LZR-1143: Infection by Bryan James Read Free Book Online Page B

manfully from the conflict behind him. Fred was petrified, flattened against his door, simply staring at Erica and at me, as I futilely tried to prolong the inevitable.
    “I’m going to head for the Expressway,” Kate threw back, as she turned the final corner into a straight away ending in the exit. “It was where the Head was told to go when they evac’d the facility; apparently the police had set up a safehouse of sorts in the Merchant Marine Academy and they were directing traffic to take the expressway to the academy for the time being,” she explained. “How is she?” She glanced back and grimaced, her medical training likely answering her own question before I could respond.
    I had little experience with gushing neck wounds. Real ones, at least. In my movies, people could come back from anything. A shot to the forehead with a twelve gauge could be a flesh wound, the victim reappearing in the final act with a band aid and a margarita.
    Unfortunately for Erica, this wasn’t one of those times.
    “I’m no authority, but this isn’t looking good.” I replied. In fact, it was over. I looked at Erica’s face and cursed silently.
    Roll the credits; turn up the lights.
    The flow of blood had slowed to a trickle, and her eyes were closed. There was no pulse under my red fingers, sticky with her blood. I moved my hand away from the wound, and had to repress a gag reflex-a massive parcel of flesh was missing from her neck, and a thin green detritus, most likely a gift of her attacker, ringed the bite mark like algae on a stagnant pond.
    I looked up from her wound as the car passed the final speed bump in the garage and slowed to a stop at the exit doors. Kate pressed a button on the access device in the front seat; the little white box taped to the windshield signaled to the automated gate device, and the rolled sheet metal gate hummed in response, chains set in motion by the electronics whining in compliance as twilight appeared in the crack between door and cement. Shadows cast by figures waiting on the other side extended into the garage as the gate rose.
    “Well that just figures,” I muttered.
    “If there are seat belts back there… you might consider using them,” was the response from the front seat. I felt her foot slam against the floor board as the accelerator was flattened against its housing, and the sedan moved forward as fast as it’s fuel-efficient four cylinder allowed. The garage sat below ground, and we were met by a steep incline and five creatures, all having been called to the opening door as it opened.
    She swerved to the right, where resistance was slight, clipping an outstretched arm and shuffling hip in the process. The creature spun off the hood against the retaining wall as the small vehicle took the second pedestrian in the torso. It lay flat against the hood, torn, bloody, bearded face upturned in vacant malice, mouth moving silently and eyes locked on Kate’s face as the car crested the top of the incline, and she yanked the wheel to the right. Our hitchhiker slid off the left side of the hood, making a final grasp for the car but seizing only air as it was dashed to the macadam roadway.
    We were on a narrow driveway, most likely originally designed for horse-drawn buggies, and were passing by poorly kept hedges to our right. Zombies-I supposed I should come to grips with what we were dealing with here-wandered aimlessly through the open campus to the left. From the distance, the sporadic popping of what sounded like gunfire was a welcome signal that we were not alone. Twilight was rapidly passing to night, and Kate switched on the lights, only one of which was apparently still functional. The solitary path illuminated before us made the dwindling daylight around the car a miasma of shadows.
    Several times before we reached the main gate, which we luckily found open, the car was forced abruptly to one side or another by a creature in the road. The car performed like a champ,