by Ryan, L. T.
Unlike Turk, the virus didn’t care. It killed indiscriminately. And it gave life to few.
Life? Eternal damnation, more like it.
He did that kid a favor. No longer would it have to hunt a dwindling supply of human flesh, feeding on rats and squirrels to stay alive.
Outside, the humidity weighed as heavy on Turk as his actions did on his conscience. He approached Baldy. The heavy man’s breathing had become rapid and shallow. The end was close.
“What’s your name?”
The guy’s distant stare refocused on Turk. Through labored breaths he said, “Jessie.”
“I can end this for you now, Jessie. Just say the word and close your eyes.”
Jessie clenched his eyelids hard. Tears streamed from the corners. He wasn’t supposed to die. Not like this.
None of them were.
Turk stepped forward. He held the rifle inches from the man’s head.
“You won’t feel a thing, Jessie.”
But he didn’t pull the trigger. A scream cut through the air, causing Turk to retreat back inside the building.
Jessie reached out with this bloodied hand. “K-k-k-kill me.”
Turk ignored the guy. What made the sound? Had it been Skinny? Or something else?
“The-the-the gunshots,” Jessie said, gulping for air between words. “Attracts them.”
“Don’t shoot,” Skinny had said as Turk left the other building. Now he knew why. Skinny wasn’t afraid of Turk killing him. The man knew it would attract the afflicted.
Remaining inside was asking to die. Moving was Turk’s only option. He stood in the doorway, eyes focused loosely on the metal wall across the street, on alert for movements in his peripheral vision and any sound.
With the exception of Jessie’s ragged breathing, the area remained still.
Turk stepped out. Five feet from where Jessie lay was the pistol. A .22, the firearm didn’t have much stopping power. But up close, it could penetrate a skull, and that was good enough.
He scooped it up, then looked back at Jessie. “Sorry.”
Killing the man was no longer an option. The afflicted seemed to be drawn to weak prey. A dying man served that purpose. Bait, as it were.
Turk sprinted across the narrow road toward the building separating him from the waterfront. He followed the wall left to the east, away from the station’s main road, and continued around the corner along the outer edge. His plan was to loop around this and the other southernmost structure, then get back to where he’d seen the raft.
If nothing else, he had to have that damn life raft when he left the station.
What about Skinny?
It wasn’t a thought Turk expected to have. These men meant nothing to him. They were obstacles in the way of him getting what he came for. Because of their idiocy, he was fighting the afflicted.
Maybe I drew them in. They coulda been following me through town. Shit.
He felt like he owed Skinny. If Turk hadn’t shown up, Skinny and the other two would go on with their meager existence until one of them screwed up and brought death upon the group. It was inevitable. At least Turk couldn’t construe that as his fault.
His footsteps seemed to echo through the installation amid the silence. If it weren’t for glass and other debris on the ground, he’d have removed his shoes to reduce the noise. The afflicted were attracted to it. They had been eight years ago. So why not now?
The main road dead-ended into a fence. Beyond that was the water. Turk stood at the corner of the building, weighing his options. He could leave now, over the fence and into the water. But the raft. That boat would be nice to have.
Turk eased his head around the corner of the building, looking back toward the gate. He’d hoped to see a deserted road stretching into the city. That wasn’t the case.
A pack of seven of them stood two hundred yards away. A couple stared up toward the sky. Others looked off toward the city or the side of the road. One seemed to look in his direction, but what it focused on was not evident.
“Shit,” he muttered. To get to the boat, he had to cross the road, then circle around the opposite building. So not only would he cross their path, in the time he took to get around the structure, they could be there waiting for him.
Out of sight, Turk would have no idea if they advanced.
The smell of death, trash and decay dissipated. Something stronger overpowered it. Smoke. At first a trace. But as the seconds passed, it grew strong enough that Turk’s eyes burned. A gray stack rose and plumed in the sky.
Then he heard Skinny call out. “They’re coming, man.”
The guy appeared in the middle of the street, screaming the same thing over and over while holding his arms in the air. Might as well have broadcast himself as fried chicken to a crew of construction workers.
The first afflicted took notice and began its approach. Didn’t take long for the others to follow. Their movements were uncoordinated. They staggered and jerked and dragged themselves forward. These were not the lethal beasts he’d encountered in Nigeria. Then again, not all of them were either.
Turk resisted the urge to open fire. They might not move well now, but once focused on an assailant, things could change.
He had to make a decision. Sprint across the road, head for the water, or backtrack and verify which building was on fire.
Skinny spotted him and started jogging. Turk kept back, out of view until Skinny appeared, at which time Turk checked the road again. The group of afflicted hadn’t made it far. Maybe they didn’t feel the need to hunt. Could it be an investigative party?
“What’d you do?” Turk said.
“I burned it down.”
“What?”
“The fire stops them.”
Turk leaned around the corner again. It was true. With flames leaping into the air, the afflicted were retreating.
“Tell me you dragged a bunch of shit into the street and lit it there,” Turk said.
Skinny shook his head. “Propane. Doused everything I could inside and lit a match.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“You heard the screams. They were whipping up into a frenzy, man. Had no choice.”
Turk pulled the .22 and held it a foot from Skinny’s head. “You burned the raft you fucking idiot!”
“What?”
“There was a goddamn life raft in there.”
The guy stared at his hands as though they had betrayed him. All this time, right under his nose was a way out of the city, and he’d destroyed it.
Turk fought to keep from killing the guy. He was only trying to survive. Skinny wasn’t equipped for this, and he hadn’t known what was buried under all the trash. Maybe there was a use for him. Though Turk had trouble figuring out what that might be.
A scream rose from behind. Turk spun and saw two afflicted standing at the other end of the building. A hundred feet stood between the men and them. Their eyes burned. One stood with its mouth open, releasing a torrent of high-pitched wailing.
“They’re calling the others,” Skinny said.
“Go!” Turk didn’t wait for the other guy to start. He barreled toward the fence, aiming for the gate. It was open a foot, at most, but nothing appeared to hold it to the post. He covered thirty feet in a few seconds. He dipped his shoulder and barreled into the chain link. Pain radiated for a couple seconds. The bottom of the gate grated against asphalt. It stuck after a foot of movement and then gave way.
Turk lost his balance and sprawled to the ground. He tucked his arm and allowed his momentum to carry him through a roll. The rough road tore flesh from his arms. He brushed it off and got to his feet.
A quick glance around the dock revealed nothing of use. Not even a piece of driftwood. Everything not nailed down had been taken. There was one way out. Hopefully Skinny could swim. If not, the guy was screwed. Turk looked back, ready to relay instructions.
At that moment, Skinny collapsed and yelled out in pain. His lower leg was bent awkward
ly, as if a second knee had been installed. Fragmented bone penetrated out through the skin. Gruesome, yet fixable a few months ago. A mortal wound now.
Two afflicted, both fast and agile hunters, cleared the fence by climbing. They landed on the ground like large prey cats, ignoring Turk. Why would they pay attention to him when there was an easy kill laying in the road?
Turk aimed his rifle and fired, hitting the first in the chest and knocking it on its ass. The second looked from Skinny to Turk. It sprinted forward, causing Turk to rush his next shot. He managed to get it off, hitting the afflicted in the leg. The afflicted toppled to the side, but didn’t stop. Using its arms, it dragged itself forward, then got back on its feet, continuing a staggered approach. The distance was closing. Unsure whether the afflicted could lunge or jump, Turk lined up his shot and sent a round through its head.
Skinny let out a painful scream.
“Shit!” Turk hadn’t seen the third afflicted. Where had it come from? He rushed a shot and missed. The afflicted hadn’t noticed.
Okay, nice and easy, Turk.
He settled in and aimed for the head.
Click.
“Dammit.” He’d exhausted his ammunition, and he’d dropped his bag in the warehouse. It was ash by now. His only chance — Skinny’s last chance at survival — was the .22. Turk took a few steps forward and fired, hitting the afflicted in the shoulder.
It glanced up at Turk, snarled and growled, then bit into Skinny’s face. The man screamed and flailed his arms to no avail.
Turk fired again. A clump of skin and hair flipped through the air. A thick stream of dark blood slowly oozed from the wound. It only pissed the afflicted off, though. It took a hard swipe at Skinny’s face, then rose, focused on Turk.
He emptied the magazine in an all-out assault on the afflicted. It dropped to its knees, then fell to the side.
And it didn’t matter. Ten feet from the gate stood the rest of the group. They staggered forward. With no ammunition, Turk could do nothing about them.
And he couldn’t put Skinny to rest.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Then he turned and sprinted for a pier. He didn’t stop running until he hit the water.
Chapter 8
Sean’s back had gone numb against the cold, damp surface he lay on. He sat upright, looking around the dark room, trying to remember the events that led to here. Wherever here was. His hand clenched at the surface beneath him. The top layer gave way. A bed sheet. Sweat beaded across his forehead, and dripped down his chest and back. A finger of light knifed through the crack in the drapes. It glinted off his prosthetic leg, near the knee joint.
He remembered they were in an abandoned house, on top of a hill, in southern Virginia. Danville to the west. South Boston to the east. Didn’t matter, it was a stopping point. He needed to move the group south.
When Sean considered it, the odds felt insurmountable. What were the chances they could cover three hundred miles unseen? Whether by survivalists, gangs, or afflicted, someone would take notice.
They’d encountered no one last night. Luck, more than anything. They were traveling late, through the woods and on country back roads in a sparsely populated area of Virginia.
The ATV had something to do with it. Though it made noise, by the time the afflicted took notice, they would have pulled too far ahead. Same with scattered survivors. How many of them had a means of gas-powered transportation at this point? Which reminded Sean that he could not count on the vehicle getting them to Charleston. The group had to be prepared to make part of the journey on foot. That was when they would be at their most vulnerable.
A tepid knock at the door broke his concentration. Sean secured his prosthetic and stood. The light illuminated half his face. He caught the reflection in the mirror and had to take a second glance. He’d already changed. Would he even recognize himself a month from now?
“Dad?” Emma said from the hallway.
“Yeah?”
Emma cracked the door and slipped into the room.
“What’s up, Em?”
“There’s some trucks driving this way.”
“Why didn’t Addison fire a warning shot, like I said?”
Biting her lip, Emma glanced toward the window. She was only the messenger. Not the one who’d made the mistake. “She said they were far enough away we could wake you first. No point in alerting anyone to our presence if they aren’t coming here. Right?”
She made a valid point. Sean’s paranoia led him to believe that every action was intended to destroy him and his fellow survivors, when that might not be the case. The trucks could pass right by without ever knowing Sean and his group occupied the house.
“You’re covered in sweat,” Emma said.
“Hot in here.”
“It’s not that bad. You were having those dreams again, weren’t you?”
“What dreams?”
She looked away again, eyes downcast, biting her bottom lip. “The dreams you had ever since you got hurt. You used to scare me. You’d be screaming in the middle of the night for minutes at a time. Mom explained to me what was happening.”
“Which was what?”
“Some kind of night terrors. She didn’t say much else, but I knew. I knew that it had something to do with what happened to you.”
Sean grabbed his shirt off the bureau, put it on, then picked up his rifle. “I need to take a look outside.” He stopped at the door, looked back, and added, “Stay behind me, but remain inside the house.”
She followed him down the hallway, her footsteps off a beat from his. In the living room, Barbara lay on the couch in a sweat-soaked red shirt. Her eyes were red and puffy, an obvious sign she’d been crying. It was remarkable how much she looked like Sean’s wife, Kathy, but their personalities were complete opposite. When things were bad, or something went wrong, Kathy was the one who took charge. Barbara retreated, and caused more work for everyone else in the group. Marley remained faithful to his human. His stare locked on Sean. Fix her, the look said.
Jenny sat at the kitchen table. Expressionless, she stared out the window, toward the woods behind the house.
Sean stopped near the screen door. The rumble of diesel engines sounded close, like the trucks were parked out front. Sean was surprised how far away the three vehicles were when he reached the door. The hill must have amplified the noise.
He pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the small square patio. “Where’d they come from?”
Addison nodded toward an expanse of trees. The road cut into the woods, disappearing from view after a hundred yards or so. “They pulled out of there a few minutes ago. Been slowly moving toward us since.”
Sean recalled how the road went past the house, intersected with a one-laner on the other side, and then continued around the hill. “Have they stopped?”
“No. Like I said, they’re just inching along.”
“And you hadn’t seen anyone down below? A scout, maybe?”
“If there was someone out there, I didn’t see them.”
Sean had asked a lot of the young woman. It wasn’t fair to her to be put in this position. Wasn’t fair to any of them. If she missed something, he couldn’t berate her for it. He should have moved everyone at sunrise instead of sleeping.
“Okay, Addison,” he said. “I want you to go inside and find a window you can watch the road from.”
She nodded and stepped toward the door. With her hand on the latch, she looked back. “What about you? Are you leaving?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. She wasn’t ready for conflict so soon after leaving the camp.
“I’m not going anywhere. But in a minute or two, they are going to pass the house, and I won’t have a visual on them. That’s why I need you to watch. If they keep on going along the road, fine. But if not, if they stop, or someone jumps out, or you see anything out of the ordinary, you call for me.”
She white knuckled the rifle stock and lifted it. “I can do that.”
He considered heading toward Danville to look for a surplus store. Dressing everyone in woodlands would be beneficial, especially if they had to move on foot. Sean dismissed the thought. Heading toward a population center was not a good idea. He’d have them check all the dressers, closets, basement, and attic for additional clothing. The younger women were okay for now, but Barbara had to ditch the red shirt. Too obvious.
And obvious got you killed.
The convoy continued driving forward at a steady pace. They seemed disinterested in the house. Probably had already been through and looted it. Something about them told Sean they were locals and not just passing through on their way to somewhere else. And the way they moved, they were on alert, but not overly cautious. After all, there weren’t sentries in the truck beds, aiming assault rifles into the wild.
So what was it? A daily or weekly check? Looking for survivors, or maybe hunting the afflicted?
The thought passed that the group of men might be able to help Sean. His allegiance was to Emma. If he could find a safe place, a community, for the other three women, it would simplify things. The journey would be safer with only his daughter to worry about.
A few more minutes passed. Sean debated whether to attempt contact. The last truck slipped past the base of the driveway, and then from view. Sean inhaled deeply for the first time since waking up.
The rumble and crunch of gravel remained constant as the trucks continued on the road, which curved around the hill the house perched upon.
Sean allowed the sound to filter in and out, focusing instead on the expanse of open land in front of him. He traced it toward the tree line, where the road emerged. The rifle he brought outside had a scope fixed to it. Sean brought it up and scanned along the woods’ edge.
