Orbital Decay by A. G. Claymore Read Free Book Online Page B

way to load the second.
    Ben thought it looked ugly as hell, but it carried more loaded ammunition than he used to carry in webbing pouches and he had another two hundred eighty rounds ready to go, strapped into the load-bearing vest that Abe had given him.
    He was starting to like Abe.
    “Patrol to port,” the pilot advised.
    Not knowing which was which, Ben swiveled his head. “Just say left next time,” he growled as they doubled their efforts. They reached the three-hundred-foot-long tunnel under the I-294 and relaxed, drifting for almost half the distance before hearing the gravelly buzz of military tires through the concrete above.
    “Sure doesn’t sound like they’re slowing down,” Abe mused, looking up at the heavy arches. “We’re probably in the clear for now.”
    Ben squinted, staring past Abe at the far end of the passage. A lone figure stood there. Not moving – just standing. “Someone’s up there, Abe.” He felt a momentary flash of fear. Had the Army posted a man here to prevent escape? He had been counting on them to concentrate on vehicle traffic but it seemed they had anticipated his scheme. He took another quick look at the G-19 in front of him. Could he shoot an uninfected man if it meant saving his family?
    “Plague monkey,” Abe said quietly, his pilot’s eyes sharper than Ben’s.
    As they drew closer, the form began to shuffle down the bank and into the water. It was on an intercept course.
    “Lordy,” Abe muttered. “I think rot monkey might be a better name for them.” The figure was only twenty feet away by now, and his face was hanging from his skull as though made of filthy, melting wax.
    Abe was drawing back his paddle as they came even with the flailing form, but it went under just before he was about to swing. Bubbles marked where he stood. His fingers scratched along the bottom of the canoe as they passed.
    Abe looked back at Ben for a few seconds before shaking his head and settling back down to paddle. “I sure as hell hope that shot doesn’t go bad on me.”
    They passed out into the light and Abe stopped paddling again. “There’s a camp up there,” he said quietly.
    It felt wrong immediately. It was getting cold, but no smoke drifted up through the balding branches. He had seen the homeless campsite before, canoeing with Brendan and Lise.
    Maybe it was abandoned?
    A low growling drifted across the water, sounding like dogs fighting over meat. Both men watched silently as they ghosted past the tents and makeshift shelters, paddles forgotten. As they reached a large, open space in the center of the site, they could see five grisly forms on their hands and knees, tearing at a small body on the ground.
    “God!” Abe whispered. “I think they’re eating a dog’s corpse.”
    As if on cue, five pairs of rheumy eyes turned their way. The figures got up and started moving toward the creek.
    “Paddle,” Ben hissed, though the need to be quiet no longer existed. They both dug in and quickly left the disgusting scene behind as they shot past the rail bridge.
    “We’re heading for the left bank,” Ben wheezed as he turned the canoe. They pulled the small craft up on somebody’s back lawn and picked up their weapons.
    Ben led the way past a pool that had an expensive fence surrounding it. He shook his head. A fence to protect the owner from drowning liability.
    In a yard that backed on a fast-running creek.
    Somewhere nearby, a murder of crows fought over a choice find, croaks echoing loudly in the cold air.
    They passed between two houses and Ben stood in the wide, semi-circular driveway of the house that had the pool. “Pretty sure that’s the street I need.” He pointed to the small green and white marker at the intersection. They set off, turning left onto what proved to be the right street, looking around at the eerily quiet, seventies-era neighborhood of bungalows. Recycling and garbage bins sat open or lay on their sides amidst several days’