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and dashed across the road into the path of the undead ghoul. But even ten seconds is a long time when you’re standing in the driving rain on a dark and dangerous night. I felt exposed and vulnerable. I had no doubt there were other undead nearby – maybe even in the house we were approaching. I wanted to get into cover. I wanted to be concealed and to make use of terrain and noise of the storm to hide us. Standing on the front lawn of a suburban home was certainly not the best place to hold a committee meeting.
    I went forward in a cro uch and made my way towards a row of ferns. Once behind their dark bulky shelter, I took a few seconds to study the house.
    I t was a brick home, built a couple of feet off the ground, with a porch that ran right across the front. I saw the front door. It was open – a dark yawning hole in the façade. Maybe there were more undead waiting inside. Or maybe they had already left the house and were moving in exactly the same direction we were – drawn inexorably towards the screaming flailing sound of the dying helicopter.
    I went on grimly, with the Glock thrust out ahead of me, and my eyes swiveling from side to side, all of my senses alert for the slightest sound of danger, or the slightest suggestion of movement. I was soaked to the bone, and my jacket and the nylon bag felt like lead weights.
    I reached the back corner of the ho use and waited without turning. There was dark flat space ahead of us, and then the black border of a fence. Beyond the fence, hanging low in the sky and whipping the air around us into a maddened frenzy, was the helicopter.
    “Come on!” I barked, and then sprang instantly to my feet and dashed across the back yard towards the fence. I snagged my shin on something and fell. I immediately leaped to my feet and fixed my eyes on the silhouette of the helicopter. I started running again, then tripped on another solid obstacle and went tumbling face-first back into the wet long grass. Cursing, bruised and a little dazed, I got to my haunches and shook my head. My ears were ringing. I blinked my eyes and peered into the darkness. I couldn’t see Jed or Harrigan. I couldn’t even sense their presence nearby. I frowned and cursed again. I was near the fence – I could tell that because the whoosh of wind from the helicopter’s downdraught was muted, even though the sound was a roaring assault on my ears. I felt my shin through the sodden wet fabric of my jeans. I had no way of knowing if I was bleeding or not, but it hurt. I got slowly to my feet and stared hard into the night.
    I stood perfectly still, kept my eyes fixed on the black brooding shape of the house, and waited. I waited to sense some movement – some flicker to my left or right that might suggest Jed or Harrigan were nearby.
    Nothing.
    I had lost them in the night.
    I cursed with bitter frustration – and then I started to sense my own panic begin to rise. I hadn’t lost them. They had lost me. I was the one that was alone and on my own. I felt the fear that came with the realization, and I had to crush down on the impulsive urge to scream out, or to reach for the cigarette lighter.
    If I had shouted at the top of my lungs, they could not have possibly heard me. The tremendous roar from the helicopter would drown out the sound of explosives. And the lighter was no good. Even in the sheltered lee of the fence, the draught of air being hurled out by the chopper’s rotors would make it impossible to get a light. So I stood there – feeling my panic rise, feeling the storm and the rain seem to build towards some ominous crescendo – and I waited, with my nerves fraying until I was on the verge of terror.
    Then the night was ripp ed open by a long jagged bolt of lightning, and a heavy bass rumble of thunder rolled across the clouds and seemed to make the air quiver and the ground beneath my feet tremble. And then a second brilliant jag of lightning ripped the night apart.
    In the instant flash of