The stupid zombie didn't understand it had been given a gift. It went down face-first and tried to chew the chain.
Lachlan laughed and jumped onto the bus frame. Light blue skin ran from his arms to his fists.
He punched a vent hole into a bigger problem and pulled a man out by his ankle.
The man hit the road and lost interest in holding the rifle steady. Lachlan took his muzzle and used it to tap the man asleep with one controlled strike.
Anselmo's voice came from inside the shack. "Pull the pins. Now." Calm. No panic. The kind of tone that meant men would do it because life was better when they did.
Zubair cut the distance. The shack door swung and then stopped hard halfway—chain inside had caught on something.
Through the gap he saw darkness, a table, the glint of a coil of chain piled high, and Anselmo's arm reaching past a crate for a lever on the far wall.
"I wouldn't," Zubair warned him, his tone quiet.
