The three men moved cautiously out into the street: Deacon leading, Silver and Casey watching the rear, all three with rifles at the ready. The static howls of the Scavengers echoed through the streets as they picked their way across the rubble blocking the intersection.
“They’re close,” whispered Silver. “I hope you’re good with that gun, Orbiter.”
“I do alright,” said Casey.

They made it across the intersection to the cross street, thankfully clear of rubble, when the first of the things came snuffling around the corner. Silver dropped it with a single shot that cracked and echoed across the town before Casey could even get a proper look. The next came at a run, all slavering teeth and deep-set eyes. Its four feet (or were they hands?) slapped on the cobblestones in an ungainly stride that still contrived to eat the distance between them at an alarming rate. Silver dropped that one too.
“Any time you feel like helping would be fine!” he yelled.
Casey swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the sight of the things and opened fire as a pack of them came into view all at once. He dropped four of them with four shots in quick succession, tearing through the bodies in a spray of blood so dark as to be almost black, but there were dozens of them and still more came. He shifted his grip on his gun and flicked a latch on the stock, switching to full automatic. The barrel spewed forth a torrent of bullets and the Scavengers dropped like flies.

After a full minute there were no more of the things and Casey eased up on the trigger, silence descending into the space left by the deafening roar. The static howls had stopped, and Casey allowed himself a small smile.
“Come on,” said Deacon. “I don’t want to hang around and find out if all that noise caught the attention of something worse.”