"They're still there." Mercury had both hands locked on the wheel.
I leaned forward between the seats.
They were still there. Hundreds of them, filling the whole width of the road and the ground around the building, and every single one was facing back down the road toward us. The same orientation. The same held attention.
The jeep rolled forward and stopped, the tyres crunching on something. The sound was sharp and wrong.
Behind us the trucks stopped one after another, and then the engines were the only sound in the street.
A hundred metres out. Close enough now to see individual shapes in the headlights.
"Why have you stopped?" Bagins asked.
"Because the road's covered." Mercury nodded at the windscreen. The beams found the barrier properly now—dark, continuous, running edge to edge across the asphalt. "Thorns. Sharp things. Metal. All the way across."
"What?"
"The zombies didn't want cars getting past this point."
