The silence in the barricaded house lasted for only a few minutes. It was replaced by new sounds from the street outside. It started as a faint, wet scraping sound, then the thud of a body bumping against the garage door. Soon, there were more. Low, guttural moans echoed from all directions.
Quinn stood in the middle of the living room, gripping the wooden baseball bat. He could hear them moving out there. It sounded like a small group was wandering up and down their street, drawn by the earlier noise of Mr. Henderson's attack.
Mark was by his side, holding the kitchen knife with a white-knuckled grip. Sarah stood on the bottom step of the stairs, listening, her eyes fixed on the barricaded front door.
A loud crash from the back of the house made them all jump. It was the sound of shattering glass, followed by the clatter of something heavy falling in the kitchen.
The back patio door.
The sliding glass door had been their weakest point. An armchair was pushed against it, but it wouldn't be enough.
"Sarah, stay here," Quinn commanded, his voice low and tight. He didn't wait for a reply. He moved toward the kitchen, the bat held ready. Mark was right behind him.
They reached the kitchen doorway and stopped. An infected person, a woman in a jogging outfit, was crawling over the armchair they had used as a barricade. Shards of the glass door were embedded in her arms and legs, but she didn't seem to notice. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle, and her movements were quick and jerky.
It saw them.
With a horrifying hiss, it launched itself off the chair and scrambled across the kitchen floor toward them. It moved on all fours, its speed unsettlingly fast.
"Mark, get behind it!" Quinn yelled, moving to intercept it.
The infected woman lunged for Quinn's legs. He swung the bat down hard, hitting her in the shoulder. There was a crack of bone, but she barely slowed, grabbing his pant leg and pulling. Quinn stumbled, kicking out with his free foot to push her away.
Mark, his face a sheet of sweat, moved around the kitchen island. He came up behind the infected woman and, with a desperate shout, plunged the kitchen knife into her back.
She shrieked—a high, inhuman sound—and twisted around, her hands clawing at Mark. He fell backward, scrambling away from her reach.
The distraction was all Quinn needed. He raised the baseball bat high and brought it down on the woman's head with all his strength. The sound was dull and final. She collapsed onto the kitchen tiles and did not move again.
Quinn was breathing hard, his heart pounding. Mark was on the floor, staring at the body, the bloody knife still in his hand.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, keeping his voice low.
Mark just nodded, unable to speak.
Before either of them could move, another crash of shattering glass came from upstairs.
It was from one of the bedrooms.
"They're coming from another side," Quinn realized aloud. The house wasn't a fortress. It was a trap with multiple entrances. "We're being flanked."
As the words left his mouth, a piercing scream came from the hallway.
It was Sarah.
"The closet!" Mark gasped, scrambling to his feet.
Quinn was already running. He sprinted out of the kitchen and into the main hallway. He saw Sarah pressed against the linen closet where the children were hidden. She was holding it shut with her entire body.
A few feet away from her, another infected man was pulling himself through the small, shattered window of the downstairs bathroom. He was already halfway inside. He must have smashed the small, unsecured window and crawled in while they were fighting in the kitchen.
"Sarah, get back!" Quinn shouted.
The man dropped to the floor and immediately turned toward Sarah and the sound of the children's muffled whimpers coming from behind the closet door. He took one step, then another.
Quinn didn't have time to be tactical. He charged forward, swinging the baseball bat directly at the man's legs, knocking him off balance. The infected man fell but immediately started to get back up, snarling, his eyes locked on his target.
Quinn was now between the infected and his family, fighting in the narrow space of the hallway. He could hear Mark shouting his name from the kitchen. He could hear another window breaking somewhere else in the house.
He was overwhelmed.
He could fight one. He and Mark could fight one together. But they couldn't fight three, four, or five at once. They couldn't be in every room at the same time. The barricades were failing. The infected were pouring in.
He swung the bat again, hitting the man in the chest and forcing him back a step.
He risked a glance over his shoulder. Sarah's face was filled with pure terror. Behind the closet door, Lily was crying loudly. The sounds of the house being torn apart were all around them—the breaking of glass, the thud of bodies against the walls, the low moans of the things that were now inside with them.
In that instant, Quinn understood with perfect, cold clarity.
This house was no longer defensible. Staying here meant they would die.
He shoved the infected man back hard with the end of the bat, buying a precious second. "Sarah!" he yelled over the noise. "The house is gone! We have to get out. We have to get out NOW!"