by L. T. Ryan
"Yeah. Only shorter hair and about five years younger."
"I'll leave around midnight."
Newkirk said, “Might be too late.”
“Why’s that?
“Storm coming. Obviously you saw the clouds. The formation of it, the way it’s spinning, well, it’s tropical.”
“Hurricane.”
Newkirk shrugged. “Without radar it’s impossible for me to tell until it hits us. But what I can tell you is landfall is coming soon.”
“There’s GPS connected to weather satellites,” Turk said. “You could tell with that, right?”
“Yeah, you got one?” Newkirk said.
“Or a way to power it up?” Rob added.
Turk shook his head. Glances shifted around the room as each person looked to the next for an answer. The others stopped on Turk.
“All right. So, what then? Wait?” Turk crossed his arms. “Not an option.”
They looked at him expectedly, as though he had to explain the reason he couldn’t spend any more time than necessary there. Turk had no intentions of mentioning he had a family waiting for him.
“Then you need to leave soon,” Newkirk said. “I figure we got five hours before the shit hits.”
“An hour,” Turk said. “I need some food and water first. I’m gonna need a knife and pistol. A rifle if you have one to spare. And a bag.”
“Done.” Rob turned to leave the room.
“Any chance you got a wet suit?”
Rob shook his head. “No, but we found a surfboard.”
“Rob,” Rose said.
“What?” he said. “What’s he gonna do? Paddle to the Bahamas?”
“Don’t worry,” Turk said. “I can use it. It’ll be safer than walking on the road or the beach. Now let me be for a half hour.”
The three left Turk in the room alone. He fell back on the bed and closed his eyes, mentally going through the motions of the mission until he succumbed to sleep.
Fifteen
Twenty feet separated Sean from the dark outline and glowing eyes of an afflicted. He adjusted the rifle and aimed the flashlight’s beam at the horrid being. The afflicted slammed the door into the wall and lunged forward.
Sean opened fire on the afflicted. Four single shots tore down the hallway. The echoes persisted even after the afflicted collapsed to the floor.
He took a moment to collect himself, then reset the flashlight on top of the M4.
Need to find a headlamp. Yeah, I’ll get right on that.
He approached the crumpled body of the afflicted, not keen on the idea of having to step over it. He’d fired without taking aim and had no idea where the shots had landed or even how many had struck the body. The afflicted could be lying in wait. It could be injured, but not dead.
“Fuck it.” He took aim at the top of the afflicted’s head and fired two more rounds. “You’re dead now.”
The door hung open on the afflicted’s foot. Sean approached from the right and angled his M4 and the light through the opening. The beam glinted off the floor and cabinets.
Sean turned his attention back to the body on the floor. It lay motionless. He kicked the afflicted with his prosthetic leg. Logic told him the being was dead, but the voice of reason inside his head had little input lately. He stepped over the body and then shoved the door open.
He crossed the threshold and started toward the rear door. Something banged against the metal, then the door whipped open. The dark room burst into light, leaving him blinded.
Sean heard a moan to his right, deep and guttural. He spun toward the sound and made out a dark shape. It advanced toward him. Sean’s right foot caught on the leg of the corpse. He stumbled backward, slamming his right shoulder blade on the edge of the doorframe. Pain radiated through his back and arm.
With his sight adjusted, Sean saw another being standing outside. Were there more out there? No telling, and not worth worrying about if he didn’t survive the current attack.
The afflicted lunged forward, arms wide, mouth open, strands of saliva hanging between its teeth.
Sean fell back and landed hard on his left elbow. He lost feeling in his hand and dropped the M4 upon impact with the floor. With little time to retrieve the weapon, he stuck his right foot up in the air and intercepted the oncoming afflicted.
The crazed being wrapped its arms around Sean’s prosthetic leg and tried to sink its teeth into metal flesh. They hammered against the titanium bone. The afflicted didn’t notice. It kept biting and clenching. Its shit-stained teeth cracked and split and pieces skated across the floor.
Sean drew his leg back, then drove it forward into the afflicted’s neck. The being let out a hollow gasp, but held steady. Sean delivered another blow, forcing the afflicted to let go of Sean’s leg. It fell backward, freeing Sean.
He rolled to his right and located his M4. But before he could secure it, the afflicted was on top of him again. It must’ve learned its lesson about the titanium leg, because the being now pinned him down by planting its forearm across Sean’s chest with remarkable force. Sean was unable to free himself. The afflicted placed its free hand on Sean’s face. Its fingers clamped down under Sean’s cheekbones and into his eye sockets. The pressure increased to the point he thought his head was going to be crushed.
Pain flooded his left arm. His fingers tingled, but he could tell they were wrapped around the barrel of his rifle.
The afflicted did not let up its grasp. It felt as though his molars were going to snap inward. He saw starbursts in the darkness. The intense pressure surrounding his eyes indicated that the afflicted was close to penetrating his eye sockets and sinking its crusted fingers into Sean’s brain.
Sean tightened his grip on the rifle, unsure which direction it faced. There wasn’t time to find the trigger and reposition for a shot anyway.
He inched his arm away from his body and off the ground, then swung the weapon toward the afflicted. Metal connected with skin and bone with a thud. The being grunted. Saliva sprayed across Sean’s face. He swung the rifle repeatedly, each time slamming it into the afflicted.
The being’s hold slipped. Sean freed his right arm and wrapped his hand around the afflicted’s neck. It retaliated with wild punches, hitting Sean in the arm, neck and face.
Sean continued countering the blows with the heavy M4.
The rifle won out.
The afflicted slumped backward.
Sean brought his leg up and kicked its chest until it fell to the side. Ragged breaths came out in gargles. Dark fluid spilled from gashes on its head and neck.
Can you beat one of these to death?
Sean scooted away from the afflicted. After using the counter to pull himself up, he took a step forward and nearly stumbled. His leg had nearly been wrenched free during the altercation. As he reached down and disconnected his leg, the afflicted rolled over and drew up to its hands and knees.
Sean dropped his prosthetic and secured the M4 with both hands.
The afflicted propelled forward, hurling itself through the air.
Sean pulled the trigger three times. One bullet missed and slammed into the drywall on the other end of the room. The other two hit.
The afflicted collapsed onto its side and shrieked. It sounded similar to the noise that had erupted in the woods. Same as what he had heard years ago in Nigeria. The shrill sound deafened him in the enclosed room.
He steadied himself and fired one more shot, this time to the head of the afflicted. Like the previous encounter, the shot ended the being’s damned existence.
Sean reattached his prosthetic. The high-pitched squeal in his ears settled into a soft hum. Not a normal sound.
During the encounter, the messenger bag had fallen. He located it on the floor near the door, which stood partly open. Light glinted off the screen of the GPS. Had he not caught the flash, he would have left the device behind.
He stopped short of the opening. The afflicted he’d seen in the doorway had abandoned its pos
ition.
As Sean reached for the GPS, the sight of his blood soaked hands threw him into a panic. He pulled back and began searching for a wound. He checked his arms, legs and torso. Felt around his neck and head. There were no obvious wounds. Nothing that could have produced the volume of liquid on his hands and arms and coating his clothing.
Not mine.
The afflicted had produced the dark sludge.
He had the urge to strip off his clothing and burn it. Wouldn’t be a smart idea with a looming trip through the woods. Leaving the soiled garments on had its drawbacks as well. Could he spread the virus through their blood? He thought back to the information he’d learned from the scientist in the underground facility. It wasn’t possible then, as far as Sean recalled. But things could have changed. So it was in his best interests to find something new to wear.
He pictured the rooms in the clinic. Nowhere had he seen scrubs. But he hadn’t checked up front or behind the receptionist counter.
Sean secured the GPS in the messenger bag and turned toward the hallway. The buzzing in his ears increased.
He recalled something else from his time in Nigeria and more recently in the woods outside Phil’s camp. The afflicted emitted a hum, almost like an electrical buzz, when in the presence of other afflicted. He didn’t know why. Communication, excitement, energy colliding. Could be anything.
He knew the sound was not in his head. It swept in from outside. Sean leaned against the wall and peered down the alley toward the shopping center. The narrow lane looked deserted. An opportune time to run.
One minute, that’s all I need.
Glancing down at his stained clothing, Sean made up his mind. Check the front, then go.
He made his way down the hall past the rooms that housed expired and slain corpses. He resisted the urge to check the rooms a second time. He avoided forcing his way into the remaining locked room. Someone had secured it for a reason. He was content leaving it a mystery.
At the end of the hall he hesitated in front of the locked door that led to the waiting room. Sean had no way of knowing who or what was in there. He took a deep breath and held it, steadying his nerves and slowing his racing heart. The handle felt cold and damp against his sweaty palm.
He turned the lock, then cracked the door open. The flashlight covered most of the room. The chairs in the waiting area were tipped over and pushed against the outer wall. The blinds were drawn. A wave of hot air washed past. Sean nudged the door open and stepped in with both hands on his M4.
A four-foot high counter separated the waiting room from the receptionist desk. Sean leaned over and panned his light into a narrow storage area. The room was mostly barren, but in the back, on a wire shelf, he spotted plastic bags that contained pink and blue scrubs.
Sean slung the M4 around his back, then gripped the opposite side of the counter with both hands. He lifted his right leg up on the surface and pulled himself on top. And as he sat there, lifting his left leg and prosthetic up, he heard something bang against the door.
Sean froze for a second before lowering himself back into the waiting room. He placed the flashlight back on the M4 and aimed it at the door.
The banging persisted. It sounded as though multiple fists pounded against the door and surrounding wall. Wood rattled against the frame. Drywall cracked and splintered. He wasn't sure why they didn't just open it. Perhaps the afflicted mind lacked the coordination for simple object manipulation. But it was obvious the barrier between Sean and them wouldn't hold for long.
Sean turned and located the front entrance, along with any obstacles between him and it, committing them to memory in the event he had to spin around and fire. There was no doubt in his mind what was on the other side of that door. He considered sending several rounds through it. Wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it might prove harmful. His earlier shots had attracted this new wave of afflicted. They had followed the sound to the rear of the building. If he fired now, it might draw others to the front.
Leaving Sean trapped.
The banging raged on, rising in intensity. Sean cast glances over his shoulder to ensure they had not penetrated into the room.
He reached the opposite end of the waiting area where two wooden doors stood between him and outside. He grabbed the right handle and tugged and shoved but the door didn't move. If it was on some sort of electric or magnetic locking system it should open without resistance. He tried the other knob and met the same problem.
He heard a loud crack from behind. They would be through soon.
Sean took a few steps back and aimed his M4 and opened fire on the exit doors. He placed several rounds between the knobs and also near the top in case there was a latch there. Then he rushed forward and drove his shoulder into the center. The doors parted, creating a gap of around six inches. Light from outside flooded in. The area in front of the clinic looked empty. He glanced down and saw that someone had attempted to barricade the clinic with a filing cabinet.
It gave half a foot with one shove. Keep at it.
The majority of the cabinet blocked the left side. Sean turned his focus to the right. He backed up and flung himself forward several times. Each shoulder assault moved the cabinet and inch here, five inches there. Finally, the gap was wide enough that Sean could slip his body through.
He took the messenger bag off and tossed it over the makeshift barrier. Then he removed his M4 and set it on top of the cabinet. As he had at the receptionist counter, Sean reached across the top of the filing cabinet and pulled himself on top.
The door at the opposite end of the waiting room crashed open.
Four shadowy figures emerged through the doorway. They took several steps in, stopped with their heads back, noses in the air. Their arms were outstretched. Three more afflicted fought at the opening, each trying to get through while the other two pulled them back. And behind them there were more. A twisted mass of bloodthirsty beings with nothing more than Sean's demise on their minds.
He secured his M4 and let his right leg slip over the far edge of the filing cabinet. His prophetic banged against the steel.
The afflicted in the room moved in unison in response to the sound. First their heads shifted in his direction. Four sets of eyes took on an ominous glow. One yellow, another red, the others green.
How fast could they move? In Nigeria Sean had seen afflicted that moved faster than any man. They had operated without hesitation or remorse.
But these afflicted seem to regard Sean with a sense of curiosity. Was it because he hadn't run? Did his prosthetic give off some sort of vibe, some frequency that kept the afflicted at bay?
That made little sense. After all, he’d fought off one just a few minutes prior in the back of the clinic.
The three afflicted who had been fighting resolved their differences and entered the room. Now seven of them stood shoulder to shoulder as others filed in behind them.
They made no advance.
Yet.
Sean pulled his leg up, careful to keep the titanium from smacking the filing cabinet.
Two afflicted stepped forward. They stopped halfway. The others followed.
Sean lost count of how many there were. More than he could handle.
He whipped himself around and slid off the filing cabinet. The ground was soft and uneven. He stumbled forward into the glass door. Looking back, he saw he had landed on a body.
The barricade lurched toward him. The force caused the corpse on the floor to roll over. Sean stared down into the discolored face of a middle-aged woman. The cabinet moved again. Sean looked up into the faces of half a dozen afflicted. They jostled for position. Every time one reached across the top of the filing cabinet, two or three others pulled it back.
Sean glanced outside. Several other afflicted had gathered across the street. They’d responded to his shots, no doubt. They stood there as one, all looking up at the sky.
He moved until his back touched the glass, then exerted force against it. The door didn’t
move.
“Christ,” he said.
An afflicted screamed in response. The others joined in, creating a shrill chorus.
The deafening noise turned Sean’s stomach, and he felt the sound as pain spread throughout his body. He lifted the M4 and fired two rounds. Two afflicted fell back. The others pulled the wounded away and shoved them to the ground and stepped up to take their place.
That’s a losing battle.
Sean turned toward the door. The afflicted across the street had taken notice of the latest shots. But their focus was directed elsewhere. The echoes ripped through the front and back of the building. In the rear, it bounced off the walls and down the alley. That was where the afflicted stared. In the direction of the shopping center.
The afflicted inside with him let out another joined shriek.
Sean fired at the top, middle, and bottom of the door. Glass splintered into a massive tangle of spiderwebs. He kicked with his prosthetic. Shards the size of pizza slices fell to the ground. Using his M4, Sean broke the remaining pieces near the top. Once the opening was wide enough to allow him through with minimal damage, he exited the clinic. Jagged fragments dug into his shoulders and upper arms. He powered through as fresh blood seeped from his wounds. He pulled his shirt over his head and cast it on the ground to prevent any afflicted blood from mixing with the cuts.
The supplies.
Sean looked back and saw the messenger bag on the floor, surrounded by glinting shards of crimson-coated glass. The bag contained the GPS, and all the medical supplies he needed to save Barbara.
An afflicted crawled over the top of the filing cabinet. It spilled over onto its head, flipping so that its torso landed on top of the bag.
Across the street, the first afflicted took notice of Sean. Several others were walking toward the alley that split the clinic and the shopping center, leaving only the road to his left open for escape.
But first he had to get the damn bag.
Sixteen
The pickup trucks rumbled forward along the deserted asphalt. Large tires sounded as though they crunched the road beneath them. Skeletal remains of wrecked and abandoned vehicles appeared every so often, but for the most part, the back roads were empty.
