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212 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 8, 2013
A ball of fire plumed. The concussion rocked the ground. Nina felt the heat all the way to their hiding spot. Debris whizzed by, landing in the mud with thunks. The smells of charred wood, powder, and cooked horse burned her eyes. The livery office blazed; the stable roof was on fire, too.
…
“Ain’t all we got to worry about, Lincoln.”
They followed Manning’s nod, looked down the street where a dark shadow came pressing down from the west. Beneath its oppressiveness, folks ambled in the capering fog, forty or fifty strong; men and women, gunshot or hacked, afflicted with grievous wounds that should have killed them; they stood, bleeding and warped, teeth gnashing like those sick dogs and horses, a small army of persistent flesh. Some looked recently dug up, skin glowing gray in the mist, hair hanging in patches from skull-bare heads.
Nina felt sick. Her gut screamed at her to flee. “Pa. Mister Manning…”
“I’m there with ya, darlin’,” Manning said.
The three of them backed away, boots creaking on the wooden boards. Several pairs of rheumy eyes among the legion of…undead…turned their way. Nina cupped her hands over her ears as a collective moan went up.
Pa took aim, but then drew back. “Too many. Whatever the hell they are.”
Nina looked at her father. “What do we do?”
“Run,” he said.
Then two cadaverous claws broke through the store window behind James Manning and took hold of his shoulders.