by L. T. Ryan
“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.”
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.
Twenty-Three
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.
“Who the fuck are you?” Sean got his feet under him and pulled his pistol out. He aimed it at the guy, who had managed to get up on his knees. “We’re just passing through, man. Don’t mean you no harm. Thought I saw someone calling for help from inside here.”
The guy opened his mouth to speak. A deep, grating groan came out. His eyes glowed blue.
“You’re one of them.” Sean’s rapid pulse increased.
The afflicted jerked its head left, then right. It got one foot on the ground. Screamed.
Sean took a step back, then fired. The bullet tore through the afflicted’s forehead, sending it to the floor on its side.
Sean waited a few seconds while the light in the afflicted’s eyes extinguished. Then he approached and kicked the body over onto its back. He wiped his brow while contemplating the identity of the man. For a second, there had been a trace of humanity there. Reminded him of Kathy at the end. No matter how he tried to convince himself his wife was gone when he fired the shot that neutralized her body, he knew Kathy watched him kill her.
The sound of crying drifted in from the hallway. Sean left the corpse of the afflicted and moved to the other end of the cabin. One door stood open. He shone his light and found an empty, foul-smelling room. He pulled the door shut, then turned to the other side of the hallway. The door was locked, but a shoulder driven into the edge near the frame knocked it open.
A little girl called out. “No!”
Sean leaned forward. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here to help you.”
She sobbed a few times, then settled enough to say, “My mommy’s dead and my daddy’s sick.”
Sean nodded. “You can come with us. We’re going someplace safe.”
She took a step forward and reached for his hand.
“I’m Sean. What’s your name?”
“Paige.” The girl couldn’t have been much older than seven. “Paige Winters. My daddy is Ron. Momma’s Missy.”
“Okay, Paige. I need you to wait here for a few minutes. I’m going to get my daughter and bring her inside.”
Sean left and exited the cabin. Addison had taken his place in the ATV and had started it up. She cut the engine upon seeing Sean.
“Emma,” Sean said. “Inside, down the hall on the right and to the back right room. There’s a little girl named Paige in there. I need you to go sit with her.”
Emma nodded and climbed down.
Sean grabbed her arm. “Listen, don’t stop in the living room. Just go right to the hall.”
He waited until she entered the cabin then turned his attention to Barbara.
“She’s still breathing,” Jenny said.
“Help me get her inside.”
They pulled Barbara from the ATV and carried her toward the house.
“Won’t they know we’re here?” Addison asked.
“Who?”
“Those afflicted. The gunshot. Won’t they have heard it?”
Sean nodded as he considered the implications of his action. He’d had no choice. And they had no choice but to stay at the cabin. All around, thunder roared and lightning cracked. It wouldn’t be long before the heavy winds and rains hit.
“That’s why we’ve got to ge
t her inside and cleaned up. The sound might draw them near, but they won’t know exactly where we are. I’m hoping the storm disorients them a bit.”
Once inside, they moved Barbara to the back bedroom. Sean instructed Jenny to look for water, while he and Addison moved the afflicted corpse out to the backyard.
“You think they won’t be attracted to him?” Addison asked.
Sean shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“I know, but we don’t have a choice.”
“We can leave.”
Sean gestured toward the sky. “You see that? You know what’s coming our way? That’s a hurricane, and we’re less than fifty miles inland. It could be worse than anything we’ve faced so far, living or dead. Now go inside and help Jenny. I’m going to see if I can protect the ATV from the storm.”
He waited until she had disappeared into the dark cabin, then walked to the ATV. The wind blew through the treetops and past him with force. He started the vehicle and drove it around the house. He found an opening wide enough around back to pull the ATV into the woods. Moving slowly, he managed to get it ten feet deep. It wasn’t any safer from the storm, but if someone should come by during the night, they were less likely to find it here.
Back inside, Sean secured the locks to the front and rear doors. He checked on the women in the bedroom and moved Marley into the room with Emma and Paige.
Afterward, he cut on his flashlight and walked the interior of the cabin. The place looked like it might have been used for hunting, given the decor and location. Maybe it had a store of weapons.
He noticed that the table had been knocked back a few feet in the kitchen as a result of his fight with the afflicted. It sat on top of a rug, which had also slid from its original spot. It had been there so long that a black outline traced the wooden floor where its edge had sat.
A second outline marked the floor a foot further inward. Sean leaned over and inspected it. It wasn’t a mark. The floor had been cut there. He pulled the table back further, then peeled away the rug, revealing a trap door.
Sean dug his fingertips into the narrow gap and pulled so hard his fingernail tore a bit from the bed, forcing him to readjust his grip. After a few moments, the trap door was freed from the floor and inched upward. Sean got his fingers around the corners and pulled the door open.
Cool air flowed through the opening. He stuck his head into the hole and shone the light around. It was about three feet deep and appeared to span the length and width of the cabin. A plastic sheet lined the floor. There weren’t any supplies that he could see, but it was clean and dry down there. In the back corner was the outside access. He hadn’t noticed it when he was in the backyard. Might have been because he was preoccupied. Or whoever had designed the place had done it intentionally, designating the access as an escape hatch.
He pulled his head out of the hole and saw two feet in front of him.
“What you doing down there?” Addison asked, shining her light in his face.
“Just spotted this under the table. Looks solid. If things get bad tonight with the storm, we might end up down there.”
Addison shrugged. Her gaze drifted toward the hallway.
“What is it?” Sean asked.
“She’s not doing well. Her breathing is sporadic at best. I tried to find a pulse, but it must be real weak, ‘cause I couldn’t locate it.”
Sean worked his feelings into a deep compartment as he got to his feet. There was nothing that could be done for Barbara. Time and her injuries worked against her. In a way, he felt relieved. Even at full health and strength, she was a weight that held them down. If they were ever forced to make their way on foot, it would be her that would get them in trouble.
“I hope she dies,” Addison whispered.
Sean met her gaze as he stood. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she looked away as though the guilt for thinking, let alone saying, such a thing tore her apart.
Sean reached out with both hands. He wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I hope for the same thing, and I’ve known her for years. She was my wife’s best friend. Hell, she even looks like Kathy. Now I’ve witnessed both of their death spirals. It’s like I’m reliving the worst day of my life all over again.”
“So what do we do?” Addison reached up and wrapped her hands around Sean’s wrists. “We can’t kill her, can we?”
He felt her breath hot against his neck.
“I…” Sean thought about his final moments with Kathy, and even further back, to the facility in Nigeria, and how he was the one who pulled the trigger and saved his best friend, Jules, from dying as an afflicted. He had the ability to do it again. But could he go through with it?
Addison stared into his eyes, as though she were willing him to make the decision to end Barbara’s life and save her the guilt of wishing she could do it.
“All we can do is make her comfortable,” he said. “She’ll be dead before morning.”
A flash of lighting lit up the room. Thunder rolled on top of it. Addison jumped and stumbled into Sean. Her lips brushed against his and settled into his cheek. For a moment, as brief as it could ever be, he felt a twinge of something that he assumed would never return. Even in this world of afflicted and cursed survivors, he felt attraction toward a woman.
And that was unacceptable.
He lifted her arms and backed away. “I’m gonna go check on the girls. Get back to Barbara and let me know if there’s any change in her condition.”
Lightning continued to strike all around them for the next fifteen minutes, reflecting off the bare wooden walls like strobe lights. The winds intensified. The cracks of thunder were interspersed with the cracks of trees falling and heavy limbs crashing to the ground. Sean was sure if he had access to a weather map, he’d spot the signs of a tornado or two passing through. It sounded as though freight trains were nearby.
Little Paige shrieked with every flash and every rumble. Marley sensed her discomfort and nuzzled up to the child. Emma got in on the act as well. Big sister instincts kicked in and she began telling Paige a story about a princess and a unicorn.
After half an hour, the storm band passed and things settled down. Sean stepped out onto the front porch and listened. The silent night offered no clues as to who or what was out there. No birds. No insects. Perhaps all creatures had hunkered down in advance of the storm. He considered that the event had helped them. The wind and rain and destruction might have kept the afflicted away. Did such things bother them? He couldn’t recall.
He considered the possibility that there weren’t any afflicted in the area. The cabin was not located in the most rural of areas, but they were twenty miles in any direction from a city. Well off the beaten path.
The boards below him vibrated slightly as someone stepped out onto the porch. Sean looked back and saw Addison approaching. She stopped next to him. Her breathing mixed with the wind and drops of water.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
“No change in her condition.” She paused, took a deep breath. “At least the storm passed.”
“That’s just the first wave. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
Addison bit her bottom lip. “I just wanted to tell you that—“
“Stop.” He grabbed her hand and tilted his head toward her. “You hear that?”
“What?”
Sean turned his head to the other side. “That.”
“Yeah.” She retreated a step backward. ”Is that a generator?”
“No.” Sean pulled her toward the door. “Those are engines.”
Twenty-Four
Driving rain slapped Turk in the face. The wind ruffled his wet clothing. His abdomen burned.
He squinted against the elements. A man with a rifle stood at the other end of the fort. He yelled something, but the gusts distorted the
words. If Turk had to guess, the man called out for reinforcements.
The guy held the rifle tight to his chest and jogged toward Turk. Turk held his breath and remained still. The man must’ve thought he’d made a kill shot, because he ran right past.
“Jesus Christ,” the guy said, dropping to his knees in front of the man Turk had slain. “John, c’mon buddy. Don’t die out here.”
Turk seized his pistol and swung his arm around and opened fire. Four rounds seared through the rain. He couldn’t tell how many hit, only that one had. The guy’s body jerked, toppled over onto his fellow survivor.
His abdomen burning, Turk used the space between bricks for finger grips and pulled himself off the ground. He stumbled across the muddy terrain toward the men. A few feet from where they lay, the key floated in a puddle.
Turk bent over to grab it.
The third man emerged from the shadows, his rifle aimed in Turk’s direction.
The shot erupted like a cannon blast.
Turk dove to the ground.
Echoes ripped off the brick wall and sailed into the storm. Another crack of thunder lashed out. Mud kicked up and hit Turk in the right eye.
Despite the searing pain in his abdomen, Turk dove and rolled behind the two dead men, taking cover behind their stacked corpses.
The slain man’s rifle lay a foot away. Before Turk could reach for it, the man fired another shot. Another bullet. This one slammed into one of the bodies with a thud.
Turk reached for the rifle with his left hand. Pushed off the ground with his right. He screamed as his side and stomach felt like they had split in two. His first shot hit the bricks, nowhere near the man.
The guy dove anyway, showing his inexperience. He hit the ground and slid in the mud, arm out like a hook as though he were stealing third base and coming in wide.
A stupid move.
Might as well have turned his weapon on himself.
The extra seconds allowed Turk to line up his shot. He fired and hit the man in the shoulder.
The guy let go of his weapon and rolled to his side, clutching his arm.
