Them or Us

still alive when he reaches her, but within seconds she’s dead, finished by the remaining bullets and a volley of savage kicks to the side of her head.
    Through the snow I see the Unchanged group has split. Most have continued to move back toward the shore with Joseph, but several others have panicked and gone the other way and are now hopelessly isolated. In confusion they run toward the far end of the pier, and Hinchcliffe heads after them, half staggering, half sprinting, unbelievably managing to somehow find enough energy to keep moving. He tackles the closest of them, an elderly man with long yellow-white hair, pulling his legs out from under him. He smashes his face repeatedly into the metal base of an observation point, continuing long after he’s dead.
    I drag myself along the railings toward him. There are massive holes in the decking here—huge chunks missing like they’ve been bitten away by some enormous creature—and I can hear the pier creaking and groaning beneath me, its weakened metal struts straining the farther we get from the shore. By the time I’ve managed to make it across, Hinchcliffe is already attacking another man, smothering his screaming face with his hand. He’s distracted by the intensity of the kill, and I throw myself at him. He lets go of the man’s corpse and turns on me, using his bulk to force me back into the farthest corner of the pier, then tightening his grasp around my throat. My feet slip and slide on the wet boards and I can’t get a grip. I can hardly breathe. His eyes lock onto mine.
    “I’ve had enough of you, you useless cunt. You’re worse than they are.”
    “I’m the same as them. We both are.”
    Hinchcliffe shoves me back, an expression of utter disgust and contempt on his hate-filled, blood-streaked face. He raises his hand and screws up his fist, but my eyes focus on something happening behind him. He sees that I’m distracted and looks back over his shoulder. The Unchanged are returning. A group of four of them is advancing toward him. Tracey, the doctor, is at the front of the group, her bludgeon held high, ready to strike. I’m forgotten in a heartbeat, immediately dismissed. Hinchcliffe turns and throws himself at them. Tracey lashes out, but he ducks under her weapon and grabs the man immediately to her right instead, catching him completely off guard, twisting his outstretched arm around and forcing the knife he’s carrying up into his own gut. Tracey spins around and smacks the bludgeon down across his back, and he drops to his knees. Another man comes at him with a block of wood, and the two of them rain down a barrage of blows. Still he keeps fighting. The fucker’s on his knees, but he won’t give up. He tries to stand, blood pouring from gashed skin, matting his long, sweat-soaked hair. He manages to raise himself up onto one foot, but before he can stand fully upright the fourth Unchanged comes at him and plunges a serrated blade deep into his belly. He drops onto his back, skull cracking against the deck, and this time he doesn’t move.
    I lean back against the edge of the pier, too exhausted to do anything. The three remaining Unchanged stand over Hinchcliffe’s corpse, then turn to face me.
    “Now you,” Tracey says.
    “Just leave me. I helped you.”
    “You’re one of them, McCoyne. As long as there are any of your kind left alive, we’re all still in danger.”
    “You’re wrong. It’s over now.”
    “It will be once you’re dead.”
    The three of them come at me like a pack with a speed and anger I can’t match. I try to squirm past, but one of them trips me up. He rolls me over onto my back, then stamps his boot into my groin.
    “Kill him,” another one of them shouts, yelling into the wind. “Finish it!”
    I try to get up, but I’m kicked right back down again. I land on top of Hinchcliffe’s bloody corpse. His eyes flicker open. The bastard is still alive.
    “You were wrong,” he says, gurgling blood, his voice barely audible. “You should have listened to me…”
    “Fucker’s got a grenade!” Tracey shouts.
    Rough hands grab me under my shoulders and drag me off Hinchcliffe. I’m dropped on my back again. I look across and see that Hinchcliffe has the grenade he took from me earlier. The Unchanged try to pry it out of his hands, but it’s too late. The pin’s out. One of them stamps on his wrist, and his fingers instinctively open, letting it go. I see it roll away from him, rattling along the