The North gate was much as I had imagined it: a squad of soldiers positioned behind and beside an APC (armoured personnel carrier) that had brought them there – and a well-constructed sandbag emplacement for a heavy machine gun. The machine gun was continuing to pour deadly metal into the dozens of zombies who streamed through the university gate into College Crescent. The squad members, lying prone on the footpath, added to this toll by directing their comparatively puny rifles at the same targets. It seemed that none of the zombies was getting more than a few feet past the gate before being felled. The pile of corpses had grown to an alarming height within a very short time. I guessed that, at its highest point, it was around seven feet high. But still the terrified – and often smouldering – undead came, climbing over the now-dead undead. And they, too, were shredded by the gunfire and fell just as quickly on those whose bodies they were climbing. What were my feelings as I watched this carnage? Could I put my emotions to one side merely because these creatures were no longer truly human? No, not really. Some of those fallen had been classmates of mine a few days previously. More than that, my own brother crouched beside me, watching the spectacle intently – and he, too, was one of these less-than-human beasts. And still I felt David’s pain – whether I wanted it or not. We both watched for, maybe, twenty minutes or more – and then a most unexpected thing happened: the clatter of the heavy machine gun abruptly ceased. Was it out of ammunition? Surely not, the APC must have been loaded with boxfuls of belts of machine-gun bullets. However, after firing continuously for so long, the barrel of the gun would have been red hot. So, perhaps, ...? I saw the commander leap into the gun emplacement and desperately try to manipulate parts of the silent weapon – with no obvious success. The gun had definitely jammed.
Hi a brenas gwariell rag an maw.langbot langbot