Them or Us

was dark and had been that way since the bombs. He’d barely seen the sun since the morning he’d lost the last thing that mattered to him, his final tangible connection with the man he used to be.
    Johannson’s tactics were uncomplicated and effective. Faced with little alternative, many of the Unchanged who had survived the blast had gradually returned to the outskirts of the city the fighters were now camped close to, taking cover in those few buildings that had remained standing after the shock wave and firestorm, figuring that an inevitable slow death from starvation and radiation poisoning would somehow be preferable to an equally inevitable yet immeasurably more violent death at the hands of their enemy. Johannson, however, had other plans. She had at her disposal a core of dedicated fighters, desperate for action and almost Brute-like in their passion for Unchanged blood, who’d do anything she demanded just to kill again. She sent a squad of them into the city to flush the enemy into the open, rounding them up and herding them toward the waiting Hater hordes.
    Was this it? McCoyne sensed a sudden murmur of activity around him and caught a glimpse of movement up ahead. His heart began to pound hard, beating too fast, making him feel dizzy with nervous anticipation. He remembered the excitement and exhilaration he used to feel at moments like this, but now he just felt sickness and dread. Can’t do it , he told himself, trying to picture the moment when the Unchanged finally came into view and he had to attack, I can’t fight anymore .
    Then they came.
    Rustling undergrowth and snapping branches heralded the arrival of the fittest. Two relatively strong Unchanged stumbled through the forest, too terrified of what they were running from to think about what they might be running toward. They zigzagged through the trees, looking behind them twice as often as they looked ahead. Johansson’s fighters waited, fighting against their basic instincts, swallowing down the Hate and desire to kill until their leader gave the signal. They’d learned to obey her, safe in the knowledge that if they didn’t, they’d be dead, too. Do what she says and you’ll get to kill. Fuck with Johannson and she’ll break you in two.
    Johannson stood up and revealed herself just a few yards ahead of the farthest forward Unchanged, who, unable to stop in time, ran into her suddenly outstretched arm at full speed. It caught him across the windpipe and he dropped hard onto his back, too stunned to react.
    “Kill ’em!” she screamed, her deep, hoarse voice echoing through the trees.
    There were eight Unchanged in view now and still more following, all of them splitting off in random directions like a herd of panicked deer. They were attacked from all sides as fighters emerged from their various hiding places, dragging their enemy down and tearing each one of them apart, anything between three and ten focusing on each individual Unchanged.
    As usual, McCoyne lagged behind. In spite of the sudden frenzy of the ambush and the chaos all around, his reticence hadn’t gone unnoticed. There were others with worse injuries who moved faster.
    “You don’t kill, you don’t eat,” a ruthless and far stronger fighter called Bennett said as he shoved McCoyne out of the way to get to another Unchanged. It was a young woman, directly up ahead now, creeping back through the trees, thinking she hadn’t been noticed and trying to get away again before it was too late. McCoyne forced himself to follow, legs heavy as lead, body aching, head pounding. Then, before Bennett had got anywhere near the lone woman, a Brute appeared, charging through the undergrowth. McCoyne pressed himself back up against a tree to get out of the way, terrified as the powerful, barely human killer approached. He shot a quick glance at the Unchanged the three of them were converging upon. Christ, she looked bad: so pitifully weak he knew that even in his own miserable state he’d have no problem killing her. Badly burned in the bombings, her skin was blackened, her face a haunted mask of scar tissue with the whites of her eyes the only remaining visible features. She dragged herself along, aware of the danger ahead now but resigned to her fate and unable to do anything about it. She glanced back over her shoulder—every additional movement requiring massive effort—then seemed to shrug and falter. McCoyne could see more killers approaching now, at least another