The Pandemic Sequence (Book 3): The Tilian Cure by Tom Calen Read Free Book Online

Their enemy still followed, detectable now only by the roar of their motor.
    Michelle tried to study the waters around them in hopes to see the tell-tale wake of the other boat. The engine was the only sound, yet it seemed to spread across the water and reach her from all sides. Silently calming herself, she stretched her fingers, knuckles cracking, before resuming her hold of the machine gun. She knew she had to be sure of her target when she fired, or she’d risk giving away their position. Perhaps realizing their error, the sound of the motor abruptly cut off and was replaced by a dreadful silence.
     

Chapter Four
    The morning slid by at a glacially slow pace as two men continued their trek across the barren landscape. Shortly before noon, Hicks had identified a distinct set of tracks that led beyond the camp’s secure perimeter. Derrick had enough experience to recognize the haphazard shuffling steps of an infected. For the most part the two had operated in silence, whether out of mutual indifference to each other or engrossment in their task, he could not tell. He welcomed the absence of conversation, having grown accustomed to the peace of solitude since the loss of his girlfriend, Jenni Caliente. It had been with great reluctance that he had surrendered to his curiosity and joined the Horde. Even then, he had cloistered himself almost to the point of recluse, avoiding as much interaction as possible as he studied the group.
    His memory of Hicks from their time in the mountain camp was of a man quite like himself. Isolated, distant, and haunted. Not much had changed with him, by Derrick’s estimation, as they crossed the wide flats of the terrain. Declaring a brief stop to eat and rest was the first time Hicks had spoken since they set out at dawn.
    Over a shared meal of nearly stale bread and smoked meat, he almost jumped when Hicks commented on his choice of weapons.
    “You a samurai now?” the former mercenary asked, nodding his head towards the thin katana sword strapped to Derrick’s back. He had found the blade among a collection of swords and knives, most of which were display models and not sharpened, inside of an abandoned home that had offered shelter from a late spring downpour. His fascination had immediately piqued when his eyes had fallen upon the sleek steel with its red-cord handle and Asian dragon etched into the metal above the guard. Unlike the majority of the weapons of the home’s collection, the edge on the katana was deadly sharp and had drawn blood when he had carelessly ran his finger along it. Though he doubted its practical purpose against the ferocity of the Tils, Derrick had taken the sword with him, and had since kept it near at hand. In the months in his possession, the katana had proved invaluable.
    “It’s good for close encounters,” he replied through a mouthful of bread. “Better to take one down with it quietly, than use a gun and draw more Tils.”
    Hicks only offered a shallow nod and brief smile. Unreadable as always, Derrick took the gesture as agreement, though it could easily have been mockery. “It helps to wear the helmet,” he added, to tamper the latter. Tapping the black dome at his feet, another acquisition from his travels, he found himself seeking the other man’s respect.
    “Blood spray,” Hicks said. Swallowing the last of his meal and taking a long drink of water from his canteen, he concluded the conversation simply. “Smart.”
    Derrick was surprised at how deeply the words affected him. From the moment of Jenni’s infection, he had felt the shift in perception from the others in the camp. He had been painfully aware how caring for her, the near constant attention she required, had forced him to abandon his role in the group. For months he had wilted beneath Mike Allard’s guilt-ridden and empathetic gaze. Blinded by his love for Jenni, consumed with rage for her condition, he had been unable to see past his own emotions and understand how much