The truck came hot out of the trees, their tires barking on broken asphalt, a light bar taped across a cracked windshield.

The cage welded over the hood caught the sun and threw it straight into Elias’s eyes for a split second. But it didn’t matter. He already had the rifle up on the open window frame, his left hand steadying the barrel, his cheek settled, and the sight picture perfect.

The shot to the front passenger tire landed first. The truck swerved for a moment, but the driver managed to correct it and kept coming. Men in the bed grabbed roll bars and whooped like they’d already won.

But this truck was just the first of many. More engines sounded from behind it as a second truck heavier than the first appeared.

The suspension was higher almost like a crossover between a normal truck and a monster machine. The grille guards were built from rebar like it was supposed to protect the grille from something massive. The steel plates on the doors were screwed in by hands that seemed to know how to make a light vehicle pretend to be something it wasn’t.

A third truck was close behind the second one with a pintle mount, a mounting bracket that housed a salvaged M240, set high above the cab with sandbags stuffed around the base. Elias tracked the silhouette through heat shimmer and dust, ready, willing, and able to be the first to pull the trigger.

"Gun truck," he reported, voice even. "Middle of the line. Pintle mount." He didn’t add anything about range or angles. Zubair would hear the same engine note and already be adjusting heat and position in his head. Alexei would be reading the wind. Lachlan lived for hard problems.

The first truck hammered toward the bridge’s mouth and hit Alexei’s glaze of ice with both front tires.

Rubber chirped as it fought to gain traction. The axle caught on the lip where ice met hot asphalt. And when its momentum tried to carry the weight forward; physics argued back.

The truck hopped, slid sideways, and smacked the concrete barrier hard enough to damage both the vehicle and the barrier.

The men in the bed went down on knees and elbows, rifles thumping.

One lost his grip and pinwheeled straight over the side, his arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance, and his mouth went wide without sound.

He missed the chained bodies on the bank and hit the mud with a noise Elias filed under broken ribs.

The gun truck braked a little too late and fishtailed.

The gunner tried to over compensate and swung the barrel left for a lane-clearing burst of fire.

Elias sighted the center mass and found the driver first.

The windshield starred outward and the driver’s head hit the wheel. The horn blared for a moment before it cut off.

The gunner finally realized that no one was steering and dropped into the bed to grab the rails. The truck kissed the side of the bus barricade and stalled, the engine coughing in rage.

The stupid zombies on the far bank went frantic at the noise. Their chains ran tight and their collars climbed their necks until tendons popped.

And yet, not a single stupid zombie came closer to Sera and her horde; none of them even tried.

The closer the horde stood to the brainless creatures, the more those gray eyes slid away like a beaten dog keeping distance from a boot. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Elias took note that even zombies recognized dominance in some way. It would be interesting to put that theory to the test...

Later.

"Left flank," Alexei clipped over the cab-to-cab, causing Elias’s brain to return to the situation in front of them. "Two on foot, machetes."

Elias rolled to the mirror slit and put a round low into the closer runner’s thigh.

The man folded without elegance, weapon clattering.

The second veered toward the river’s edge like maybe he could outsmart bullets with weeds; two more steps and he met Luci head-on at the lip.

The dire wolf barely slowed—just changed angles. The man flipped and vanished in reeds and brown water.

Sera watched all of it from the roll bar. One of her hands were on the steel, her body was still, and a small lift at the corner of her mouth appeared like the world was finally making sense.

Or she was having a lot more fun than she let on.

Elias didn’t bother checking her for fear or worry. She hadn’t lugged that baggage around since they left the lab back in Country N. But it was nice to see her enjoying herself.

The gunner on the second truck climbed back up and fought the jam on the feed tray with both hands.

Elias shook his head at the rookie mistake and put the crosshair on the gunner’s shoulder and squeezed. Wasting time dealing with a jammed gun was a good way to get you killed.

The round hit high on the man’s bicep, causing him to spin around, lose his footing, and fall to the floor of the bed.

The belt slithered away from the tray like a dead snake, the bullets next to useless now.

"Second truck, rear passenger," Zubair called. "Leaning for a shot."

Elias shifted, found the leaner through dust and glare, and took him through the cheek before the rifle cleared the door pillar.

The man disappeared from view, and the door swung wider with his weight and banged itself closed.

Anselmo didn’t flinch.

He stood in the shadow of the shack with his hands low and calm, his voice working on the radio like he was ordering lunch. The restraint told Elias more than the hardware did.

This wasn’t raiders drunk on gasoline and bravado.

This was a team that had worked together for years, long before the end of the world came. Given the fact that a call went out, these people must be the "Cousins" that were promised.

The family that draws blood together, stays together.

The first truck’s driver climbed out through a window with glass in his hair and tried to draw a pistol with shaking fingers.

Lachlan came down off the bus, his skin a light shade of blue and met him halfway.

One short hook broke the man’s wrist clean; the pistol skipped across the lane and vanished under the bumper like it had better places to be.

Or it didn’t want to be responsible for the shit that was going to happen next.

Lachlan caught the man by the collar and used him as a shield from gunfire heading up the lane. He grinned like Christmas with an axe.

The gunner from the second truck finally managed to get to his feet and got the feed tray closed. Smacking the cover down hard, he lined the barrel on the lead truck.

He might have thought he picked an easy target when his sights lined up with Sera’s chest, but he wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

The moment Zubair realized that Sera was in danger, he stopped holding back.

Heat pushed off hiss hands in a tight, barely visible wave.

Elias watched the air above the pintle gun start to ripple, then heavy ripple, then blur. The gunner squeezed off a burst; the first round tumbled, hit the asphalt three yards short, and ricocheted wild.

The second bloomed into a flower of copper and lead and fell at the truck’s feet. The third jammed the tray again with a thunk.

Elias didn’t take his eye off the gunner.

He worked the bolt, checked wind, and put the next round into the gunner’s sternum when the man made the bad decision to stand tall.

The body folded backward over the mount like a coat draped on a chair.

"Driver, truck three," Elias noted. "Still moving." He put a hole where a heart lived; the truck’s roll slowed like something finally gave up trying.