Rabid by J.W. Bouchard Read Free Book Online Page A

understand an asteroid or another terrorist attack.  But this?  This isn’t your ordinary crisis.  This is a cluster fuck.  I keep thinking about Angie and Mom and Dad, but I’m trying to put it out of my mind for now.  It could drive you nuts thinking about it like that.”
    Taylor rubbed the palm of his hands along the legs of his jeans.  He could envision the scene outside the door; could see the car only a few feet away, the keys in hand, and thought about how close they had gotten. 
    Carl went on.  “Where’s the Army or the Air Force when you need them?  Some guys with a little bit of firepower could turn those things to mince meat in no time.”
    “Maybe they are, but I don’t think a backwoods place like this ranks very high on their list.  If it’s going on everywhere then the big cities are probably getting their attention first.  Get some sleep.  I’m not going to be able to keep my eyes open indefinitely.  At least do it for my sake.”
    Carl moved the machete from his lap and put it down on the floor next to him.  He lay down on the floor, bringing his knees up and using one of his arms as a pillow.  He pulled his cap down, staring at the illuminated swathe of linoleum at the front of the store.  He closed his eyes.  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, his voice a breathy whisper.  “It’s like falling asleep in the middle of a war.”
    Taylor struggled to keep his eyes open.  He took turns watching his brother and then Tina, and then turned his attention to the windows at the front of the store.  He rubbed his eyes.  He unfolded a corner of the canvas drop cloth and removed one of the water bottles.  Sprayed some water onto his hand and rubbed his eyes.  It helped.  Not much, but it was better than nothing. 
    Quietly, he stood and stretched.  He walked to the front of the store, coming close enough to the glass to be able to look up at the sky and see the moon and the stars.  Wispy clouds were scattered sparsely throughout the sky as if they had been added there as an afterthought. 
    The street outside was vacant.  If not for the incessant pounding, the place could have been a ghost down; each building a tombstone whose contents told the story of their owners.  So easy, he thought.  He wrapped his hand around the door handle.  The keys were in his other hand, and he considered how easy it would be to unlock the door and make a run for it.  In fact, he entertained the idea of doing just that.  Wake the others and they could make a break for it.  Forget the car.  They were bound to find another one sooner or later. 
    Taylor turned on his flashlight and started down one of the aisles, more thorough in his inspection of the store’s merchandise. 
    His mind wandered.  The pounding became nothing more than white noise, like the sound of a television or radio playing in the middle of the night.
    Don’t get too comfortable, he thought.  Shit starts to go bad the minute you forget it stinks.
    In stressful situations, the mind narrows and focuses in like the zoom feature on a camera.  The brain crops away superfluous information, zeroing in on a single situation at the expense of the surrounding environment.  Depending on various factors, this compressed view of things can be useful or detrimental.  An ability, when applied to an endgame scenario, can be the difference between death and survival.  Taylor figured the odds were around fifty-fifty.  Presently, he liked to think their chances were better than that.  Put the three of their heads together and find a solution to the problem.  That was a drastic simplification of a complex problem, but there was some relief when he contemplated it in those terms.  You had to be resourceful.   Maybe Carl hadn’t been too far off; maybe you had to be like MacGyver .
    He was standing three feet from the store windows, staring out at the town, when he heard footsteps behind him.
    “Couldn’t