The Walking Dead: Return to Woodbury by Jay Bonansinga

Author:Jay Bonansinga
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

TEN

It feels like diving into a slaughterhouse, the air dank and sticky, the coppery odors of blood and offal pressing down on them. Lilly shimmies through the sunroof, hitting the ground and rolling for several feet, clotheslining a half dozen unsuspecting walkers, knocking them over like bowling pins. Ash follows, diving and shoulder-rolling in the other direction. Tommy lunges out behind them, letting out a garbled war cry, instantly climbing to his feet and lashing out with his machete.

Lilly starts in on the closest row of upright corpses, backhanding the skull of the first one with her eleven-inch Buck knife, slicing a deep divot through cranial bone and dura and brain matter, sending streams of gore through the air. She spins and forehands the knife into another one, and another one, and yet another. Very quickly she gets stippled and splashed and spattered, and starts losing track of her comrades. Her eyes take on the slimy red cast of blood, as though a filter has drawn down over her field of vision. Her spine burns, the stabbing pain taking her breath away. There are so many creatures pressing in on her now from all sides, she starts executing a controlled spin, stabbing skull after skull. The bodies stagger and fall, one after another, causing brackish splashes of muddy bodily fluids and long, ropy ejaculate of cerebral fluids swirling through the air.

In her peripheral vision, Lilly gets only blurry glimpses of Ash and Tommy on opposite flanks, stabbing and slashing and thrusting.

For one glorious moment, it feels to Lilly as though they might actually beat the odds and fight their way out of this mind-numbing mob of dead. But the waves keep coming, and coming, and coming, increasing in size and intensity.

Without warning, Lilly finds herself suddenly surrounded by two dozen larger males in some kind of random formation, closing in on her with ferocious, snarling bloodlust. Some of the older ones sport burial suits still clinging to their decomposing flesh, their cadaverous faces full of rotted dentures and jagged, yellowed incisors that gleam in the late-afternoon sun. Some of the younger ones wear gouged and tattered leathers with indecipherable patches from forgotten motorcycle clubs.

Tommy and Ash have made progress on the opposite side of the clearing, cutting a swath at least fifteen yards wide through the onslaught, but now the twosome gets into trouble, boxed in by an unexpected salvo of creatures from the other side of the wrecked SUV. That’s when Lilly hears the children screaming.

She glances over her shoulder. Just for a single instant. Just long enough to see the blitzkrieg of dead surrounding the Escalade, countless numbers of them, all stages of deterioration, some eviscerated, some mangled beyond recognition of what one might call human, some clawing stupidly at the broken windshield and side windows, a large portion of them pushing up against the vehicle with enough collective pressure to make it start to teeter on its side. Lilly is too far away to do anything about

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