Affliction Z (Book 3): Descended in Blood

by Ryan, L. T.

  They continued forward to the exit ramp. Sean alternated his view from front to back, searching for shadows in the dusk. They’d opened fire. While the ATV didn’t seem to attract the afflicted, gunfire did.

  The off ramp was a straight shot to the road. At the end Sean turned right. South. His plan was to ride parallel to I-40 until they were about twenty miles north of Wilmington. They’d have to cross the interstate again, but given the rural nature of that part of the state, he didn’t think it would be as tough a crossing as what they had encountered moments ago.

  The first chance he had, Sean turned to the east to create some distance between them and the interstate, carrying them back into farmland and woods.

  The winds had started to pick up and the first band of rain blew past. The storm lasted only a few minutes, but he knew it was a precursor of what was to come.

  A good enough reason to find a place to rest. But not the only one.

  Addison grabbed his shoulder and shook it. “Sean.”

  He stopped in the middle of a country road and turned in his seat. “What?”

  She flipped on a light and aimed it at Barbara.

  “Holy Christ.” Sean climbed over the seat, pushing Marley on top of Addison and pulling at Barbara’s blood stained shirt. The bullet hole went clear through her chest. One of the shots had hit her in the back. Her comatose state had prevented her from crying out or giving some kind of notice.

  He found a weak and thready pulse. Worse than it had been. Her respirations were shallow and uneven.

  “We’ve got to get off the road.” He returned to his seat and studied the GPS for a second before deciding to take the next right on Richardson Bridge Road. There were a few unnamed arteries off it that might yield a suitable place to take shelter from the coming storm.

  A few minutes later, he pulled onto a dirt road that looked promising. The rough road led through the woods and emptied into a clearing. Faint tracks led across the field. At the wood’s edge, he shined the ATV’s spotlight and saw a vehicle. Sean decided it was worth the risk to investigate. He floored the gas and tore across the field.

  They stopped shy of the old truck. Close enough to see the gap between the trees on the other side of it. Grass and weeds had overrun the ground, but it was clearly a path. After a short jaunt over potholes and fallen limbs, they entered a clearing. A wood cabin sat in the middle of it.

  Sean cut the ignition. They all remained seated, staring at the small house. Waiting for any sign of life to appear. Or death. The wind blew through the trees and spiraled around the clearing, cooling the sweat that coated Sean’s body.

  A flash lit up the sky. Thunder followed a few seconds later. Another storm band approached, this one potentially stronger than the last.

  They had to get inside.

  Sean said, “I’m gonna go—”

  Emma cut him off. “There.”

  He followed her outstretched arm in time to see a curtain fall shut. He flipped on the spotlight and aimed it at the window. He knew it was the wrong move. Whoever was inside might have heard them approach, but in the darkness, they might not have been able to locate the ATV. Sean had given them away.

  The curtain parted again. A small face peered out at them for a second before disappearing behind the veil of fabric once more.

  “It’s a little girl,” Jenny said.

  “You three stay here with Barbara. I’m going to go check it out. You see anyone other than me, be prepared to fire if they are armed or disregard your warning. Got it?”

  Addison and Jenny answered affirmatively. Emma stared at the window with a look of concern on her face. Sean squeezed her shoulder.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded and looked away, an attempt to hide her tears. Was it the thought of losing him? Or the fear that the child inside was one of the afflicted and might have to be dealt with?

  Sean exited the ATV, taking the pistol from the console and leaving the M4 behind. The small cabin required as much flexibility as he could afford.

  The front door was steps away. He avoided it, though, choosing to travel around the house. He switched his flashlight on to gather an idea of the terrain then moved to the rear of the cabin.

  He came to a patch of disrupted ground. A mound of dirt about three feet across and six feet long.

  A grave.

  Unmistakable.

  Sean continued past a rear door and reached the far corner of the house. Leaning around the edge, he switched on his flashlight again and cleared that portion of the house and yard.

  Anyone inside likely focused their attention on the front where they would have heard the ATV.

  So Sean decided to enter through the back.

  The door was unlocked and opened without resistance. Sean stepped into a small kitchen with a heavy wooden table positioned in front of him. He walked past it into a living area where the front door was located. He turned back to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge.

  A wave of spoiled milk and rotten meat washed past.

  “Disgusting.” He forced the door shut and backed away, waving his arms to clear the odor from the air.

  Turning, he spotted a door along the far wall, next to the hallway opening. It was cracked. Though he wasn’t sure, there appeared to be a short, dark mass hovering in whatever room hid behind the door.

  Could be the little girl, he told himself. She ran from her room down the hallway and into the bathroom maybe. He took a few steps forward and stopped when the figure shifted.

  “Hello?” he said. “We saw you in the window. We’re here to help you.”

  Sean figured his pistol intimidated the child, so he tucked it in his waistband. As he extended his hands in front of him, the door whipped open and the figure shot forward.

  It was no child.

  Chapter 22

  Turk stepped out from the shadows of the fort and came face to face with a bearded man about the same height and at least fifty pounds heavier.

  The guy’s mouth hung open and he stood motionless, both hands wrapped around a rifle. He muttered something incoherent. He looked as though he was in shock.

  Turk whipped his right hand around and slammed his pistol into the side of the guy’s head. The blow was only half-effective because the man had managed to partially block Turk’s swing with the rifle.

  But it was enough to drop the guy to a knee. And before he could say anything, Turk drove his foot into the man’s stomach. The guy bowed forward, letting go of the barrel and dropping a hand to the ground to support himself.

  Turk reached into his left pocket and pulled out the steel wire. He swung hard and fast so the free handle wound around the guy’s thick neck. Turk secured the handle and yanked with enough force to pull the guy off his feet. With every passing second, Turk lifted the guy until his back bowed and the man’s feet were hovering over the ground.

  The man fought back at first, whipping his fists and elbows, connecting a couple times. All in a losing effort. His body went limp.

  Turk lowered him while keeping the garrote tight for another minute. He released one side and let the large body collapse to the ground.

  Leaving the guy where he lay was a bad idea. Anyone patrolling the wall or stepping outside would see him and know they were under attack. So Turk dragged the corpse to the edge of the island, then rolled it into the water. The current would take over from there.

  He staggered back to the shadows and fell back against the wall. His trembling hands could barely grasp the weapons they clung to. Why had the encounter left him so rattled? Fatigue? Something else?

  He stared at the bobbing mass that had once been a survivor. Of all the things the guy had made it through the past few weeks, he died at the hands of an unseen enemy.

  Turk had no doubt the man would have done the same to him if he’d gotten the drop.

  Just like war. Nothing to feel bad about. This is what happens to those who prey on others.

  After a fe
w minutes of rest, Turk’s mental resolve returned. He forced himself off the wall, aware that someone might already be looking for the dead man. He doubted anyone left the relative safety of the fort without a reason. They probably had watch rotations. Everyone would be accounted for. They’d come looking soon.

  Stepping out of the shadows, Turk felt exposed on the broad side of the island. The roaring Atlantic glared at him. White capped waves rose to the south. They pummeled the coast. Even the island was starting to take on a minor onslaught. The jetty did its job, stifling the waves, but only to a point. They were rising. If this storm hit head on, the island could end up underwater in the surge.

  Turk moved quickly along the wall looking for the way in. Halfway down, he found it. A large wooden door stood open a foot, stiff against the relentless wind.

  He stepped clear of the projected path of the door and jumped past the opening to the other side. A piece of wood that was wedged into the ground propped the door in place. Beyond the wall he saw a courtyard comprised of grass and concrete. It appeared empty. Turk’s gaze drifted to the far end where the space disappeared into shadows underneath the brick.

  Anyone could be there watching.

  He continued to scan the area. On the right, he saw rusted iron bars enclosing one opening. A place for prisoners. Perhaps that was where he’d find Rhea.

  Rain spattered against the top of his head. It thudded against the ground and the brick wall like a turret. In a matter of seconds, it changed from a sprinkle to a downpour. The annoyance provided the perfect cover.

  Time to move.

  He checked the rifle he’d taken off the dead man. Four rounds. Enough, for now. He holstered his pistol in favor of the rifle since it offered greater accuracy from a distance. Once he moved in, he’d switch back.

  He left the prop on the door and squeezed through the opening. A few steps into the fort, he slipped on the muddy ground and dropped to a knee. Pain shot up his thigh. Turk bit back a groan and got to his feet. The wall offered a sense of comfort. No one could be behind him. He could move forward without worrying about an ambush.

  Turk stood fifty feet from the cell when three figures emerged from the center of the fort. They took a few steps into the rain. Each man instinctively lifted one hand over their brow to shield their eyes from the water. Turk dropped to the ground before any of them looked in his direction.

  The storm muffled their voices. One of them pointed toward the gate. They all nodded, then moved forward, crossing the concrete then trudging through the muddy ground.

  Turk assumed they were looking for the dead man.

  He remained still and watched the men as they continued toward the exit gate. One of two things would happen. They’d either go through it, or lock it.

  They stopped in front of the tall wooden door. Turned to one another. The guy in the middle had animated hands. His voice carried on the wind. Turk made out a few of the words. Enough to understand that the dead man had been gone too long.

  After several seconds, the man kicked the prop. The wind slammed the gate shut. The guy turned and dipped his shoulder and drove it into the wood, forcing the door open. One by one, the men filed through the opening. The gate slammed shut once again after the last one had passed through.

  Turk had anywhere from seconds to minutes. If the men spotted the large body in the water, at least one would rush back. If they didn’t they’d circle the fort, maybe walk out on the pier, call out into the dark night and thrashing waves in search of their fellow survivor.

  That would buy him five to ten extra minutes.

  Turk dug his fingers into the mud and pushed off the ground. He dashed toward the relative stability of the concrete and then raced toward the cell. In the shadows he saw three or four figures on the ground. None stirred.

  When he reached the rusted iron bars, he pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and shone it inside, sweeping across the cell. There were two older men on the floor. They were dirty and bloody and barely moved, despite the light shining in their eyes. Their limbs were deformed. Expressions were pained.

  On a wooden bench along the back wall sat a woman. She was dirty. Dried blood coated her upper lip and trailed down to her chin. One eye looked bruised. She had dark hair and a pretty face and looked familiar.

  “Rhea?”

  She stared at Turk as though he was a ghost.

  “Rhea?” he said again.

  Her lips parted. She blinked a couple times, then shook her head slightly.

  Turk shifted the rifle around to his back and began tugging on the bars, trying to locate the opening.

  The woman pointed to his right. He followed her gaze and saw the chain tightly wrapped around a few of the bars. A lock threaded between two links.

  “Are you Rhea?”

  She crossed the cell, stepping over the living corpses on the floor, and stood in front of him. There was no doubt in his mind who she was.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Name’s Turk. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “They’re okay?”

  “I just came from the house. They’re fine. I’m here to get you back to them.”

  “It’s locked.”

  Turk smiled, knowing the woman was breaking free from the shock that shackled her in the cell.

  “Who’s got the key?” he asked.

  “The big guy. He was here fifteen minutes ago I guess.” She looked past Turk and pointed at the gate. “Then he went out there.”

  Turk reached both hands behind his head. He could have smashed the bars he was so angry at himself for not searching the man before tossing him into the harbor.

  “Anyone else?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “You’re sure?”

  “He was the only one I ever saw open the door.”

  Turk looked over his shoulder. He had to go back out where three men patrolled the area, on alert, and probably with trigger fingers.

  “I’ll be back, Rhea. You sit where you were and tell these old guys to keep their damn mouths shut if anyone else comes.”

  This time, Turk didn’t bother with hovering in the shadows of the wall. He sprinted across the courtyard. Slid five feet when he hit the mud. Didn’t fall, though. When he reached the door, there was no point stopping. The heavy rainfall made it impossible to hear anything.

  He pushed the gate open and stepped through with his pistol drawn. The handgun was faster to maneuver and had more ammunition available.

  It was empty outside the fort. Through the grey veil, he saw the ocean rising and falling. Gusts of wind whipped across the island, sending debris flying through the rain.

  Turk ran along the wall. He stopped at the edge, collected himself, then eased his head around the corner. The shadows made it hard to tell, but the stretch of land appeared empty. He cut diagonally toward the water, searching for the body.

  He couldn’t find it.

  Had the current done its job faster than Turk expected?

  Had the men found the man?

  He ruled out the second option. At least one of them would have returned to the fort to alert the others. Wasn’t like the big guy just fell in. He had visible injuries when Turk had finished with him.

  Turk hid the rifle in the shadows then entered the water where he had left the corpse. Diving under was pointless, as visibility was zero.

  He did it anyway, feeling along the sandy bottom.

  But the churning water had claimed the body and swept it into the harbor or out to sea.

  Turk crawled out of the harbor and returned to the shadows. His mind raced with ideas. Everything from explosives to pipe cutters came to mind. Nothing feasible. He needed that damn key. There was no way only one existed, but he couldn’t kill every single person at the fort to find out.

  He heard someone call out from around the corner. Turk eased along the wall until he reached the corner.

  “Hey,” the voice called again. “Come look.”

&n
bsp; Turk peeked around the edge and saw a man standing there with his rifle in one hand, and the other above his head. A cord spiraled in the wind. Something was fixed to the end. Something small.

  A key.

  The key.

  Turk dropped the rifle, holstered the pistol and pulled the knife from its sheath. He lowered his center of gravity, then sprinted forward.

  The man looked back. His eyes widened at the sight of the ex-SEAL flying toward him. He tried to turn around to face his attacker, but could only manage to get sideways by the time Turk plowed into him.

  Turk’s momentum carried them to the ground. He struck at the guy’s head several times with fist and blade. The man fought back, swinging wildly. Turk pinned the guy’s head down, then sawed through the gristle in the guy’s neck with the blade. Skin parted and a sheet of blood escaped as the guy’s gargled screams were lost in the wind.

  Turk grabbed the guy’s arms in search of the key, but found his hands empty.

  “Son of a bitch,” he shouted, rising.

  Then a loud crack split the air around him. Searing pain spread across his abdomen. His body whipped around not of its own accord. He fell to the muddy ground. The knife glinted a few feet away. One arm was pinned under him, the other rested on his thigh, a trail of blood flowing along the skin.

  Chapter 23

  It seemed as though the still and humid air in the small cabin pressed down on Sean with incredible force. He had entered in search of a child, but now faced a potential assailant. The mass of the man unfolded upward, doubling in length. He lunged at Sean, his mouth hanging open, eyes burning with hatred.

  Sean sprawled back. He used his left hand to push the man’s head down, then dropped his right elbow into the back of the guy’s neck.

  The man let out a hollow attempt at a scream.

  Sean rolled off and scooted away, kicking the guy in the head with his prosthetic. The weak blows helped push him away.

  The man flailed his arms a couple times. They looked like overcooked spaghetti, and the man wasn’t able to get his arms under himself.