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Valentine went to one knee. He looked back and saw a dozen or so figures running in a more or less arrow-shaped formation. At this distance their bare feet were so dirty that most looked as though they were wearing black shoes and socks.
Kudzu-covered, tree-filled service stations and fast-food restaurants lined the road leading toward the casinos, according to an ancient brown sign. Everready almost leaped across the highway toward a small doughnut shop. A shriek from the direction of the Mississippi let them know that trouble would soon be running in from a second direction.
"Why not the bank?" Valentine yelled. A little way up the road a stout-looking brick structure promised safety-for money or those fleeing psychotics-from behind a wall of scrub pine.
"Too big. Can't stop them from getting in."
Valentine heard footsteps just behind. So sick but able to run so fast. . .
He dropped behind Duvalier and turned, holding the U-gun by barrel and grip. A swift-running young screamer got the butt in his face as he reached for Valentine. He went down, rolling. Valentine shifted his grip and employed the gun in a credible backhand.
The screamer didn't get up again.
There was no glass in the door or the windows. Everready vaulted over the counter and entered the cooking line. The display cabinet held nothing but empty trays and an oversized wasp nest.
Valentine ran around a permanently parked car and entered the formerly white doughnut stop. Duvalier had tears in her eyes as she covered the front of the store with her pump-action.
"In here. Help me with this!" Everready called.
They fled into the cooking line, and Everready and Valentine moved a fryer to block the path to the narrow kitchen. The lighting seemed wrong-Valentine looked up and saw a hole in the roof. Weather or animal activity had enlarged it to the size of a picture window.
Everready emptied the damp mess resting within a plastic garbage can and wedged it above the fryer as Valentine heard screams from within the doughnut shop.
"Nice scouting," Valentine said, pointing to the hole in the roof.
"Hope they don't climb up there," Duvalier said, shifting her shotgun muzzle from the barricade to the roof hole.
Everready put his back to the fryer. Its rear was festooned with smeared warnings. "Planning nothing, never been in here to scavenge. I'd be shocked if there wasn't a hole in the roof of most of these places."
Pounding and screaming came through from the other side of the fryer, horribly loud, horribly near. Valentine fought the urge to run to the other end of the kitchen.
"Valentine, help me hold this-no, the plastic can, they're trying to crawl over! Girl, check the back, there might be a door!" Everready said.
Duvalier hurried to the other end of the kitchen and disappeared around a corner. Two shotgun blasts followed immediately.
"Oh shit," Everready swore.
Duvalier flew back into the kitchen, her coat billowing and bringing the smell of cordite as she turned and braced herself against a tall refrigerator. "There's a door. Or there isn't-that's the problem."
"How many?" Valentine asked.
"How many are there?" she shot back.
"Thousands," Everready said.
"Sounds about right," Duvalier said.
They came, more like a single organism comprised of screaming heads and waving arms than a series of individuals, filling the kitchen with noise. Valentine brought his U-gun to bear, feeling the pounding on the other side of the fryer against his back.
"The roof!" Valentine shouted, firing. "Go, Ali!"
"I can jump better than either of you. I'll cover you."
More appeared and Valentine didn't wait to argue. He stood on a prep table and tossed his weapon up through the hole, hoping he didn't overthrow and land it in the parking lot. He grabbed an electrical conduit pipe and pulled himself up, got his foot into a light fixture, and climbed. The roof was thick with growth, and disturbed butterflies hurried into the sky.
Everready passed up his gun to Valentine, and Valentine heard Duvalier's Mossberg.
"Forget the packs!" she shouted.
