"Hell yes," Francis purred from somewhere behind me. "This is what I call a gun."
I turned to see him cradling - almost as one would cradle a baby - a large, slightly odd-looking weapon. It didn't look terribly imposing; it bore a smooth metal skin, and was slightly tapered toward the front, with a pistol grip and a large, round magazine. Tilting my head to one side, I said "It doesn't look like much… what is it?"
"Babe," Francis said, walking over to me. "This is an AA12. It's a fully-automatic shotgun." He worked the bolt, leveled it at an imaginary target, and continued "This baby can fire shotgun shells - yes, buckshot - as fast as Bill's favorite toy can fire bullets."
This last remark caused Nick to look over from where he was working the bolt on a huge sniper rifle. Giving Francis a contemptuous sneer, the conman said "Yeah, well your precious 'AA12' can't shoot through concrete walls like this Barrett, can it, grease ball?". Suppressing a grin at the two men's rivalry, I turned back to the weapon racks as Francis started in on a venomous retort. Perusing through more types of weapons than I knew existed, I finally selected a compact sub-machine gun that looked deadly enough, sporting a large clip positioned behind the grip, and a laser sight.
As I passed Ellis, he glanced down at my weapon and said "AUG, huh? Good choice. Y'know, mah buddy Keith wanted one a' those fer his eighteenth birthday, but his ma thought it was too dangerous, so he-…" Rochelle took hold of his arm and gently tugged him away, and I have his receding back a blank stare.
By the time we got back to Bill and Coach, the infected had started to gather. The two men were picking off the few zombies that got within their range, but I could hear the howls of countless more closing in from every direction. Walking up to Coach, Francis grinned and said "Merry Christmas."
With a grunt of effort, the biker tossed a huge machine gun in Coach's direction. The thing probably weighed as much as a smallish dog, but Coach caught it with only a mild grimace and a 'whoof' of expelled breath. Grinning back, the big football coach held the huge belt-fed gun up for inspection and said "An M60? But I didn't get you anything!"
Chuckling, Francis gave the big man an affectionate swat on the shoulder as he walked past, staring out through the chain-link fence. Louis passed Bill a sleek, high-tech-looking assault rifle, and Francis gave the ominous, rain-soaked woodland outside a feral grin. "This is gonna be good," he growled, and cocked his prized shotgun.
The first wave hit within a minute. They came swarming out of the woods like insects, their eyes glinting red in the dim light. There were at least fifty or sixty of them, and I took a knee beside Francis, raising my SMG to my shoulder and squeezing the trigger.
Firing off short, precise bursts, I felled zombies in droves as my compact weapon spat death from its slim muzzle. Soon, however, the AUG - as Ellis had called it - clicked empty, and I ejected the magazine with a muttered curse. Snatching another from my makeshift bandolier of them, I jammed it into my waiting gun and looked up at the horde before us.
The combined fire from all eight of us was tearing the zombies to shreds. None made it within ten feet of the fence, and I felt a surge of exultant joy. Nothing could stop us - we were home free. All we had to do was hold out long enough for the Army to get here. And with our new toys, it would be like playing at a shooting range.
No sooner had I thought this than the piercing cry of a hunter rent the air. Then another. And another. "What the hell!" Francis growled, wheeling around in search of the source of the feral howls. "There, on the rooftops!" Rochelle yelled over the din of battle, and I followed her pointing finger in time to spot five shadowy figures skulking atop the roof of a nearby bunker.
I trained my weapon on them and fired off a long burst, bullets slapping into the squat building and throwing up puffs of concrete dusts. The hunters vanished over the roof, and I uttered a litany of curses that would have made my father turn in his grave. "We may have a problem!" I said, and Bill shot back "We have more than one!"
I turned around just in time to see the huge, bloated form of a tank smash through the chain-link fence as if it was wet paper. It swatted aside Nick, who was the closest to it, slamming the conman into the concrete wall of the adjacent bunker. Slumping to the ground and clutching at what I guessed were a few broken ribs, Nick uttered some extremely inventive curses through teeth clenched with pain as he fumbled one-handed with the bolt on his Barrett.
Coach turned and let the tank have a barrage from his M60 as it turned towards him, the huge gun roaring and bucking in his hands as it chewed through flesh and muscle, sending a fountain of blood and giblets exploding outward from the tank's back. With a howl of pain and rage, the tank closed the distance in mere seconds, picking up the big man and flinging him in my direction.
I dove out of the way as Coach sailed past, hitting the ground and rolling for a good twenty feet before coming to an awkward, bouncing stop. One arm was twisted behind him at an odd angle and his face was contorted with pain, but he still tried to struggle to his feet.
Then the rest of us opened up, our guns belching hot, furious death. The tank went down flailing beneath a hail of lead, and I ran over to help Coach get up.
That was when the first hunter appeared. With a screech of animalistic hunger, it launched itself from a nearby rooftop, slamming into my back with enough force to send me to the ground. I wriggled and writhed for all I was worth, but the hunter was straddling my waist, pinning me to the ground. I felt its hot breath on my throat, heard it hiss in anticipation of a hot, fresh meal as its slavering jaws opened wide…
And suddenly the weight was lifted from my back. Rolling over and whipping my twin pistols from their holsters, I watched as Francis literally picked the hunter up, raised it over his head, and brought it down with a roar. It slammed head-first into the ground, and I could hear the bone crunch even over the din of battle around us.
Then another hunter dropped from directly above us, landing on Francis's back and driving him to one knee. He bellowed a string of imprecations as the hunter tore at his back and shoulders, and as quickly as I could I took aim and put two rounds through the beast's forehead.
It slumped backwards off of him, and he grinned his thanks at me. In addition to the water pouring from the churning sky above, blood now flowed freely down Francis's arms from deep gouges just beneath his shoulders, and I hurried over to him, pulling out my first-aid kit. The bandages were soaked, but they would have to do, and I hastily tied them around the bloody wounds.
Experimentally rolling his powerful shoulders, Francis gave me a quick hug and whispered "Thanks, babe." "Any time," I replied, but we were forced apart as Louis yelled "Shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit!" Sighing, Francis turned around to see what was going on. Stepping out from the big man's shadow, I looked out upon the scene of battle, and my eyes went wide.
Nick, severely wounded by the tank and almost unable to move, was crawling across the grass towards the rest of the group. Behind him was a howling mob of infected, pouring through the gate and the hole in the fence. There must have been hundreds of them out in the woods, enough that their roars and screams reverberated around the abandoned army camp like thunder.
"Chase this, you sons a' bitches!" I heard Ellis yell, and then a pipe bomb sailed over our heads, bouncing off the head of one of the advancing zombies and landing amidst the mob. Rochelle charged forward while the zombies were distracted, hauling a white-faced Nick to his feet and running back toward us with his arm over her shoulders.
The pipe bomb detonated. Blood and zombie bits fountained into the sky over an expanding ball of fire, and Ellis let out a whoop. And then a pair of headlights slashed through the gloom, settling on the horde now pouring through the fence again. What sounded like a heavy machine gun opened up on full-auto, and the infected were torn to pieces as explosive rounds scythed through their ranks. We all turned to look, and what I saw was, at that moment, the most beautiful sight I had ever laid eyes on.
"You all comin' or what?" yelled the driver of the huge Army APC that sat a few hundred yards behind us.