The moment Quinn stepped into the open, the world seemed to slow down. The nearest infected, a dozen of them milling between the cars, turned their heads, their vacant eyes locking onto him. A low, hungry moan rippled through the group. They began to shuffle towards him.
"Now, Hex," Quinn said into his walkie-talkie, his voice calm and steady.
A fraction of a second later, a deafening car horn blared to life from across the highway, a sustained, piercing shriek that cut through the moans of the dead. It was followed by another, then another, as Hex's rigged noisemaker kicked in.
The effect was dramatic. The infected shuffling towards Quinn stopped dead. Their heads swiveled in unison towards the source of the louder, more persistent sound. Their simple, singular minds had a new target. They turned and began to move away from Quinn, a small but significant portion of the horde drawn to Hex's diversion.
