Finn slipped his pistol into his belt, climbed up and over the cab, and stepped onto the pick-up’s hood. The engine vibrated beneath his feet.

None of the garbage truck windows survived. Andy lay where he fel , slumped against the steering wheel.

Finn pulled open the driver’s-side door.

The world lit up from the wrong direction. Lights appeared, dazzling him, shining in from out of the darkness beyond Blackstone.

From the outside. Finn shielded his eyes with his hand.

An army Hummer rolled toward them, heading for the gap in the wall. Men walked alongside, picking off the infected as they came close. Some carried pistols, not unlike his own, but not all. The staccato bursts of an Uzi or something similar cut the night apart. About nine men, max, dressed in haphazard uniform. Ex-military, perhaps.

What the f**k is this?

Five, six of the dogs stood snarling, caught between guns firing inside Blackstone and this new line of attack. Trapped. They were going to lose civilians to friendly fire if these new people weren’t careful. The moaning of the infected picked up. Many were milling about, likewise caught between Erin’s truckload of gunners and this new development.

“We’re here to help,” someone yelled before one of the men up front struck up a flame thrower. “Stand clear!”

The blue and gold of the flame flared and shot out, painting the scene in vibrant light. The dogs scattered and ran. The clothing of the infected lit up like dry grass. Burning flesh scented the air along with smoke and gunpowder.

But who were these people?

Finn pushed Andy’s body across the seat then climbed into the truck, turned the key and …

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Finn shoved the gear stick into neutral, motioned to Daniel. “Need a push!”

The man grimaced, nodded, shot another infected wandering close to the vehicle. Two of the men from the back of Santa’s pick-up had jumped down and were working through those closest, thinning out the infected. No more came through the gate.

If the hole in their defenses could be plugged then Blackstone might survive after all.

There was a strangled cry from one of the men. An infected had managed to come up behind him. It dug its mouth into the male’s thigh, tearing through cloth. Blood gushed from the jagged wound.

Erin stood on the tray of the second pick-up, her face drawn back in horror. She raised her gun and shot twice.

The infected fell.

Without hesitation the man who had been bitten put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Finn forced himself to look away.

Nothing he could do. Besides, the job wasn’t done. Not yet. On the bridge, the Hummer drew closer and the strangers rigged out in military gear started wandering in, picking off any stragglers lumbering nearby. Erin and her friends focused on the newcomers for a moment but hesitated, shifting back to targeting the infected, the most immediate and pressing threat. Gradually the infected were being thinned out.

“Truck’s dead. Help us push it up.” Finn called out to the nearest newcomer, a big, boxy looking man with a take-no-shit face.

The guy nodded, signaled to his squad. There was a lot of yelling and movement while the two forces combined, the strangers and the townsfolk. People rushed to the back of the truck while others straddled the gap, keeping any remaining infected from entering the town.

Slowly, the garbage truck rolled forward.

The men standing before it eased back, making certain they were on the right side when the gap closed. Finn tugged on the handbrake. They had done it. Amazing.

He pulled out a pistol and swung down from the truck too fast. His vision grayed. He gripped the side of the truck, gun clattering against the metal. Weakness from blood loss crept steadily through him, draining him. The desire to sink down onto the bitumen and sit a while wasn’t easy to resist. But they weren’t finished yet.

Santa wandered forward, a messy, bloody wound on his forearm. His face was taut and white from pain. He had been bitten. “Who are you boys?”

“I’m Emmet, the leader. You been bit?” He nodded at Santa’s arm.

“It’ll be dealt with,” Santa said.

Everyone stood silent for a moment as realization sunk in.

“Dad?” Erin grabbed at the man’s shoulder, eyes red and wild. “No!”

“Hush.” Her father patted her hand. Then he pushed it aside. “Who are you?”

“We’re the people that just saved your asses.” The big, boxy man who had identified himself as Emmet strode forward. A malicious smile bent the man’s face and Finn readied his gun. “I believe some sort of suitable payment can be worked out. We …”

Whatever the man had been going to say was lost in a sea of red. His body slumped to the ground.

Finn looked around, his finger on the trigger. He was unsure who to aim at. The place sunk into pandemonium.

Everyone’s guns were in their hands, pointing every which way. It was about to be a f**king disaster. But most people targeted the eight remaining strangers in their midst.

Another man opened his mouth, eyes bulging at the sight of his fallen commander. There was a pop from somewhere and then he too dropped.

“Don’t shoot. Please,” one of the strangers said, open palms rising above his head.

“Explain your intentions,” Finn yelled.

The man’s eyes settled on him. He nodded and set down his gun.

“What the f**k is going on here?” Santa bellowed. Erin stood beside him, the gun in her hand trembling.