He pulls the butt of his rifle hard into his elbow, keeping his elbow clipped close by his side as he shoots from the hip. Watching him crank the lever between shots, almost throwing the rifle away as he whips his one, good arm back and forth to reload, I feel terrible. I want to help, but we’re out of options. If I stay, we’ll quickly exhaust our ammo and we’ll both be overrun. Ferguson is buying me time. I have to use that or his will be yet another pointless death. Another shot rings out with a crack like thunder and a head lashes backwards. A zombie crumples, falling to his knees before tumbling into the river and disappearing beneath the torrent of water. Again and again, Ferguson fires. I don’t know that he ever misses, which is astonishing given his condition. The gunfire brings in hundreds of zombies, and still he holds them at bay. The narrow approach keeps Zee out in front of him, trapped between the raging water and the riverbank. Ferguson picks off Zee with ruthless precision.The speed with which he reloads and unleashes volley after volley of shots is staggering given his wounds.
