The Last Town (The Wayward Pines Trilogy 3) by Blake Crouch Read Free Book Online Page A

suddenly hot. His chest turned wet and warm. He could still breathe, and he felt no pain, but there was so much blood jetting out of his neck.
    Already he felt light-headed.
    Harold sank down in the freezing stream as the beast opened his stomach with a swipe.
    There was only a distant, blunted pain as the abby began to eat.
    All around him were the moans and cries of the dying, the scared.
    People still rushed past him in the dark, fighting to get to safety.
    He didn’t make a sound.
    Didn’t fight back.
    Paralyzed by shock, blood loss, trauma, fear.
    He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.
    The thing ate him with the intensity of a creature that hadn’t fed in days, its rear talons pinning him down by his legs, front talons nailing Harold’s arms to the concrete.
    And still no pain to speak of.
    He was one of the lucky ones, he figured.
    He’d be dead before the real pain hit.

ETHAN
    —Pure human suffering and terror.
    Chaos.
    Ethan shouted, “Don’t stop! Keep going!”
    Thinking, Had another group been run down in an adjacent tunnel?
    Unimaginable.
    To be overtaken down here.
    People climbing over one another to escape as the monsters reached them.
    Torches dropped.
    Extinguished in the stream.
    Devoured in the dark.
    Up ahead, the torchlight in Ethan’s group had disappeared.
    Ethan said, panting, “Where’d they go?”
    “I don’t know,” Hecter said. “The light just vanished.”
    The water under Ethan’s boots was rushing now and they were moving into a cold, steady breeze.
    They emerged from the tunnel onto a rocky streambed, and for a moment, the sound of the abbies was replaced by the roar of white water, close but invisible in the dark.
    Ethan stared up the hillside, saw the torches trailing up into a forest.
    He pointed them out to Hecter and Maggie, and said, “Follow the lights.”
    “You’re staying?” Hecter asked.
    “I’ll be along.”
    The shrieks of the abbies cut through the crush of the falls.
    “Go!” Ethan said.
    Hecter and Maggie headed off into the trees.
    Ethan racked a fresh shell into the tube and climbed several feet up the bank to a flat perch. His eyes were slowly adjusting. He could discern the silhouettes of trees and even the cascade in the distance, the black water starlit against the sky where it arced over a ledge several hundred feet above.
    Ethan’s quads burned from sprinting through the tunnel, and despite the cold, his undershirt was soaked with sweat.
    An abby exploded out of the tunnel and stopped in the streambed.
    Took in its new surroundings.
    Looked at Ethan.
    Here we go.
    Its head twitched to the side.
    When the slug hit the abby’s center mass, it fell back into the stream.
    Two more abbies ripped out of the tunnel.
    One rushed to its fallen comrade and let out a low, pulsing cry.
    The other made a beeline for Ethan, scrabbling up the rocky bank on all fours.
    Ethan racked a new shell, shot a slug through its teeth.
    When it fell, the other one was right behind it, and two more were already out of the tunnel.
    Ethan pumped and fired.
    The other two were coming and still more screams rising up behind them.
    He took the first one down with a gut shot but missed the head of its partner.
    Racked another shell.
    Fired at point-blank range and hit just below the neck.
    Blood sprayed in Ethan’s eyes.
    He wiped his face as another abby joined the party.
    Ethan pumped, aimed, squeezed the trigger.
    Click.
    Shit.
    The abby heard the noise.
    It lunged.
    Ethan threw down the empty shotgun, drew his Desert Eagle, and put a round through its heart.
    Gun smoke clouded the air, Ethan’s heart hammered away, and there were screams still coming up the tunnel.
    Go, go, go!
    He holstered the pistol, grabbed the shotgun, and climbed away from the stream, clawing his way through rocks and dirt until he reached the trees, sweat pouring into his eyes with a salty burn.
    There were lights in the distance.
    Screams behind him.
    He slung the shotgun over his