Getting to the pack house, it turned out, was the easy part.
I had Landon climb up on my back and hold on, grabbed the machete I'd thankfully brought back to our little house with me, and wrenched the door open, kicking the zombie out of the way hard enough to fling it off the porch and send it skidding into the snow a couple of yards away.
"Hang on," Landon said. "Let me lock the door again." He was right, but I still gritted my teeth at the delay. When I heard the click, I ran. I beheaded the zombie
I'd kicked without so much as a pause, and then took off full-speed for the pack house, zig-zagging around a couple more zombies without stopping to do anything about them.
I needed to get Landon safely behind his wards. Then I'd deal with them. But no fucking way was I risking him in close combat, not when he didn't have a shifter's healing abilities and stamina.
