Their angling run allows the infected to close even more distance. Explosions and the heavy chunk of machine guns can still be heard above the screams of the horde. There’s the pounding of their feet as the platoon races across the field, the panting breaths of Marines nearby, and shrieks so loud they vibrate Jennings’s skull.

With a crackle of snapping branches and a brush of leaves, the Marines plow through an outlying screen of bushes as if they didn’t exist. The terrain opens up as they pass the first line of trees, the ground shaking from the infected pounding after them. Jennings takes a quick peek behind and sees the infected nearly on their heels.

“Need to…create distance…gain some time,” Jennings calls to the lieutenant.

The platoon commander nods, and then orders those who can still hear him to turn and fire. Rounding a tree, Jennings turns and places himself behind it. Although the infected aren’t firing, the move to cover is instinctual. All around, Marines place themselves behind trees, their eyes haggard and terrified. Tracers races among the trees as automatic fire is delivered into the nearest infected. Bodies running through the woods drop to the ground as if tripped. More follow and meet the same end. Bark and splinters fly from trunks, the air filled with streaking bullets. Smoke drifts above the quickly formed line. From the corner of his eye, Jennings sees infected attempting to come in from the sides.

“Time to go,” Jennings shouts.

Without waiting for confirmation, the Marines turn to continue their run, having gained very little distance and only a touch of breath. They come to a creek, the waters placidly running between embankments.

“Make a stand here?” the lieutenant asks.

“Only to get a breather,” Jennings replies. “We need to get make our way back to the rear company in order to add our fire to theirs. They’ll have nothing to run back to, so they’ll be forced to hold their position. We need to bolster their numbers.”

The platoon clambers up the far embankment and halts behind the first line of trees. The infected tumble down the wall of mud on the far side, splashing into the water. Bullets pour down into the infected slowed by the stream. Water sprays upward from the torrent of fire, figures falling into the waters. Red mixes with the water muddied by the passage of the Marines. Bodies float on the agitated surface of the creek.

“Reloading,” echoes up and down the line as Marines exchange empty mags for fresh ones.

The stream clogs with bodies, slowing the infected even more. Jennings glances to the left and right to see infected crossing up and down stream. Fire from the sides of the line is redirected into those attempting to flank. But, the line of infected is too wide.

“Time to go again,” the lieutenant states, seeing the same thing.

“Yeah. We need to angle back toward the company.”

The woods are filled with the screams of infected as the Marines leave their positions to resume their flight. The infected directly behind are significantly slowed by the waters clogged with bodies. The platoon races in the same direction to create some room before changing directions. Although the thicket is filled with screaming hordes, the trees hide the Marines from the infected.