Suddenly, the front line of infected fully materialize, stumbling over bodies still falling to the ground.

The distance between the company and the charging figures is short. The firing grows more intense, trying to stem the flood of creatures emerging from the mist. Scythes rake the leading edges, but there are too many infected replacing the fallen. The distance shortens.

Even though the order has been given to hold, some soldiers bolt for the rear. The company line becomes ragged, the diminished firepower having a telling effect. The horde advances. Jennings holds his position, firing rapidly into those to his front. He no longer takes aim, the infected are too close and packed together. There’s no way his rounds could miss hitting something. Killing them isn’t as important as slowing them down. He knows there are thousands more behind those he sees, but they’ve been told to hold, and hold he will.

The infected close in on one side of the line. More Marines turn for the rear. It’s either that or be overrun. The volume of fire diminishes.

“Lieutenant, if we’re going to keep whole as a unit, I think it’s time to go,” Jennings yells.

No sooner did he get the words out then the order to retreat comes. Jennings glances at the line of infected just yards ahead. Even if they bolt and make it to the rear, the rear company is going to be hard put to slow the horde. Having to hold their fire to wait for the retreating company to pass through, they just won’t have enough room to engage effectively before they have to retreat.

This can easily turn into a bunch of infected chasing a bunch of Marines running for their lives.

The platoon turns and runs, the screams from the infected right on their heels filling the air. The Humvees that were with them hold for a few minutes longer, pulling out just before becoming surrounded. They drive backward across fields and over fences, their heavy caliber weapons continuing to fire. Rockets from gunships streak outward, delivering explosion after explosion into the mass of infected. It’s too little; the horde maintains its charge.

That is lost on Jennings, his world narrowed down to him and a few others from his platoon running for all they’re worth. Through all of the firing, he hears the rumble of thousands upon thousands of footfalls striking the earth. He feels the ground trembling beneath the feet of the storming infected. Knowing that it will only slow him down, Jennings forces himself not to look back over his shoulder.

The wet ditch he’s running along slows his advance; the Marines on the highway are making better time. It’s no longer an organized retreat, but an all-out rout to the rear. Gunships roar overhead, attempting to stem the tide. There are Marines in trouble and everything is being brought to bear, but there are too few resources to spare.

“Lieutenant,” Jennings yells, panting. “We need to…cut across to the side…we’re in front…other company won’t be able to engage. We’re in the way. They’ll be overrun…before they can…fire a single round.”

“They’ll catch up,” the lieutenant states, gasping for air.

“Better us than the two whole companies,” Jennings states.

The lieutenant nods, and then orders the men around into the fields, directing them toward a line of trees.