Dog Blood

first and which way I should run. Maybe running is the only option? Sorry, Adam, I think this is where we say our good-byes. Can’t see any way of getting him out of here now. Poor bastard’s three-quarters dead anyway.
    Another two of them join the first three. Five to one-those are bad odds in anyone’s book. I’d have been better off taking my chances and lying flat on a pile of corpses. Wish I’d thought of that sooner. Perhaps I can still get over to that open grave…?
    Here they come. One of them starts to walk toward this building. Christ, I don’t even have my knife with me. It’s still buried to the hilt in the gut of one of them. Maybe I can reach my backpack from here…
    Wait. They’ve stopped.
    Something’s distracted them. Figuring I’ve got nothing to lose, I slide across the floor to try to get a better view of what’s happening. They’re starting to move back toward the front of the building now. Can’t see why, but their weapons are raised. This is my chance to make a break for it. I get up, grab my backpack, and run back outside, then stop when one of the enemy scavengers goes flying past the front of the chemical storeroom. He skids along the ground, thrown like a rag doll, eventually landing in a heap in the dust a few yards from my feet. Another one of them reappears, this one running backward, trying to fire his rifle and at the same time retreat and defend himself from whatever it is that’s attacking. I’m right out in the open again now, my curiosity and bewilderment forcing common sense to take a backseat, and I can finally see what’s happening. The cavalry have arrived. Halle-fucking-lujah. At precisely the right moment a van full of our people has turned up at the site, and they’ve got two powerful and incredibly aggressive fuckers in tow who are making short work of any of the Unchanged stupid enough to stand in their way. The way these two are fighting is savage and brutal in the extreme, and it’s awe-inspiring to watch. They move with an agility and speed that belie their otherwise ordinary appearance. Totally focused on the kill, they are oblivious to everyone and everything else around them.
    The old man I saw stripping corpses is hobbling toward me, a look of absolute fear plastered across his weathered face. He runs straight at me, yelling for help, too terrified to realize I’m going to kill him.
    “Get out of here,” he tries to warn me, barely able to breathe. “They’ll-”
    I end his sentence before he has a chance to. I grab his shock of white hair, yank his head back, and punch him hard in the throat. He collapses at my feet, choking. I snatch a knife from my backpack and finish him off. Suddenly feeling fired up and alive, I sprint down toward the battle that’s raging at the front of the building, desperate to kill again.
    By the time I get there it’s over, the suddenly one-sided fight ended with incredible speed, force, and brutality by seven other people like Adam and me. None of them questions me. There’s an immediate, unspoken trust between us, and within minutes I’m helping them dump the bodies of the Unchanged with the thousands of others already here.

5
    THESE PEOPLE ARE SURPRISINGLY well coordinated. There are seventeen of us here now including me and Adam, another group having just arrived on foot through the trees to the east of the cull site. I’ve stumbled into the middle of a preplanned rendezvous, and I’m going to take advantage of it while it lasts. They won’t be here long. Sticking together in large numbers is dangerous. It leaves us exposed.
    They work quickly, hiding their vehicles in the shadows of the building and stripping the site of weapons and anything else of value. Guards patrol the perimeter constantly; others watch from the roof. The two most aggressive fighters are positioned one at either end of the building. As I walk toward the chemical storeroom with a short, stocky man, I notice that the fighter out back is shackled. She has a heavy-duty chain padlocked around her waist that’s anchored to a metal stake driven deep into the ground.
    “What’s all that about?” I ask quietly, not wanting her to hear. He takes off his glasses and cleans the one remaining lens on the bottom corner of his shirt.
    “You’ve not come across Brutes before?”
    “Brutes?”
    “That’s what we call them.”
    “Them? You make it sound like they’re different from us.”
    “Not really,” he sighs, like it’s an