The first flares had parachuted back to the ground and extinguished themselves as the horde advanced another few hundred meters before an orange flare lashed up against the black night sky. The horde continued its approach uncaring as the flare illuminated them in all their horrific glory. From the roof and the windows of the second and third floors, muzzles flashed as the Spartan Snipers unleashing a brand of justice to the visible dead marching towards them. Heads popped as blood and brain matter arched and splattered against other members of the horde as the defenses planned long in advance sprang to life. Upon the wall’s parapet, Brennan’s eyes swept down the length of the road, cursing the advancing dead for every step that brought them closer to the walls.

Cameron reached behind his ear for the cigarette he’d placed there and popped it in to his mouth, lighting it as he stepped on to the parapet, “What the hell is going on?” Brennan said nothing as he handed over the binoculars. Staring through the, Cameron whistled as the size of the horde, “So what are we going to do about the couple of thousand undead fuckers marching towards us?”

They looked at each other, uncertain as to what their next move would be. The problem was simple and Brennan was the first to state it, “We’re already preparing our defenses, but I don’t think that it is going to be enough… not against an assault like this. What it comes down to is siege warfare, and the dead don’t need to do anything except wait us out, even if it takes a couple of months.”

The council was a sound system of government, and had yet to make the wrong decision but any battle that was fought by committee was lost the moment it began. Not to mention that the defensive strategy already rolling: “kill them as they come and keep killing them until they're all dead.” The plan had its merits but it would not work unless the Spartans had a leader that they could rally behind, be ready and willing to follow no matter what might happen. He said as much to Brenan who silently nodded in agreement, even as he studied the ranks of steadily advancing undead… something had them distracted for the moment, so if nothing else, they had a little time before the hammer’s fall.

Months had gone by, months of fighting, training and killing, all for Sparta to fall now? How could the Council have overlooked something so simple and obvious? The possibility of an undead horde this size was one thing, but to not have a leader designated. Brennan had left Cameron to his morbid thoughts, calling together the council for a briefing, while Cameron moved amongst the swirling mass of humanity, doing what he could wherever he could to speed along their preparations.

As the council was briefed on the full extent of the coming storm as they completed the last of their preparations. Satisfied that everything that could be done had already been done, Cameron made his way through the now almost completely deserted shopping mall to the food court where he found Brennan, having just finished his address to the council, and he caught only the closing words, “...iterate that this is the single greatest threat that we have faced and he is the most suited, having been out and amongst the undead far more than many of us. He can think, adapt and has always led from the front, where the greatest danger is. I say again that there is no one more qualified to lead.”

Someone from the Council pointed out that Brennan was one of the first, a founder of their community, “Why don’t you lead instead of trying to hide from your responsibility?”

“I had the command of the National Guard Units as the highest ranking officer in the area to survive. I never received training on how to handle the big picture beyond what is printed on my objectives list. That is why the council was created and given all of the power and authority it has: To give that perspective, and guidance. That was and is the purpose of the council. I am trained to fight a mobile engagement, with support elements, artillery, airstrikes, and armor.” he said, “But Cameron has fought and studied these zombies and killed them, rebuild our defenses and adapt to the threat.” Cameron blinked at the mention of his name and then realized what the staring faces meant, even if Brennan had not yet realized his presence, “He is the best man, to lead our defense.”

Cameron jumped in. If they were going to decide his future, then he knew that he wanted to be heard, “I’m not cut out to lead this.” He strode forward, his heavy timberland boots echoing off the tiled marble floor, “You don’t want me in charge of this. I don’t want me in charge of this!” Cameron had survived so many salvage missions in to the wasteland of former human society because he noticed things, and what he was noticing was the council’s full agreement with Brenan. His passionate arguments were no match for the fact and logic based arguments that Brennan had put forward.

Cameron spoke at length but realized quickly that no matter what he said nobody was listening. Someone called for the vote and it passed unanimously. Cameron’s temper slipped its leash for an instant as he fought the urge to punch Brennan in the face, “If this is what you want,” he stated through clenched teeth, “I will lead.”

He left the Food Court via the permanent broken escalator that had been turned in to stairs months ago, keeping his face impassive, and his emotions under control until he reached the ground floor. Unconsciously, his hand reached in to the vest pocket, and pulled out the picture that he stared at for several long moments, looking over every detail, remembering everything in the photograph from a happier time, “Look’s like I don't have to live another forty or fifty years.”

Quickly, he rounded up the members of his salvage team, the men and women that he distrusted the least, “Grab food, water, medical supplies, and then get your asses over to the car park. Prep our salvage vehicles, and any other vehicle you can. If we need to get the hell out of here, no sense in us having to scramble for supplies. He looked each of them; two men and two women in the eye “Do this quietly and don’t fuck it up. It’s a last resort, and I don’t want people panicking if it doesn’t come to it,” he said, “and leave the keys in the vehicle ignitions.”

Cameron made his way down to the Spartan armory and helped distribute the last of their firearms and also the ammunition they had available. From far overhead, their defensive battle plan kicked in to high gear as the sniper corps unleashed their first line of defense against the undead, their precision gunfire shattering some of the undead soldiers advancing upon them, but the enemy’s invulnerability to everything besides a headshot meant that there were just not enough snipers to do more than trim the tallest weeds in a neglected garden.

Cameron already knew that the outer gates and walls – chain link fencing – would last only minutes against the numbers that the dead were bringing to bear. But the inner walls were three feet of brick, stone and concrete, more than capable of withstanding the fists of the horde. The steel gates were the weaknesses in their otherwise solid perimeter, and it took him only a few minutes to get the majority of their firepower set upon the East and West walls, where the gates where. The dead were already within three hundred meters of the walls, and now pouring in from every direction So long as the dead had not learned to climb or jump they were safe as rats on sinking ship. Out on what was soon to be a killing field beyond the East wall, the last of the warning flares had tripped, meaning that the edge of the horde rested some two hundred meters away from the base of the walls, fifty meters from the outermost lines of the Spartan defensive perimeter composed of carefully constructed claymore mines and traps of all kinds, ranging from home made snares and bear traps to homemade omni-directional mines and explosives. Zombies were blasted, incinerated and butchered but the damage inflicted was inconsequential, the tide of death came onwards until it had swallowed and destroyed the entire perimeter.

The lines forming in Cameron forehead could have been compared to that of the trenches dug during the First World War as he watched through binoculars. eE had cheered, just like everyone else when the leading edge of the horde had been annihilated, and the entire horde stalled for a moment. Those cheers had died away as the dead had walked right through without a care in the world, leaving at least several hundred fallen behind them.

The population moved around him, and Cameron found himself standing alongside Jaira and Brennan. The three of them and two others wearing his pet projects, the shoulder straps cinched tight, the small pilot lights already lit. Cans of denatured alcohol and gasoline were close at hand for a refuel as the dead advanced forward. Sniper fire boomed behind them. In the distance the sun rose, almost blinding the defenders upon the wall as an angry red sun filled the sky. Cameron turned to the four around him, “Remember, you have a twenty meter range with these things. Make sure your target is blazing before you shift your focus to the next one.”

Forty men and women stood atop the wall, waiting for the undead to cross the twenty meter mark. Anything beyond that was simply beyond the reach of most of the firearms at their disposal. Several of the more proficient marksmen began taking carefully aimed shots.

“One minute,” he said to himself as he fit the small ear piece and microphone in to place. He scanned the advancing dead, then the men and women standing alongside him, “Status report!”

“North wall is clear!”

“South wall has dead in the perimeter, but no contact.” “West wall has contact, approximately two minutes till they're in range!”

Cameron acknowledged the reports as he looked up and down the line of men and women alongside him, “Thirty seconds!” he shouted.

The ocean of undead glared ahead with their dull cow eyes, moaning their hunger drawn forward even faster by the sounds of life and the smell of rich food just ahead drove them in to a feeding frenzy. The length of the wall showed a mixture of firearms waiting for the word.

He clenched his jaw staring at the mob in the distance, mouth a firm line as he hefted the P-500 Mossberg Combat Shotgun and racked the action, “Spartans!” he shouted, “We shoot and we kill! We burn till ash remains! We! Hold! This! Line!” silence reigned as his shouted words echoed, both over the radio and to those around him. He raised the barrel on his shotgun, “this battle is for our lives! Our future! Our prosperity!” The first zombie crossed the line of no return. His lips curled in to a snarl as he lined up his first target, drawing a breath as he did so, “This is our home! We defend it to the last! Weapons free, fire at will!”

A flight of grey metal death leapt from handgun and shotgun, lancing from the wall in to the horde of undead. For an instant, one could have been forgiven for assuming that there was such a thing as horizontal rain.