Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One) by William Esmont Read Free Book Online Page A

far wall. “We need to get down there,” Cesar announced. “He might be hurt.” He looked at the others, hoping someone would accompany him. When no one volunteered, he set off by himself.
    The first thing he noticed was the smell. Like meat left in the sun, it permeated the air at the bottom of the wash. He picked his way through a nest of sun-bleached saguaro skeletons and grasped for the object. The smell was worse here. Tucking his nose into his shoulder, he wrapped his fingers around the end and tugged. The object popped loose. It took a second for his mind to comprehend what he held in his hands:  A human arm, brown and desiccated, skin worn away in patches, yellow-white bone showing through. With a shocked yelp, Cesar dropped the arm and took a step back.
    There was a commotion above. A thin stream of dirt trickled onto his shoulder. He glanced up. All faces were focused south, fixated on something he couldn’t see.
    “Get out!” one of the men yelled. “He’s coming back!”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Cesar saw the arm convulse. Before he could react, the hand latched onto his ankle with a viselike grip and started to squeeze. Cesar screamed and kicked out, trying to dislodge the arm, but it wouldn’t release its grip.
    “Hurry,” came the call from above. The wind picked up, pushing up from the south. Cesar gagged at the stench. It was the same smell of putrefied rot attached to his leg, only worse. And it was coming toward him.
    He heard the man before he saw him. Grunting and wheezing, what he assumed was the former owner of the arm rounded the bend and lumbered towards Cesar. His remaining arm was outstretched in a sick parody of pleading.
    The pressure on Cesar’s ankle eased for a second as the hand scuttled up his leg like an enormous spider. When it reached his calf, it clamped down again, digging bony fingertips into the soft flesh and muscle, triggering a spike of pain that shot through his body. His vision dimmed and he staggered against the wall of the arroyo, barely catching himself on a protruding root. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He beat at the hand, but that only made it worse. Filthy, broken fingernails dug into the denim of his jeans, scrabbling for bare skin.
    Pebbles clattered. Branches snapped. He looked up and saw the man was less than five yards away. Seeing him up close, Cesar finally understood how much trouble he was in. The man was sick. His face was shredded to the bone. Mottled clumps of something sticky covered his scalp. His eyes, what was left of them, were an opaque gray, the color of monsoon storm clouds, filled with thick cataracts.
    Setting off with a limp, Cesar headed for a narrow trail leading to the rim. As he ran, the attached hand leaped higher, fingers encircling his knee, squeezing the twin tendons on the back of his leg, making it all but useless.
    “Help me!” he cried, frantically searching for the other border crossers. He was halfway up the slope when he finally succumbed to the pain, unable to go any farther.
    A furtive glance over his shoulder revealed his pursuer, not far behind, still struggling with the incline.
    Cesar dug into his pocket and withdrew his knife. He flipped the blade open. Taking care not to cut himself, he slid it between the hand and his leg and twisted. The knife sank into the desiccated flesh. There was no blood. The grip increased and a sudden bolt of pain lanced down to his foot. He bit back a cry and kept digging.
    Finally, with a dry crack , the thumb broke away. The hand tumbled away from his leg and slid down the embankment, disappearing over a ledge.
    Cesar wiped the knife blade in the sand, checked his leg, and finding no open wounds, continued his mad dash towards safety.

Eleven
     
    Colorado Springs
     
    Peter Woo flipped open the lid of his laptop and drummed his fingers on the palm rest, barely able to contain his excitement.He glanced at his mobile phone lying on the couch beside his