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survivor's best friend. The
firebombs, small glass spheres filled with a homemade napalm Becky
created, are delicate. They're kept in small bags lined with bubble
wrap. No one is allowed to carry more than two. Not that we we've
been able to make a lot of them, since we have to make them ourselves
and glass-blowing is hard.

A dozen arcs of flickering light
sailed over the breastworks, the resulting spread of flames
disrupting the ranks of the dead. A round of fire arrows followed as
the few archers we had focused on setting the logs aflame before the
undead could use them. A few of our braver men stood right at the
edge of the defenses, hurling their remaining firebombs at the
flaming logs.

It was luck as much as planning that saved the
day. Without their logs to use and panicked by the sudden spread of
fire among them, the main force of the New Breed lost much of their
cohesion. They came at us, but without the typical calculation that
makes them such a threat. Our people were ready, turning the edge of
the breastwork into a meat grinder.

As the main force crested
the breastwork, the spearwomen behind stepped forward, thrusting
their weapons  forward with precise motions. At least in my
section, every point met the target perfectly--through the bottom of
the chin, upward into the cranium. Our spears lack barbs, the heads
designed to pull out smoothly. Those women did their part splendidly,
helping repel the initial waves and then setting their weapons at an
angle, butt against the ground, between each man on the wall. New
Breed zombies are smart enough to recognize the danger of a pointy
stick, and avoided them. Which funneled the undead right in front of
men with shields and weapons, and the will to use them both.

All
through the initial assault, archers picked targets beyond the
breastworks. Flaming zombies were the first to take arrows, as we
couldn't allow them to set fire to the defenses. Based on the number
of arrows we recovered from the ground after, there were a fair
number of misses, but archery is difficult even under ideal
circumstances. Out of three hundred arrows fired at the main force,
we counted thirty clean headshots. One in ten. That's pretty damn
helpful, from my point of view. Fully a fifth of the attacking waves
were brought down from a distance.

Despite that, those of us
on the walls grew tired after a few minutes. We'd enraged the New
Breed by using fire, and their greater strength and speed was on full
display. It was a good thing we'd hauled rifles along with us. Bless
the troops from North Jackson for having military-issue assault
weapons. Hated to use the bullets, but really--could there have been
a better time?

Four people above fired single shots, one after
another, picking their targets. A bullet, unlike an arrow, will slow
a zombie down if it misses. It's a funny thing about the New Breed in
particular: unlike regular zombies, who ignore any damage that
doesn't incapacitate them, the New Breed will pause to reorient
themselves when they get hit with a bullet or an arrow. I imagine it
would work with anything, rocks or whatever.

With snipers and
archers pecking away at their forces, lots of the undead were
stopping for a second to face the direction the impact came from.
Hell, less than a second. That's all the time our people needed.
Surprise a zombie by hitting him in the arm or chest or leg, watch
him freeze, then put one in his brain pan. Next target.

We'd
whittled the main force down by at least half by the time the
secondary group hit us. I'd have expected them to get there sooner,
but one of the shooters told me later that they'd stopped once they
saw the fire and the ensuing mayhem. Even when they finally did
choose to attack, only half of them came forward, and they focused
exclusively on the small corner where I was stationed. The idea had
to have been to force a breach by smashing us as hard as they could
in one spot, and it worked. My section of defenders put down ten