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first.  As they crested the hill, Sulla could see smoke rising from Butler in the distance. A number of people from the Chevy dealership stood at the intersection watching the smoke.
    Sulla had one of the road department trucks deploy jersey barriers across the north bound lanes at the intersection.  They could hear gunfire from the valley below. The few cars heading south on Route 8 roared through the intersection going way over the speed limit; they didn’t bother to stop.
    "Let’s drop some flares," Wilson said, "so we can flag some of these people down and find out what's going on."
    Sulla asked the dealership employees if they knew anything.  They shook their heads no, but said that a number of people had driven down to the city to see what was going; none of them had come back. 
    Sulla thanked them and then asked them to close shop.  "You guys should look in on your families.  Either head south, or go to the airport for safety.  I would ask that you folks stop at all the business south of here and any homes you see and encourage people to clear out."
    None of them seemed thrilled about this, but they agreed to the request.  A few of them indicated that they had concealed carry permits or a rifle in their truck and offered to stay.
    Wilson managed to pull a car over.  Two of its five occupants were injured. 
    "You guys got to get out of here," the driver pleaded, "you can't stop them."
    "Stop who?" Wilson said.
    "I don’t know,” the driver said. “They’re like fucking zombies or something. They’re tearing apart anyone they get a hold of.  It’s fucking chaos down there.”
    "What about the police?" Sulla said.
    "Police... the only cop I saw was eating a little boy," the man said.
    One of the vets shouted out, "We got walking wounded coming up the road."
    "Shit that’s them, we just passed them up,” the driver said. “We’re getting the fuck out of here," the driver sped off without waiting for permission to go. 
    Down the road four people limped toward the Penn Township force.  "Those people on foot look like they are injured," Wilson said.
    "What about what the driver just said?" asked Sulla.
    "Demented or on drugs,” Wilson said.  “I'm going to go down there and talk to these people.”
    "What about the gunfire and smoke?" Sulla pointed out.
    "I don’t like it one bit,” Wilson said, “but I refuse to believe, even for a second, anything that nut just said.”  At that, Wilson took off down the hill at a jog to the four injured people.  He stopped short of them.  He could see they were badly injured.   All four of them locked onto Wilson with their eyes. 
    "Are you folks okay?" the retired Trooper asked.
    They plodded toward him with no response.
    "I asked, if you folks are okay?"  No response.  "If you need medical attention- I am an officer of the law, and you
will
respond."
    The four kept coming. Wilson stepped back and pulled his firearm. Wilson fired a round in the air.  The four didn’t even flinch at the gunshot.
    In all of Wilson's years in law enforcement, he had never seen anything like this; his hands started to shake.  He looked back to Sulla and his men, and he realized how far away they were and how close the four injured people were.  They seemed unnatural somehow.
    A primal instinct in Wilson smelled death on the four.  For the first time in his life, Wilson decided he’d better run.  Even with adrenaline pumping through his system, the hill took its toll on Wilson's body.  He made it thirty feet up the hill when he felt the first stab of pain in his arm. 
    Please god, not now, Wilson prayed to himself as the second stab of pain shot through him.  He fell to the ground and tried to grab at something to steady himself as he struggled for life.  The dead came on, desperate to finish what remained of Wilson.
    "Go, go!" he heard someone scream; it was Sulla.
    Sulla had been watching Wilson, and it dawned on him the man was having a heart attack while