The herd pressed around them like a living wall, but through the shifting gray bodies, Emily finally spotted the checkpoint's edge — and beyond it, the dusty blue of Cole's truck. They were so close.
Sophie's small fingers tightened in her hand. "Emily… what's that?"
Emily followed her gaze to the tree line just beyond the barricade. A man stood in the shadows, half-hidden among the trunks. His clothes were filthy, his face smeared with grime, but his grin was unmistakable — sharp, knowing, cruel. In his hands, he clutched a battered air horn. He raised it to his lips and let it wail. The sound sliced through the chaos. The herd surged, more walkers pouring from the woods like floodwater. He was bringing them here — deliberately. Emily's breath caught. "Why would he—" A rifle cracked. The shot didn't come from the trees. It came from the checkpoint wall. Cole jerked violently, the bullet punching into his chest just below the collarbone. He stumbled, blood spilling down the front of his jacket. For a second, Emily thought he'd recover — but the walkers closest to him were already reacting. One grabbed his arm, another lunged for his back. He swung his rifle like a club, shouting, "Go! Get her out!" before disappearing under a tangle of gray, gnashing bodies. Emily's instinct screamed to help him, but the soldiers on the wall fired again, the bullets tearing into the herd — and too close to where she and Sophie stood. Sophie made a choked sound, half sob, half scream, and Emily yanked her close, forcing her forward. The only way out was through the last stretch of dead, the truck just yards away.
Over her shoulder, she caught one last glimpse of Cole — buried under a writhing mass — and, beyond the smoke, the man in the trees lowering the air horn and watching them run.