The hydraulic arms resist his efforts. On the sidewalk, the attack on the three is short-lived, the three cadets having been bitten and the virus transferred. The seven rise and, seeing new prey, scream with such intensity that it nearly scrambles Brown’s mind. Brown weighs the speed of the closing door with that of the infected closing in.

“Fucking hell,” Brown mutters, forgoing his efforts and stepping fully outside.

All other thoughts leave as his brain calms, although his rapidly beating heart betrays the tension he holds. He’s made his decision, his mind and body now running on instinct alone. The bag of tricks that he’s gathered throughout his years is fully open. He doesn’t feel the chill morning air as he brings his sidearm to bear on the nearest infected.

The loud report of the gunshot rings off the nearby building, echoing down long alleyways. The infected comes to a halt, just standing. Its eyes cross as if trying to look at the hole in its forehead, the skin rumpled around the wound. Tissue, bone, hair, and blood splatters those behind as the bullet exits. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the infected falls to the ground on its knees, then folds slowly over to hit the concrete face first.

A waft of smoke rolls out of the barrel as Brown brings it into line with the next one, pulling the trigger before the first one hits its knees. Another sharp crack sends a round spiraling into the infected’s throat, blood spraying outward. Brown darts to the side, realizing that the distance is getting too close. Besides being overwhelmed, he also doesn’t want anything to splatter on him.

The second infected goes down clutching at its throat, blood flowing between its fingers. The assailants continue forward, seeking to quickly close the distance. Brown backpedals, firing another round. A third spins and plummets to the ground, then a fourth. The remaining three are joined by two of the cadets who had just been bitten.

Brown continues firing, putting rounds into the midst of the group rather than taking careful aim. Even if the shots aren’t killing anyone, he hopes that they will slow the onrush. One infected seems to implode around its chest as a 9mm round strikes its sternum, shattering both the bone and bullet. Its arms, shoulders, and head extend forward, blood erupting from the nose and mouth. The cadet, with a fresh wound on his neck, is knocked backward into two others.

Moving back at an angle to keep the remaining infected from charging in a straight line, Brown continues to hammer rounds into their bodies. The distance was too close to start with for the maneuver to be completely effective, and two remaining have drawn closer yet. The chance of blood splashing on him if he fires is too great.

Dropping the handgun onto the grass beside the walkway, Brown stands still. The infected, seeing a stationary target, charge across the short distance, their screams ringing loud in his ears. They reach out with their arms, their bloodshot eyes filled with both eagerness and rage. At the last moment, Brown jumps to the side, sweeping his arm to knock one of the infected’s reaching limbs out of the way. He steps into his attack, delivering a crushing blow from his giant fist into the infected’s throat.