She hesitated for only a moment before bending down, unsnapping the holster, and retrieving the weapon. It felt fake in her hand, far lighter than she would have imagined, but as she hefted the weapon, she suddenly found herself feeling a little bit better—safer—and more confident in her survival.
Yeah, we’ll see how safe I feel when it comes time to use it, she thought as she slid her phone back into her pocket and moved to the half-open garage door.
Sidney flinched as she leaned out into the downpour, the rain still coming down so hard that it felt like tiny needles on her exposed skin. Holding the gun at her side, she started up the driveway, noticing that the SUV that had been parked there was gone. How could they have left me behind?
Shrugging off a wave of anger and despair, Sidney crept up the driveway, staying low to the ground, making it harder to be seen. At the top of the drive she looked out over the parking lot and at the few vehicles that remained there. All these cars and no way to drive them, she thought, frustrated that she’d spent all her time learning about animal physiology instead of how to jack a car.
Through the pouring rain, she scanned her surroundings for animal life, only slightly relieved that she could see no signs. But still, she couldn’t stay in the driveway. She hugged the wall of the building, using the shadows for cover as she cautiously made her way to the front of the police station. Depending on how bad it actually was on the island, maybe she’d get lucky and be able to flag down a passing car.
She reached the corner of the building and stopped, suddenly fearful of what she might find around it. She gripped the gun tightly and pressed herself to the brick wall. Then, taking a deep breath, she carefully rounded the corner.
A lone figure stood at the bottom of the front steps, the doors to the police station yawning open behind him. A jolt of excitement shot through her. She wasn’t alone. But as she began to step from the shadows, there was a flurry of movement from inside the doors, and a pack of dogs spilled out onto the stoop, surveying the area with cold, unfeeling eyes.
Sidney knew that she shouldn’t, that she should remain in hiding, but she just couldn’t do it. She came out from alongside the building, waving her arms so that he would see her. Maybe he had a chance, maybe if he ran toward her, the two of them could . . .
She was certain that he saw her, but he continued to stand stiffly, watching—possibly too afraid to move. She knew that feeling. The dogs had begun to descend the stairs behind him.
“C’mon!” she shouted as she ran toward him.
But he remained silent and still.
Then the dogs did an odd thing. They completely ignored the man, walking around him and heading inexorably toward her. She wanted to run but knew that they would take her down in an instant. There was only one chance for her, even though it would nearly kill her to do it.
Slowly, sadly, Sidney raised the gun and fired at the dog closest to her. The first shot missed, striking off the curb. She tried again. The gun roared when she pulled the trigger, and this time the lead dog went down, its front leg shattered by the impact of the bullet. She forced herself to remember the attacks in the station, the horrors that she’d seen, and fired again. Another dog went down.
Then the stranger began moving toward her, arms outstretched.
He had almost reached her when she noticed all the blood—on his face, the front of his clothes, his hands. He walked so stiffly, like a zombie, and his skull was severely misshapen.
And then she saw his right eye.
Panicking, she stepped backward, but her foot caught on the curb at the end of the walk, and she went down, hitting her head on the slick pavement. She tried to aim her gun at the advancing stranger, but her vision was askew. She fired anyway, missing by a mile, and tried like hell to get to her feet before—
The man rushed at her, moving like some sort of predatory animal. His cold hand wrapped around her wrist, and he yanked her toward him with such force that she lost her hold on the pistol and it clattered to the ground. He leaned forward toward her, mouth agape. She saw bits of what could have been strings of meat trailing from between bloodstained teeth and suddenly understood the horrors of what this stranger had done.
That he was like the animals.
She tried to fight him, but he was incredibly strong, coming closer, the stink of him in her nostrils, the warmth of his breath on her exposed neck.
Sidney imagined what it would be like, the feeling of human teeth plunging into her throat, breaking the skin, tearing away the flesh as gouts of blood bubbled up from the gaping wound. And then she heard the screeching of brakes behind her and the sound of someone shouting her name.
There was a sudden rush of something white, followed by a grunt, and then her attacker was lying on the street, something of equal savagery perched upon his chest.
It took her a moment to realize what had happened.
“Snowy!”
Arms grabbed her around the waist from behind and she screamed, fists flying.
“Hey!” a familiar voice yelled. “It’s me, Sid!”
And she turned into Cody’s arms, staring at him in shock as her mind tried to catch up with what was happening. He began to pull her toward the SUV where Rich and Officer Isabel waited.
“Snowy,” she said, wrenching herself away from Cody and turning back toward her dog.
She was desperate for the dog to look at her so she could signal that it was time to go, but the white German shepherd was still perched atop the man, biting at his flailing arms.
Another dog barreled seemingly out of nowhere and plowed into Snowy’s side, knocking her over. Snowy rolled to the ground with a yelp but quickly got back to her feet.
Sidney recognized her dog’s attacker, and she bet Snowy did as well.
There was no mistaking Alfred, the nasty French bulldog, in all his squat, muscled glory.
Snowy bared her fangs and snarled as the Frenchie slowly plodded toward her. Other dogs were following Alfred, and more animals were beginning to slink from the surrounding area. The shepherd was favoring her front paw, and Sidney knew she wouldn’t be able to fight the pack coming for her.
Frantically Sidney’s eyes scanned the rain-swept street and finally stopped on the gun lying there, not far from the curb where she’d fallen. She raced over, grabbed it up, and aimed. The shots went wild but were enough to distract the advancing animals, which was good because she was all out of bullets.
All eyes were suddenly on Sidney, including Snowy’s. She tossed the empty gun in their direction, hoping that she would take out at least one of them.
“C’mon, girl!” Sidney yelled, waving her arms and starting to run.
Snowy followed, plowing through the pack of dogs. Even with an injured leg, she was able to outrun them.
The SUV pulled up closer beside Sidney, and she opened the back door, turning around just as Snowy leaped up, paws on her shoulders, licking her face.
Between licks, Sidney could see the man now standing in the middle of the street, Alfred by his side, the other beasts all around them.
“Not now, girl,” she said, pushing Snowy down and motioning toward the backseat of the SUV.
As Snowy jumped into the vehicle, the animals started toward them, one by one, from a trot to a gallop.
“Let’s get out of here,” she shouted to her friends as she practically fell into the SUV behind Snowy, slamming the door shut.
The SUV lurched forward into the night.
And the beasts followed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The rules had shifted again.
As the SUV barreled down the rain-swept deserted streets of Benediction, Sidney could not help but think of how this latest wrinkle could be a game changer.
“Who was that guy?” Rich asked. He was staring out the back window, even though they could no longer see the man or his pack of animals. “And why was he attacking you?”
“I don’t know,” Sidney said. She was still running her hands ove
r Snowy’s filthy body, looking for signs of injury. “But . . . but I think he was affected.”
Cody sat in the front seat beside Officer Isabel, who was driving. He turned to look at Sidney. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I think he was changed . . . like the animals have been changed.”
“But it hasn’t been affecting people, right?” Officer Isabel asked. Sidney could see her frantic eyes in the rearview mirror.
“No.” Sidney was trying to put the pieces together. “Not so far that I’ve seen. It’s only been the animals.”
Rich had taken his eyes from the rear window and was patting Snowy.
“Are you sure he was affected?” he asked. “Maybe he was just a crazy person or something.”
“No.” Sidney shook her head, remembering how he moved—how he looked. “His right eye,” she said.
“What about it?” Officer Isabel asked.
“So far the animals I’ve seen changed by this have this weird shiny covering over their right eye.”
“What, like a cataract?”
“Yeah, kinda,” Sidney answered. “But that guy had it too.”
It was quiet in the car except for the hissing of the rain outside.
“So, what are you saying?” Rich finally asked. “That people are going to start going crazy and trying to bite our faces off?”
She looked at him. “I don’t know. I guess I could be saying that.”
“But wouldn’t we have seen more people changed by now?” Officer Isabel asked. “Back at the station there had to be what, twenty-five, thirty people in there. No one showed any signs of wanting to hurt anybody else.”
“True,” Sidney said. “But if this is some sort of disease—a virus or something—maybe it’s changing . . . mutating. Maybe that guy was just the first.”
Cody laid his head back against the seat. “Great. Like things don’t suck enough already.”
“Or maybe it’s something else entirely,” she said, her mind drifting over the events of the past hours.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rich asked.
Sidney shrugged. “Something is telling me this isn’t a disease.”
“So we’re still left with the big question then,” Officer Isabel said.
“Yeah—what the hell is it?” Sidney looked out her window as the images of the place she’d spent her entire life swiftly passed by. A place that had gone to hell in the space of hours.
She caught glimpses of things she would have rather not seen: burning homes and stores, bodies lying in the street. And when she realized they were in the vicinity of her home, she dared to ask the question.
“My father?”
She caught Officer Isabel’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“We’ll stop and get him,” Isabel said.
“Thanks,” Sidney said, feeling the tiniest bit of relief. Now the chore would be to hold on to that positive sensation and not let it become swallowed up by the darkness closing in all around them.
But it was getting harder and harder to do.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
It was as if a giant’s hand had closed around the C-130 Hercules military transport and was intent on shaking it to pieces.
Dr. Sayid gripped the sides of his seat so tightly that he thought he might rip through the cushioning as the great aircraft was pummeled by the storm.
“How are you doing there, Doc?” Brenda Langridge asked from the seat across from him.
He opened his eyes enough to see that she was smiling, obviously amused by his discomfort. “How do you think?” he snapped, feeling as though the workings of his stomach were going to shoot up his throat and onto the floor as the craft plummeted, only to rapidly ascend again. “Are we going to make it?”
“Probably.” She shrugged nonchalantly, raising her voice to be heard over the sounds of the craft’s four propellers. She leaned forward to glance out a nearby window. “The C-130 is the workhorse of military transport. Plus this bad boy has been souped up special for us so we can travel in comfort.”
“Seriously?” Sayid asked, feeling as though he were sitting in some sort of medieval torture device.
“What, you don’t like the seats?” she asked.
He didn’t respond, certain that just by looking at him, she’d know his feelings. Instead, he looked at the other six members of his science team and security crew seated at the opposite end of the transport. It made him feel a little better to see that most appeared to be enjoying the experience as much as he was.
The plane began to shake so violently that Sayid was sure they were going to crash. This is it, he thought, glad that he’d had the opportunity to speak to his daughter one last time before . . .
Then the shaking seemed to calm a bit, and he got that hollow, dropping feeling in his belly, like coming down from a great height in an elevator.
He glanced at Langridge to find her smiling at him.
“I’d say we’ll be touching down shortly,” she said. “That wasn’t so bad.”
The doctor just nodded, desperately wanting to be off the transport, with his feet planted firmly on solid ground. But then he remembered where it was they were landing.
And what they would be encountering.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Raccoons were trying to get into the house.
If it wasn’t so unbelievable and kind of disturbing, Dale thought, it might have been funny.
He and Isaac had been sitting in the kitchen when they’d heard the sounds of somebody trying to open the latch on the sliding doors. When Dale had pulled the curtains aside to see who was on the deck, his blood had run cold.
It wasn’t someone at all. Multiple raccoons were standing on his deck, eerily—patiently—watching as one attempted to work the handle and slide the door across. Quickly Dale had checked to be sure it was locked as the raccoons watched him through the glass with an intelligence that he’d never witnessed before in the animals.
It was then that he’d decided they should do something more than just sit and have tea.
“It’s kind of a mess,” Dale said as he pushed open the door to the garage. He moved the beam of a flashlight over the multitude of boxes, stacks, and piles of items he’d accumulated over the years in his contracting job. “I’ve got a battery-powered lantern somewhere over here,” he said, playing the light along the side of the three steps that led from the kitchen doorway to the garage floor.
“There’s a lot of stuff,” Isaac said from the darkness behind Dale.
“Yeah,” Dale agreed, finding the lantern on a shelf to the left of the door. He turned the knob on, hoping that the battery still had some juice left in it. The light came on, chasing the shadows to the four corners of the vast and cluttered space.
“There we go,” he said, placing the lantern on top of a stack of boxes that contained floor tiles left over from a kitchen job a few years back. He’d always meant to sell those tiles, but had never managed to get around to it.
“Yeah,” Dale said again, looking around at the representation of the life he’d once had, before the stroke. He had a habit of holding on to anything that could be used again on a future job, and it was all here, stacked inside the garage that hadn’t seen a car in well over ten years. It was like a yearbook of his job life. Every item reminded him of the work he had put his heart and soul into—every tool or box of supplies, the cans of paint, and boxes of ceiling tiles. Hell, he even had dynamite that he’d used to clear away some old tree stumps when he’d been hired to add a solarium to a property. “There is a lot of stuff.”
Isaac started carefully down the steps. “Reminds me of my house,” he said, eyes darting around, taking it all in.
“You have a lot of stuff, too?” Dale asked. He and Sidney had always suspected that Isaac’s mother was a hoarder.
“Lots of stuff,” Isaac said, as he continued to look around. “Never know when you’re going to need something,” he added. Dale wondered if he wasn’
t parroting his mother.
“That’s true,” Dale said. “Probably why I saved all this myself.”
“Yeah,” Isaac agreed, peering into some of the boxes.
Dale was careful as he made his way along the stacks of project leftovers, taking it slow and easy so that he didn’t lose his balance. Sidney had forbade him from coming in here alone.
“Hey, Isaac,” he called out. “I could use your help over here.”
He could hear the youth making his way over to where he stood beside piles of extra wood leaning up against the garage wall.
“Yes?”
“See all this wood here?” Dale asked.
The young man nodded.
“We’re going take it into the house.”
“Why?” Isaac asked.
“We’ll use the wood to cover up the windows, and reinforce the entrances to the house.”
Dale watched the youth to see if his explanation was sinking in.
“We’ll use the wood to cover up the windows and doors so things can’t get in,” Isaac said, showing that he did indeed understand.
“You’ve got it,” Dale said.
Isaac approached the pile and began to pick up the smaller pieces first, collecting them in his arms.
“If you don’t mind, you can handle the wood, and I’ll take the tools,” Dale said as he maneuvered around the young man to a dusty old duffel bag filled with equally filthy tools. These were his emergency tools, the ones that should have been tossed out once he got new ones but hadn’t been. Just like everything else in the garage.
Without thinking, Dale reached down with his bad arm and tried to pick up the heavy bag. It clattered back to the concrete floor. “Damn it,” he hissed, cursing his infirmity. He changed hands, picking up the bag while trying to maintain his balance.
He saw that Isaac was watching him, his arms loaded with wood.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” the young man asked.
The tool bag was heavier than Dale remembered it being, and he placed it on the floor again at his feet. “I had a stroke a few years ago,” he said, feeling a flush of anger go through his body. “Not quite back to where I should be yet.”
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