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
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
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