The raiders had lost the field, and Lachlan was pretty sure that even the zombies knew that.
He had already clocked the two raiders moving through the trees before the cages were even empty.
They'd split off while the others focused on the trucks and the screaming mess of stupid zombies turning on their masters.
They were clever enough to think they could come in from the sides, but not clever enough to know that the horde had already marked them.
He shifted his weight against the barn wall and watched them slip through the brush like men trying too hard to be ghosts.
One carried a machete. The other had a rifle he clearly didn't trust, checking the bolt too often, muttering something about "the girl" like that was going to end well for anybody tonight.
Smoke drifted between the trees, carrying the stench of burned fuel and rot. It mixed with the human smell riding the wind — sweat and gun oil, leather damp with old rain.
