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didn’t clip the fence. He seemed oblivious to all other distractions—to Stokes and Webb, who cursed and mumbled incessantly behind him, to the endless stream of cadavers which had caught up with the bus and began hammering against the back of it, and to the rattle and whip of the coils of barbwire which were scraped off the sides of the vehicle by the tall fence on one side and the brick wall on the other. Many of the bodies immediately became entangled in the spools of vicious wire. Their flesh, already ravaged by decay, was lacerated, virtually stripped from their bones by countless, pin-sharp metal spikes.
    Hollis had turned the van full-circle as soon as he’d reached the loading area. Face-to-face with the oncoming bus now, he waited for it to complete its short journey, ready for the crowd of corpses which would no doubt be close behind.
    “You get out,” he told Lorna. “I’ll plug the gap.”
    Having driven with before him on numerous occasions, Lorna knew exactly what he was planning. She grabbed her weapon—a claw hammer—then jumped out of the van and ran across the tarmac toward Harte and Jas. Hollis gripped the steering wheel tightly as the bus thundered past him. The moment his view of the track was clear he powered forward again, hurtling back down the narrow alleyway and annihilating the few pathetic carcasses which had somehow managed to avoid the barbwire and stagger closer. He slammed on the brakes when he had almost reached the front of the building, and the wet remains of several bodies slid to the ground with the sudden stop. The track was a foot wider than the van on either side, maybe a little more. Hollis steered to the right and edged forward, wedging the vehicle across the full width of the road and preventing any more of the dead from getting through to disrupt their precious looting time.
    Hollis scrambled over the back of his seat, then climbed out of the van and sprinted down the track.
    “Watch yourself,” he heard Harte shout as a solitary body slipped out from behind an overflowing, rat-infested Dumpster in the farthest corner of the enclosed area. He watched it as it moved toward them with inexplicable intent. Just two months ago it had been a night worker here at the warehouse, a happily married father of four. Now it was a pitiful, bedraggled, bloodstained shell of a human being. A fall on the first day after reanimation had shattered the bones in its right arm, leaving the useless limb hanging heavily at its side, swinging like a pendulum with every uncoordinated trip and stumble.
    “I’ll do it,” Lorna volunteered, striding toward the body with confidence. She took a step back with surprise as it lurched angrily toward her, arm flapping, then moved forward again and caved in its head with her hammer. The corpse dropped motionless at her feet, the contents of its shattered skull slowly leaking out over the ground, glistening in the sunlight. She nonchalantly shook the hammer clean and returned to the others.
    “We ready then, ladies?” Jas asked as Stokes and Webb finally emerged from the bus. Driver remained in his cab, door closed, reading his newspaper.
    Everyone carried their weapon of choice. Hollis unsheathed a machete he’d brought with him from the van. Jas also had a machete, Webb his trusty spiked baseball bat, Harte a hand ax and Stokes, bizarrely, a garden spade.
    “Just do it,” Stokes said. “I need a drink.”
    Jas pushed the door open and waited for a second before entering the dark building. He held his breath and listened. Nothing at first … then the sound of something moving close by … sliding, shuffling footsteps. He took another step forward and heard a clatter and crash just ahead. Several bodies at least. Impossible to tell how many.
    “Anything?” Harte yelled from outside.
    “There’s something in here,” Jas replied, inching forward slowly. “Can’t see very much…”
    “Be careful, mate.”
    Sensing movement in the darkness