Razor rolled off his bed, heading for a knife on the crate to his left. Rather than picking up the weapon, he grabbed the edge of the crate and pushed off, rolling back in the other direction.

Wild Eye had anticipated Razor going for a weapon and threw his knife. It skewered the handle grip of the knife on the crate. Had Razor laid hold of it, he would've had his hand impaled. As it was, Razor rolled to his feet on the right side of the bed and secured the knife from a sheath hanging on the wall.

Wild Eye drew a second dagger from his belt and was instantly ready to continue the fight. He lowered himself into a combat stance as Razor came out from beside the bed and into the open area in the middle of the tent.

Razor was tired looking over his shoulder, wondering when he'd catch a knife in his back. Rage flooded his system. The pent up frustration over the horrors he'd been forced to endure and participate in since being captured welled up inside of him and found a target in Wild Eye. Today, their feud would end in blood.

Metal blades whistled through the air, sometimes missing, striking flesh at others. Razor took a hit on his upper right shoulder, and Wild Eye suffered a long gash across his left leg in retaliation.

Wild Eye stabbed directly at Razor's face. Razor ducked to his left while bringing up his right knee into Wild Eye's stomach. Although the scavenger had the wind knocked out of him, he bent his outstretched arm and drove his elbow into Razor's temple.

The two combatants staggered away from each other. Razor was seeing bright points of light in his vision and held a hand to his head, trying to get the room to stop spinning. Wild Eye was partially bent over and attempting to fill his lungs with air. For a few moments, neither man was prepared to continue.

Wild Eye took a deep breath and charged, hoping to take advantage of Razor's weakened state. Razor grabbed his metal studded leather armor from where he'd dropped it earlier and tossed it at his foe.

Despite Wild Eye grabbing the armament and throwing it aside, Razor's fist had been trailing behind it and broke Wild Eye's nose. The scavenger staggered back under the heavy blow, blood running down his face and onto his chest. Hatred burned in the man's one good eye, and he screamed incoherently as he lashed out with all his fury.

Razor did his best blocking the attacks. He was much stronger than Wild Eye, but his opponent was thinner and more agile. Razor knew it would only take a few solid hits to put his rival down, he simply had to endure and wait for the opening, but he didn't want to wait. Razor's hatred exploded and he matched Wild Eye's fury with his own, forcing the smaller scavenger back under a hail of punishing blows.

A diagonal slash drew blood across Razor's cheek, but he countered with a backhand swing that connected with the upper part of Wild Eye's bicep, cutting deep into the muscle. The sharp pain forced the scavenger to drop his knife, but Wild Eye tackled Razor, causing him to lose the grip on his own knife as well. Razor heaved his opponent off, and they both jumped back to their feet.

Lacking a weapon and blocking a punch with his right forearm, Razor grabbed the back of Wild Eye's neck and pulled him close, delivering three knee hits to his foe's midsection before Wild Eye slipped out of Razor's grip and punched him in the mouth.

Pain radiated outward from Razor's split lip, but he forced hit out of his perceptions and focused his attention on his rival. Wild Eye was favoring his left side where he'd suffered a broken rib. Both combatants were bleeding in several locations, but neither one of them looked ready to back down.

Razor had no time to even brush the blood away before Wild Eye grabbed up a metal pipe from where it had been leaning against the wall. One end of the pipe had been wrapped in leather for a sturdy handgrip, but the other was bent outward and jagged, covered in old bloodstains from the many zombies Three Scar had dispatched with it.

Razor ducked the heavy swings of the pipe. He knew as well as Wild Eye did, a lethal blow wasn't required. Because the pipe had been used to kill zombies, the infection they carried in their blood was still present on the pipe. Even a glancing hit could infect Razor and cause him to turn.

Diving across the floor, Razor seized an old and nonfunctioning pump action shotgun Three Scar had kept from his earliest days. Rolling over onto his back, Razor brought up the gun in time to block the jagged pipe. The wood slide under the gun splintered upon impact, but it held together and blocked the diseased pipe from reaching him.

Still wearing his boots from the day before, Razor's kick to Wild Eye's midsection sent the maniac reeling. Rising from the ground, Razor went on the attack, swinging the broken shotgun like a club. His first hit landed against Wild Eye's weapon hand, knocking the pipe from his grip. Razor's second swing came in from Wild Eye's blindside and smashed into the side of his skull, dumping him to the ground in a heap.

Razor collected the metal pipe and tossed it out of reach. He retrieved his knife, but froze when he heard the distinctive click of a gun's hammer being locked into position for firing. Turning slowly, Razor found Wild Eye sitting on the floor with a handgun aimed at him.

"It takes no strength to pull a trigger when your opponent is unarmed," Razor growled. He tried to appear calm, but fear was dragging its icy fingers along his spine. Even among scavengers, there were rules, but Wild Eye was crazy enough to shoot him anyway.

Wild Eye smiled evilly. His body suddenly went rigid before falling flat on the tent floor. A knife was buried in the spinal column of his neck.

Crouched on the ground a few paces behind the remains of Wild Eye was Red, her crimson hand still outstretched from throwing the lethal blade and saving Razor's life.

Razor didn't know why she'd killed Wild Eye. It might've had something to do with their Red not wanting to see Razor harmed, but it could have just as easily been because Wild Eye showed weakness when he tried to use a gun on an unarmed fighter. Whatever the motives behind her actions, Razor was immensely grateful.

Red looked at Razor with a hopeful look on her face as if seeking his approval, and Razor wasn't about to deny her. He smiled and nodded. Red beamed with pride and rushed to him, throwing her arms around Razor and hugging him tightly. He tried not to wince as her hug put pressure on the bruises he'd received during the fight.

When his family had been killed, and he'd been captured by the scavengers, he'd been forced to listen to a woman scream for help as the savages had their way with her. He'd been unable to save his family or the woman because he hadn't been strong enough. Countless terrible things had happened in the seven years since, and he couldn't stop them either.

Rescuing Red had been his attempt to prevent another vile occurrence from being burned into his mind. She was one he could save, and she'd returned the favor by killing Wild Eye in his defense.

Red let him go and began tending to his injuries with whatever medical supplies she could find or improvise. Razor stopped her for a moment and retrieved Wild Eye's gun. He put a single round into the back of his rival's head to make sure he didn't ever pose a threat again. He knew the man was already dead, but it still felt good.

As Red cleaned the blood from the side of Razor's face, he thought about the two of them. He hated the scavengers and the awful things they did, but staying with the heavily armed group had been his best chance at survival. With Red, they could watch out for each other, perhaps make a new life away from the clans. For the first time in seven years, Razor felt hope.

A sound caught the attention of both of them. A hand cranked siren was sending forth its shrill cry over the entire encampment. Forgetting the battle just fought and the injuries still unattended, Razor and Red bolted out of the tent and hurried to discover the reason for the alert.

The scavengers of the Snake Eye clan were clustered near the entrance to their hilltop encampment. Every eye was trained on the eastern horizon.

In uneven and sporadic groups, the undead were coming. Although spaced out, there were more walking corpses than Razor had ever seen. Several thousand were already visible, but the ranks following were even more compact and numerous, promising an assault against the scavengers like no other in their history.

Razor gave the one command he knew ever member of the clan, even those who didn't speak, would understand.

"Guns! Guns! Guns!" Razor shouted.

The silent crowd of scavengers instantly broke apart, rushing back to their dwelling places to collect weaponry in addition to what each of them always carried.

Red sidled up against him, and Razor took her colored hand in his. With a gentle tug, he pulled the young girl away from the entrance and back toward their tent. The hope he had felt was gone.

Since the dawn of the scavengers, they had fought minor battles and border skirmishes with each other, but they had never fought an all out war, especially on the scale of what was coming. The scavengers were all about strength and survival, and in a few hours, thousands upon thousands of zombies would put them to the test.

Razor flipped open a heavy trunk and offered Red her choice of weapons. She selected a bolt action sniper rifle and several hand guns, ignoring the more obvious choices of assault weapons. Razor approved her decision since only a headshot would put a zombie down for good, spraying a horde with bullets was ineffective and a waste of valuable ammunition.

He picked a shotgun and several pistols for himself. He also took a heavy sword from a shelf in case the zombies breached the perimeter. Red noticed his sword and appropriated a kris from the shelf. The wavy bladed dagger lacked a sheath, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Returning to the front of the camp, Razor prepared to wait with the others until the zombies entered range.

Four heavy caliber machine guns were installed behind empty oil drums and sandbag barriers near the front entrance. Every scavenger waiting at the opening had a minimum of three guns along with small piles of clips fully loaded with extra ammunition.

Red pulled the bolt back on her sniper rifle and chambered a round, slamming the bolt back into place with experienced fingers. Putting the rifle to her shoulder, Red took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked against her shoulder, but she held the weapon firm, lowering it gently and looking toward her target with her eyes rather than the scope.

A zombie making its way down the road, over three hundred yards away, suddenly jerked backwards. A spray of brain mater, blood, and skull fragments exploded out of the back of its head in the wake of the bullet before it collapsed to the ground.

The scavengers had been shoving and nodding to each other before the bullet found its mark as none of them thought Red could've pulled off such a shot, certainly none of them could have accomplished it.

Red calmly retracted the bolt back on her rifle, ejecting the spent shell casing on a twisting spiral of smoke. Shoving in a fresh bullet, she slammed the bolt back into position and locked it down. Red raised the gun again and fired. The scavengers held motionless, waiting in anticipation, and they roared with approval as a second zombie at a staggering long distance was dropped.

Round after round, Red continued firing, picking off the leading elements of the zombie horde. Whatever the scavengers' feelings toward Red had been in regard to her being from another clan, they were quickly developing an unrivaled respect for her natural talents and tremendous skills.

The zombies were slow, uncoordinated, and straightforward in their assault, but they made up for their deficiencies in such overwhelming numbers, the scavengers could slaughter thousands of them and barely put a dent in their total strength. Red had killed numerous zombies, but they continued forward to the scavenger encampment, undeterred by their casualties or the heavily armed scavengers waiting eagerly to kill them.

As the first elements of the horde came into range of the defenders' guns, a hail of bullets reached out from the scavenger lines and struck down a multitude of zombies. A second line of the undead shuffled gradually forward and met a similar fate.

The leading zombies were wiped out, but the compact ranks trailing behind them replaced their fallen with even more. They were also promptly killed by the scavengers, but because of their greater numbers, they survived long enough to get a few paces further than those who had come before. The next rank managed to approach even closer.

In spite of their slow movement speed and constant losses, the undead were still gaining ground, drawing ever closer to the scavengers. Razor saw the alarming trend and began trying to thin out the ranks before they reached the main killing ground in front of the base. Red noticed his strategy and followed his example, picking holes in the zombie lines with the long range killing power of her rifle, often killing two with one high velocity bullet.

So far, the undead were being held to the city streets and the lowest slopes of the scavengers' fortified hill. The heaviest gun emplacements had yet to be employed, but Razor knew it was only a matter of time before the clan was overwhelmed.

The defenders could only kill so many undead in a single volley, and more zombies were approaching than could be dispatched at any one time. While the defenders concentrated on the surviving zombies at the head of the group, those behind were slowly advancing. Similar to the melting of ice, the distance between the undead and the scavengers vanished a little more with each passing second.

Razor didn't need to look for he already knew the tactical situation. The barricades and fortifications they'd built around their hill would now prove to be a trap, keeping the scavengers pinned with no room to maneuver when the undead pushed into the camp.

He now understood why he'd seen smoke coming from Walton. They'd encountered this horde and had been consumed by it. The scavengers were next on the menu, but Razor would contest that. Slamming a fresh clip into his pistol, Razor continued firing.