* * *
Norm had jostled his way to the middle of the horde, of which he was quite pleased: if he’d stayed at the front he’d be killed first, and then how could he help Jim? By the time the enemy had killed their way to the middle of the horde, they’d be tired and pose less threat. Even now Norm could see, fuzzily, the poor figures at the front being torn apart by ravenous wolves.
Truth be told, the wolves were doing very well against the horde. Most of the zombie village had come with them – about fifteen-hundred souls – but Norm suspected another thousand had joined them on the way. Two-and-a-half thousand versus… eight. Yes, the wolves were doing very well indeed.
From what Norm could discern, the wolves were all teeth and powerful jaws, which they latched onto necks. The zombies tried to bite back, but the wolves were only at the right height to bite when they were already tearing out a throat. Some of the horde tried grabbing the wolves on the ground, but those few that succeeded typically either fell over or had their arms pulled off as the wolves moved on to another victim.
And the wolves had one other advantage that Norm could tell: they weren’t humans, so there was no brainlust fuelling the zombies. They weren’t fighting for brains, they were fighting because they’d been told to. And most of them didn’t really want to bite fur and really didn’t mind dying.
Still, the wolves couldn’t hold out forever. The sheer weight of living corpses would crush them soon.
Norm, why are we doing this? Gladys asked as they shuffled forward. Please tell me it wasn’t just to stop Harold killing you.
It doesn’t matter what kills me, Norm said. We’ll starve to death soon anyway.
Then why are we here, Norm?
Because if he’d killed me, everyone would have followed him out of fear, Norm said. Harold would still have three thousand zombies with him, Gladys. Norm fixed her as steady a gaze as he could. But one of them wouldn’t be looking for the best time to stab him in the back.