T W E N T Y S I X
I think quickly. An RPG lies in the snow, a few feet away from the dead body of a Crazy. It looks intact, never fired. I run to it, my heart pounding. I only hope it works—and that I can figure out how to use it in the next few seconds.
I kneel down in the snow and scoop it up, my hands freezing, and hold it up against my shoulder. I find the trigger and take aim at the mob, now barely twenty yards away. I close my eyes, pray it works, and squeeze.
I hear a loud whooshing noise, and a moment later I’m knocked backwards off my feet. The force of it sends me about ten feet, landing flat on my back in the snow. There’s an explosion.
I look up and am shocked at the damage I’ve done: I managed a direct hit on the mob, at close range. Where there were dozens of bodies a s
