Page 79 of Romancing in Rot

No gate left open. No gap beneath it. No way through.

Too tall to climb.

They’re boxed in.

Carlos sees it too late. He slams into the fence, grabs the metal links, and shakes it. “Fuck!”

Luis stumbles into his side. Wesker plants himself in front of them, teeth bared. The girl with the shaved side fires again.

Click.

Empty.

Her face crumples.

The horde floods into the mouth of the dead-end street, bodies piling into the narrow space, jaws snapping, hands reaching, closing the distance fast.

Trish squints over the ledge. “I see dead people.”

Not the time for movie quotes, Trish.

Lyla drops into a crouch beside me. “Clair, stay high.”

Clair’s head snaps toward her.

“You’re the best long-distance shot we have,” Lyla says. “Keep them off us from here. Once we clear the fence, and the dead have cooled down, meet us back at camp.”

Fear flashes over Clair’s face. Then her mouth firms. She drops flat near the parapet, braces the rifle, and settles her cheek against the stock. Made for this exact terrible moment.

“Joanie,” Lyla says.

Joanie’s eyes widen. “Why do I feel like I’m about to hate my assignment?”

Lyla points across the rooftops toward the other side of the fence. A narrow adjoining roof ends at a rusted fire escape that drops behind the locked gate. “Go around. Other side of the fence. Pry the gate away from the latch post.”

“With what, my jokes and a glitter sticker pack?”

Without looking away from her sightline, Clair unhooks the crowbar from her pack and holds it out.

Joanie takes it, grin flashing quick and wild.

“Don’t get dead,” Jacob says.

“No promises.” Then she runs, ducking under a sagging clothesline and disappearing toward the fire escape on the far side.

Lyla turns to the rest of us. “We go down. Clear a path. Get those kids to the gate.”

Jacob checks his gun. “Sounds awful.”

“It is.”

“Good. I was worried we had a reasonable plan.”

Trish pulls her pistol free, face worried but focused. I already have my hatchet in my hand.

The fire escape groans beneath us as we drop one level at a time. Rust flakes loose and falls like dirty snow. The smell rises sharper the lower we go. Blood, cold metal, wet brick, terror.

Clair’s rifle cracks above us.