This probably wasn’t the best place to be. The parking garage seemed like a good idea, but now that we were here, we could see the error. They had followed us up the only exit, and now we were trapped on the third level, a leg-breaking fall to the street below. And there weren’t just a few. There were hundreds, that we could see anyway. Jake fired his pump action Remington until it was empty, the birdshot hardly scratching them. Probably more useful with that ammo as a club, anyway. Well, it was fun living. I palmed the head of my MacGregor 5 iron. Time to dance.