His mind raced. The smell of the blood would draw the dead as quickly as the mosquitoes, and the dead were more tenacious by far. “Let’s move out, quick!” he whispered. “They’re not far, they’ll smell this and be on us.”

He cringed even as he said it; he didn’t know exactly what he’d cut himself on. Taking care of the wound was their second priority. Leaving it any longer than absolutely necessary was as certain a death sentence as being caught by the dead. If they didn’t track them down by it...