Markos grip tightened on the reins, the bitter cold bit through his gloves. Dardanelles's powerful strides carried him and Sintija over the frozen wasteland. With the danger rising, she moved around him, shifting from her position in front of Markos on the saddle to behind him. Bones clattered and moans echoed off the mountains as horse hooves thundered across the snow and ice.
"Faster, Markos!" Sintija urged, her voice strained as she lined up her shot. Her drawstring twanged as she loosed an arrow at the approaching horde. The arrowhead burst a rotten eye, throwing the zombie backward from the force but it did not slow its pursuit of the riders.
"He's going as fast as he can!" Markos shouted back.
I want to help her. My rifle would be better but I can't ride and fire behind us at the same time.
