Dom kept his footsteps light across the puddles and mold that had overtaken the pizzeria. He played his gun barrel across the room. The sounds of the Skulls outside accompanied the steady drip of water from a leaking pipe.
“Everyone okay?” he whispered.
“Peachy,” Meredith said.
“Alive,” Andris said. “How about you, Captain?” He nodded at the wound in Dom’s leg.
“Hurts,” Dom said. Blood was soaking through his fatigues, gleaming black in the dim light. “No time for it now.”
The wound burned with each step. He could deal with it later. Bullet, glass, or Skull talon, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t survive to fix it if they didn’t get back to the others soon. With a gesture from Dom, Andris and Meredith positioned themselves around the door in the rear of the kitchen. Dom pushed it open a crack. Distant scratching and wailing flooded in, but nothing sounded in the immediate vicinity.
“Move!” he said.
They flitted into the back alley. Dom led them to cover behind a heap of black garbage bags piled next to an overflowing dumpster. Skulls ran past the entrance to the alley, still barreling toward the street in front of the gun store. The group moved from one dumpster or pile of refuse to another until they reached a T-intersection.
Dom took a right, and they snuck down another alley. The clatter of Skulls sounded from all around. One started running in their direction. They pressed themselves tight between a dumpster and a stack of soggy boxes.
Dom held his breath. The Skull’s claws clicked and scratched, closer and closer. It zoomed by without so much as a second glance. Dom breathed a sigh of relief before continuing forward. They used the cover of a car wreck to cross the next street and into another alley. Two Skulls lumbered under a fire escape, traveling far too slowly for Dom’s patience.
“Meredith?” he asked in a low voice and pointed at one of the creatures. She nodded and took out her knife. They gave their heavy packs full of ammunition to Andris. On Dom’s count, he and Meredith charged, moving swift and silent as shadows. They met the Skulls with a flurry of knife blades. Several precise cuts later, the monsters’ lives poured out around them in pools of hot crimson. Dom turned to signal Andris to join them.
“Almost there,” Dom said, taking a pack from Andris. He peeked around the corner of the alley. Very few Skulls wandered here. Together, they dashed into a bombed-out crater and ran to the other side of the street. From there, it was a short jog past a pet store with broken aquariums and empty cages in its front window. Then all they had to do was make it up the stairs to the apartment where the others were waiting.
Before they reached the apartment, a blast shook a nearby building. Dom glanced out of a window at the stairwell’s landing. They were high enough to see a building near the gun store crumble. Huge clouds of dust and debris billowed over the street. Fire licked up around the destroyed building. Swarms of Skulls were caught in the explosion, their calls rising in a storm of ghoulish voices. Creatures poured from another building, attracted by the din. Soon that building, too, was leveled.
Dom identified the source of the explosions. A smoke trail led to an Apache helicopter hovering at the end of the street. It appeared the military hadn’t let up. Skulls ran from all directions. Another building went down in a third blast, this one closer to the Hunters’ position.
“I guess we’re not spending the night here, huh?” Andris asked.
“No,” Dom said, running up the last set of stairs. The group burst into the apartment. “We got to move!”
“Already a step ahead of you, Captain,” Miguel said. He tossed Dom another pack. This one contained all the things he’d left behind when he went on the ammo run. The other Hunters lined up around the entrance. “We figured the commotion would interrupt our little sleepover here tonight.”
“Good,” Dom said. “We’re moving south. The Potomac shoreline is our best bet. We’re far enough from the Joint Force base that if things go poorly, we can swim to the other side of the river. Hunters, ready to go?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” came the resounding chorus.
The group ran down the stairs. Spencer tried to keep up, but Dom noticed the man falling behind. New bandages were wrapped around his face, but they were already soaking through. There was a rank odor coming from the wounds.
“Spence, you okay?” Dom said as they rounded another flight of stairs.
“Sure, Captain,” he huffed, struggling to breathe. Bullets of sweat trickled down his pale face. If Dom hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the man had already run a marathon.
He assessed the situation swiftly. Spencer’s wounds had become infected. And with a lack of antibiotics, his prognosis wasn’t good.
“Meredith!” Dom called.
She paused on the stairs as the others ran past. Dom fell in with Meredith at his side. “Spencer is in a bad place. He needs antibiotics, and this might be our last chance at finding some before we head into the woods again.”
A worried expression flickered across her face. “Understood.”
“I didn’t see any pharmacies on the way back. You?”
Meredith shook her head. “No. It seemed like everything was picked over anyway.” They continued jogging downstairs. Abruptly she turned to Dom. “But I know where we can go.”
Dom looked at her quizzically.
“This is going to sound crazy, but let’s loot the pet store.”
-12-
“Stay here!” Shepherd yelled at Rachel. He threw his gear onto the shore and dove back into the rushing water. Rory’s pack had snagged on a low-hanging tree branch, and Shepherd swam toward it. He dove under the pack. The water was too murky for him to see. He used his hands to probe the currents and hoped Rory hadn’t let go of his pack.
Sure enough, he felt the midshipman’s arm still stuck in one of the straps. He tried to pull Rory up and out of the water. He strained and pushed off the bottom of the river, but Rory hardly moved. Something else was tugging him. A few bubbles escaped Rory’s mouth. Shepherd guessed the young man was moments from drowning. He fought against the current and positioned himself near Rory’s feet. He pushed, but the midshipman felt far heavier than his slight frame should be.
Shepherd recalled the Skulls that had leapt into the water. They’d been carried away under the waves, but he remembered how one had rolled into his legs as it drowned. Briefly surfacing, he took a deep breath then dove back to Rory’s feet. There he felt around carefully until he found something hard and sharp tangled in Rory’s pant leg. More cautious examination and Shepherd confirmed what he’d feared.
A Skull, in its death throes, had latched itself on Rory’s fatigues. In the murk and flowing water, he couldn’t untangle the fabric and clenching claws. He kicked with all his might, pushing the pack, Rory, and dead Skull toward the shore. The swift flow of the river fought against him. Every muscle in his body burned. He wouldn’t let the water win. Not now. Not so close to victory. A few more kicks and his load suddenly loosened.
“I got him!” Rachel’s voice sounded over the splash of the turbulent water. She was lying flat on the riverbank and had her hands tight around the pack.
Shepherd continued to kick until the river was shallow enough for him to stand. He helped guide Rory and the dead Skull to the shore. With Rachel’s help, he dragged Rory onto a bed of rocks and gravel. The Skull was still hanging listlessly onto the midshipman’s leg. Water lapped over its body. Rachel’s eyes went wide.
“Don’t worry,” Shepherd said between gasps. “It’s dead. Just stuck.”
Rachel seemed to understand at once. She held her ear near Rory’s mouth. “He’s not breathing.” She started administering CPR.
There was nothing else Shepherd could do at the moment. He watched, praying the midshipman would pull through. Rachel breathed into his mouth then pumped on his ribcage. She kept a steady rhythm, counting to herself. Shepherd didn’t dare say anything to break her concentration. Finally, a spray of
water shot from between Rory’s lips. His head jerked up, and he coughed. Then his eyes caught the Skull, and he tried to crab-crawl away from it.
“It’s okay!” Rachel said. “It’s dead!”
Rory fell back. His face was still pale, but he nodded and continued to cough.
Rachel tried to pry the Skull’s claws from the fabric, but struggled with the task.
“Hold on,” Shepherd said, finally catching his own breath. He returned to their packs and grabbed a camping ax. With several solid blows, he severed the Skull’s claw from its wrist. Now freed, Rory backed up onto the grass and away from the river. He removed the bloody claw.
“Did it cut you?” Shepherd asked, preparing himself for the worst.
Rory’s face remained pale as he rolled up his shredded pant leg. The group let out a collective sigh of relief when no rivulets of blood or peels of torn skin appeared on Rory’s flesh.
There was no time to rejoice in Rory’s escape from his near-death experience. Once he was ready, they set off again through the woods.
The low hoot of owls and chirp of crickets reassured Shepherd that at least there weren’t swarms of skeletal predators prowling between the trees. All the same, he strained his ears to listen for any unusual sounds. Every snap of a branch or rustle of dried leaves set his nerves on edge. They carried on for half an hour, hugging the river.
“Check it out!” Rachel said. She pointed to a house near the river. There was an SUV parked on a gravel driveway near a boat ramp. A small dock jutted from the shore with a motorboat. A small sailboat, perhaps nineteen feet, sat on a trailer attached to the SUV.
And up at the house, a light flickered in a second-floor window.
Shepherd knew they could use one of the boats. It’d be a hell of a lot safer than traversing the woods, and it could get them up to Kent Island much faster. But he wasn’t about to steal what might be a civilian’s vehicle of escape. Maybe they could talk to the people holed up here. They might at least have a safe place to sleep for the night. But he vowed not to let the allure of a warm house with four solid walls dull his caution.
“Let’s see if they’re friendly,” Shepherd said. “But be careful. I want you two posted there and there.” He pointed to the rear of the SUV and a thick tree with a line of sight to the house’s porch. “I’ll knock, and you cover me. If something goes wrong, you two hightail it.”
“Yes, sir,” Rory and Rachel said.
“Good. Stay frosty.”
Water still dripped off all three of them. A cool breeze tickled the back of Shepherd’s neck. It would definitely be helpful to get inside. Trying to sleep out here as the night grew chilly could be a recipe for getting sick. And trying to run from the Skulls while coughing, sneezing, and fighting a fever wasn’t conducive to survival. A nice, warm place to dry out, maybe even a hot meal, would do them all a world of good.
He stowed his gun in his pack. He didn’t want to appear threatening to whoever was inside. Wood creaked underfoot as he walked across the porch. He rapped on the door, lightly at first. “Hello? Anyone there? I’m from the US Army. We’re looking for shelter.”
Nothing. He peeked into the windows. Curtains blocked his view. He returned to the front door and tried again. This time harder.
“Hello? I’m Commander Jacob Shepherd from the United States Army.”
He thought he heard rustling from within and pressed his ear to the door. Still, no one responded. He turned to Rachel and Rory. Both were well hidden. He held out his hands. “Doesn’t seem like—”
The crash of breaking glass sounded to his left. Something small barreled toward him. It came at him on all fours, growling and snapping. The thing leapt, and he barely had time to catch it. It was no Skull. Instead, it was covered in fur. A goddamned dog. It was a mutt, about the size of a Labrador. Its muscles rippled as Shepherd wrestled it to the ground.
“Come on, doggy,” he said between grunts, trying to soothe it. “I’m a good guy.” He did his best to gently restrain the animal, but it didn’t give up. Froth formed around its lips as it bit the air and growled. He didn’t want to hurt the dog, but he was afraid the damn thing was rabid.
“Commander!” Rachel yelled.
Another window burst open. Glass shards pelted Shepherd, but the dog’s attention didn’t waver. He heard a low growl, and this one didn’t belong to a canine. Shepherd threw the dog off him and spun in time to catch a Skull’s wrist before the claws impaled his chest. The monster swiped again, and he caught its other wrist. The Skull wore a plaid shirt and jeans, both mostly intact. Small knobs grew out of its forehead, and its teeth were just beginning to turn into pointed fangs. It hadn’t been a Skull for long.
Another Skull, child-sized, came through the window, trailed by a second, even smaller one. A fourth, an adult female, followed. Shepherd realized the whole family had come to greet him. He shoved the plaid-shirt-wearing Skull into the other three. The dog barked and growled, and the Skulls let out terrifying wails.
Shepherd ran for the cover of the tree, where Rory was guarding their packs. “Fire!”
The midshipmen’s rifles cracked into the night. Birds roosting in trees nearby took flight. One of the smaller Skulls and the plaid-shirted one dropped immediately in the flurry of bullets. The other two Skulls ran, absorbing gunfire with their overgrown, bony ribs and plates. Shepherd retrieved his rifle and turned on the creatures. He joined in the fray by sending a volley of gunfire into the mother Skull. The creature fell limp into the grass. The smallest Skull bounded over her, but its charge was ended by a round from Rachel’s rifle. The dog ignored the fate of its family and, baring its teeth, pounced at Shepherd again.
“What is wrong with you, mutt?” he yelled and backhanded the dog. It yelped and flew into a tree trunk. Its head thudded against the bark, and its body flopped to the ground. Its tongue lolled from its mouth, but its ribs moved up and down slowly. It was knocked unconscious, but not dead.
Rory stared slack-jawed at the Skulls. “They only just turned,” he said. “And the dog, it was acting crazy. What was that about, sir?”
“No idea,” Shepherd said. “Rabid? Maybe protecting its masters until the very end?”
The light upstairs still flickered. It must be a lantern, still burning long after the family turned. The distant hunting cries of Skulls sounded throughout the dark woods. The creatures had heard the gunfire. Shepherd eyed the house. They might get lucky. They could try to hide there and hope the Skulls would leave of their own accord. But Shepherd preferred relying on wits over luck. He ran to the Skull that looked to have been the father and rummaged through its pockets.
“There!” He fished out a key ring that glimmered in the moonlight. Taking the SUV would get them out of here faster than going by foot, but the increasingly loud moans of Skulls through the woods told him that might not be the best plan.
Rachel and Rory watched him expectantly.
“Back to the river!” He ran to the docked motorboat. Rachel and Rory followed. They threw their packs in, and Shepherd primed the outboard. He yanked the starter rope. Nothing. He pulled the choke on his next attempt and tried to start it again.
Rory unscrewed the cap to the fuel tank. “It’s empty!”
“There’s got to be fuel around here somewhere!” Shepherd said.
“I don’t think we have time to find it,” Rachel said.
Shepherd looked up. All along the woods that bordered the house, Skulls were creeping from beneath the trees. Their eyes searched the area, and their heads swiveled back and forth. Dozens had come to see what had caused the clamor. Shepherd and the midshipmen were separated from them by the wide yard, driveway, and dock. The creatures hadn’t spotted them yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be long.
***
Despite the guns trained on her back, Lauren felt calmer in the laboratory. If she focused on the slides under the microscope or the assay results spitting out on the computer monitors, she could almost ignore the heavy breathing of th
e guards. She’d played her cards right. Coupled with Thomas’s promises, the videos had done the trick. She and her team had been granted a probationary period to perform research.
“You try something funny,” Smith had said, “and the whole team gets shot.”
She didn’t plan on trying anything funny.
At least not yet.
“Check out what I found in the Goliath tissue,” Peter said, pointing to a monitor. “GHRH.”
Sean shot him a quizzical look.
“Growth-hormone releasing hormone,” Lauren clarified. She carefully cut off a small cube of tissue from a gory block of Goliath meat that Miguel had brought from Boston. “See if we find the same results in this sample.”
“That stuff smells putrid,” Smith said, shifting near the lab hatch. “Sure it isn’t dangerous to handle?”
“I don’t think so.” Lauren shrugged. “But I guess we can’t be one hundred percent certain.”
The guard took a step back, pressing himself against the bulkhead to get as far from Lauren and the sample as possible. Seeing him react to their dissection of the Goliath and Drooler tissues provided her a bit of guilty satisfaction. She almost smiled, remembering how his face had turned a brilliant shade of green when they’d first brought out the samples.
“GHRH,” Sean said, tapping on a keyboard at another computer terminal. “That means there’s a good chance their pituitary glands are messed up.”
“It’s a chain reaction, isn’t it?” Divya added. “Something alters their GHRH production, which influences the pituitary gland, which leads to a cascade of overproduced growth hormone.”
“And then, bam,” Sean said, flexing his skinny arms. “You get a Goliath. Massive muscle and skeletal growth.”
Lauren stepped away from the computer monitor and pointed to a whiteboard. Lines and arrows and chemical names graced the board, all documenting the proposed manners in which the Goliaths had been affected. To Lauren, the display looked like one of the corkboards she’d seen on TV shows where detectives were trying to map all their evidence to pinpoint a suspect. She supposed that wasn’t too far off from what they were doing here.
The Tide: Deadrise Page 9
