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shot she was. Then Cahz realised she was using her right hand, her left arm hanging loose by her side.
    “Cahz, we’ve a problem,” the pilot’s voice came over the radio.
    Just yards from the chopper, Cahz didn’t bother to reply over the mic.
    “Cannon, go give Angel a hand,” Cahz ordered.
    “You got it,” Cannon replied. He peeled off and jogged over to the stricken sniper. He was a huge man, almost as wide as he was tall, but more nimble than a soldier half his bulk. With startling agility he powered over the parking lot.
    Gathered around the chopper were the people who had made it through the zombies. They all looked gaunt and exhausted. The young woman, the first to make it past Cahz, was bent double, dry heaving from the exertion. The other survivors didn’t look too much better.
    The young men had instinctively assumed a picket and were watching nervously the advance of the zombies towards the chopper.
    Cahz turned his head and double-checked behind him. A mob of undead had followed him round from the street but their sluggish gait meant there would be a few minutes before they reached the helicopter.
    Bates, at the window of the chopper, was struggling to hold a conversation with Idris over the noise of the blades and the nearby ghetto blaster.
    “What’s the problem?!” Cahz called out as he reached the chopper.
    “Are you counting heads?!” Idris hollered back.
    The disparate group were strung out around the chopper. The young woman was bent double, the eight-year-old girl she’d been carrying was comforting her with her hand on her back. The old woman was unsuccessfully trying to calm the baby in her arms. Even over the deafening sound of the chopper and the blaring ghetto blaster the child’s screeching still cut through it all.
    Beside him, trying to look like he was working hard at solving a mental problem, Bates scratched at the short blond stubble on his chin.
    Cahz suddenly understood the dilemma. “Ah, shit!”
    Before he could ponder the problem further the young woman stepped in.
    “Where are the others?” Sarah asked, red cheeked and still gulping for breath.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Cahz said as mournfully as he could while shouting above the noise. When he saw the woman’s face drop he threw in, “I waited as long as I could.”
    He looked away from the woman and the burning pain in her eyes. He felt guilty for not saving the others but yet he felt worse still for the news he was about to break.
    His gloved hand found a seam of rounded rivets running down a length of the chopper’s skin. He brushed his fingertips over the tiny bumps as he pondered.
    “Could we get everyone on-board and try to find somewhere safe to set down?” Cahz knew how stupid an idea that was even before he’d finished saying it.
    “Where?” Idris shrugged, playing through Cahz’s suggestion. “Look, we’d be struggling to get airborne with the extra weight even if you could cram everyone in. And if we could take off, where would we get the extra fuel we’d need to get back to Ishtar?”
    “What’s the problem?” Sarah interjected, catching snippets of the conversation.
    “Ma’am, the chopper only seats five, maybe six at a squeeze,” Cahz admitted. He saw the woman’s eyes dart across the gathered people, taking a mental note of the numbers. “And there are ten of us.”
    Cahz frantically tried to pull the problem apart. “Don’t suppose the girl and the baby will be a problem. They can sit on someone’s knee.” Looking across the abandoned car park, the army of undead were doggedly drawing closer.
    The big soldier, Cannon, jogged up, Angel trailing behind. Along with his own support weapon, Cannon had Angel’s prize possession, her sniper rifle, draped over his shoulder. Cahz knew Angel’s injury must be severe if she was allowing someone to carry it for her.
    Before Cahz could ask Angel what was wrong, the young woman broke in again.
    “That still leaves us four seats short,”