Still of Night (Dead of Night 3)

“I’ll do the gate,” said Torres quickly.

Bunny shook his head. “Don’t even try.”

“She volunteered,” said the president. “Let her do it. We are running out of time here. Do something, for Christ’s sake.”

“Okay,” I said, “Torres, you place the charge. Bunny and I will provide cover. Top, you’re at the wheel, and Chang, you stay at the door to this bus. We go out, get it done, and everybody gets back inside. Hooah?”

“Hooah,” said Top and Bunny.

“Not sure what that means,” said Torres with a brave smile, “but hooah.”

Chang said it, too, and the president rolled his eyes.

— 16 —

Top began moving the Mystery Bus forward. We tried to tune out the sound of bones snapping under the tires.

I scouted around inside the bus and found two six-packs of beer, grinning as I handed one to Bunny.

“Seriously?” groused the president. “Beer? Now?”

I ignored him. Bunny and I quickly wrapped blaster plasters around as many beers as we could, sealing them with the adhesives. When Torres realized what we were doing, she said, “Coooool.” Dragging it out.

“Got to throw them pretty far,” cautioned Top.

“That’s my job,” I said. “I taught my nephew how to pitch a fastball that would make you cry.”

I went to the back of the bus. “Chang, I need you to open the rear window when I tell you. Do it fast and then cover me. I’m going to try and get some of the infected to pull back.”

She nodded. The windows were part of the old bus shell built on top of the truck. It had pinch-clips to lower the windows.

“Now,” I said, and she dropped the window. We were too high for anyone walking to reach us, but some of the nimbler infected had climbed onto the structure.

“I’ll clear it,” she barked as she drew her weapon, aimed with two hands, and fired five spaced shots. Three head shots, two kills. It was enough. I hurled the plaster-wrapped beer through the open window and Top immediately stepped on the gas. Chang jerked the window up, but then I hooked an arm around her and pulled her down as the blaster plaster detonated.

I’d used a quarter of a sheet, but it was enough to shatter all of the windows in the back of the bus.

“Oh . . . fuck,” I said. “Step on it, Top.”

Chang rose up and began firing, but the lurch of the truck made her stumble and two shots went into the roof. She corrected and fired at a white face that filled the rear window. It burst apart and as it fell I yelled, “Frag out!” and threw another bomb.

The force flung bodies everywhere, but the noise was louder than what the truck was making and the fire drew the eyes of the infected. A third of the crowd turned toward the detonation point.

I threw another. And another. With each explosion more of them hurried toward the noise. I saw dozens of them on fire, stumbling into each other, spreading the blaze.

“Coming up on the gate,” yelled Top. “Get ready.”

“On deck,” said Bunny.

I wheeled and hurried over to the side door, where Bunny and Torres crouched, ready to go. I slapped the big man on the shoulder.

“I saved a couple of cold ones for when you two get back,” I said.

Bunny’s grin was a familiar one, the kind I’d seen him wear on battlefields when the shit was raining down. He was in that zone now, past ordinary fear, operating on the highest level of combat awareness. Torres, on the other hand, looked terrified beyond speaking. Her face was slick with sweat and there was a fever brightness in her eyes.

“You’re a cop,” I told her. “Remember your training. Do your job and trust Bunny to watch your back. You’ve earned enough combat points to make you a full-fledged badass, Torres. You can do this.”

“Thank you, s-sir,” she said, tripping over the last word.