as if it was about to explode, so running was the last thing he wanted to be doing. However, the idea of being torn apart and devoured alive appealed to him even less. He and Marty waited on Jegg. As soon as the Rear Admiral gave the signal, they scrambled out of the ditch at speed and made for the small industrial area that lay half a mile up a slip road. The zombies in the ditch screamed and gave chase, the sudden rush of activity drawing the attention of more of the dead. As they ran, they cast a glance towards the village that lay a mile and half up the road from their position. The dead swarmed the defensive walls that had been erected shortly after it had become apparent that the Strike had raised zombies and other things. They crawled all over each other, glowering up at the watch towers and the armed Undeads and Skeletons that stood atop them, taking shots at the hungry mob. Here and there, heavily armoured lorries towing cattle trailers sat silent, the hot sun glinting off their black and red paintwork. Another lorry rumbled down the main road that lead into the village and pulled over into a field, the engine falling silent. The back of the cattle trailer dropped open with a thud, sending plumes of dry dirt into the air. A member of the Red Brigade, a Skeleton dressed from head to toe in typical Red Brigade armour, crawled out of the cab window and crawled up onto the roof of the lorry, dragging something up with him. It was a large burlap sack. As the they ran, they watched as he made his way to the end of the trailer, stamping his feet on the top of it as he went, dragging the sack behind him. From the distance they were at and the fact they were running for their lives, they didn't quite see what - or who - was being used to bait the zombies out of the trailer. But the bait was still wriggling and thrashing, squealing and crying, the high-pitched and desperate squealing that was coming from the sack chilling them to their cores. It quickly dawned on them as to what the bait was and it took every ounce of will power they had to keep running towards the warehouses as the Red methodically tipped the sack's contents over the edge of the trailer to lure the dead out.
''I'm gonna kill 'em all.'' Dave huffed as the mob of zombies poured from the trailer to descend onto the child, ''Every last one of the bastards.''
''We need to survive this first.'' Marty growled darkly as the handful of guards on the village's watchtower closest to the new arrival opened fire on the swarming zombies, to no avail.