A loud crack sounded.

"Oh shit! Need some help here, please. My blade's jammed."

Abel's voice turned my focus to the red combine to my left, the one soaked in blood with spotted patches of rust.

"Horsemen, I need you over to help get Blood Bank's blades free. Double time!"

Dressed in black battle fatigues, the pack of four scrambled over to Blood Bank, Abel's combine. Two covered the encroaching Lost while two picked the jammed and twitching bodies from the spiked harvester blades like meat stuck between teeth.

"Watch your flank, Horsemen."

But I spoke too late. Hordes of the Lost came from behind Blood Bank. I cursed that my dozer could move no faster. All I could do was watch the four as they frantically worked to clear the blades. By that time, hundreds of the Lost surrounded them.

A horn honk came from our flank. Driving a flatbed truck, modified with the seats facing backwards and driving perpetually in reverse, Jonah sliced scores of the Lost. He chopped into them with the well-maintained plate of quarter-inch steel, its blade sharpened to slice upon touch. But more emerged from the tree line.

Abel thumbed at the Horsemen. "Thank you kindly. Now if you'll please climb aboard and buckle your seatbelts, it's time we cut these poor bastards down to size."

The Horsemen climbed on the rotary blades. One swung eagerly as the others withdrew. At the last moment, the final horseman loosed a guttural yell and pushed the Lost back as best he could with a forceful shove. He pivoted to Blood Bank. Open arms greeted from above as they locked hands to pull their comrade away from harm. Not quick enough.

I heard the Horseman's scream from across the battleground. Blood spurted from his Achilles as they others pulled him free from the chomping mouth of a Lost Walker.

"Horsemen, protect your own and keep off the battlefield. You've done your part."

Timed with my words, Blood Bank's blades came online. Abel let the harvester pickup to full speed and then slammed his shifter into gear. Blood Bath lurched forward, chewing through the mass of the Lost.  Pinwheels of blood spit off the harvester's claw-like knives, sending rooster tails of red into the air to splatter across the field.

"I'm moving back into Delta formation; their too thick back here for me. Better keep to the thinner patches of the Walkers, combines!"

When the flamethrower stopped from behind me, I almost turned to check on Vinke. That is, until a whoosh came from his perch and sparks sizzled past my window.

Through my side mirror, I stole a glance at the rocket as it shot out from the barrel of Vinke's M-9 bazooka. It zipped past Blood Bank and collided with the thickest patch of the Lost.

After few more rounds from Vinke followed by his streams of hellfire, the combines coalesced in a staggered formation. Half an hour later, they took down the enemy ranks to a few dozen here and there.

Three Horsemen eagerly accepted the task of finishing them off—retribution as their brother-in-arms sat sidelined. I still don't know what makes their blood so special, but my hunch said that it could possibly end the war and may even lead to a cure.

Alexandria never did join the battle, too busy fighting each other. Something about that gave a sensation of cold water flushing through my intestines. Why they stopped their bickering and pointless rumble I do not know, but when they saw the carnage that Combine Army left at their doorstep they paused long enough to mediate a flimsy truce.