“What are you doing?” the man bellowed. “Run!”
Escape back to Mary’s house. Back through the rabbit hole and up into her safe place in the attic. All on her own.
He could follow but, being built akin to the proverbial brick shithouse, no way would he fit through the hole in the fence. His surviving this long told her he could obviously handle himself and deal with the infected on his own. He would be fine.
Ali ran like a rabbit, straight out the kitchen door and into the midday sun, her gun held before her in a grip that could choke.
It was safer alone. Alone was best. If her own neighbors had gone nuts then strangers certainly couldn’t be trusted. And this guy was the quintessential definition of strange. No need to feel guilt over leaving him. She didn’t even know him. So why were her feet faltering?
Why look back?
They were there, the infected, spilling around the sides of the house and into the suburban backyard, lurching forward in their f**ked-up fashion. Far too close for comfort and far too many to fight. She broke out in a cold sweat. The tattered, bloody remains of clothing hung from their putrid flesh, rank in the summer air. No humanity left, walking nightmares. Hungry, yawning mouths stretched wide.
The acid burn of bile hit the back of her throat.
Ali turned away, clutched her gun tighter, pushed her legs harder, feeling the fire in her calves. Through the long, green, overgrown grass, past the bright, plastic children’s swing set, and on toward the back fence she ran.
The stranger’s heavy footfalls were close behind her when the toe of her boot caught in the cracked concrete path. Her balance deserted her. She threw a hand out, ready for the fal , but he was there. Fingers hooked into the back of her jeans, righting her before she could greet the ground. He kept her upright and on her feet. He saved her life.
“Keep going.” Sweat had beaded on his brow, but the gun in his hand was steady.
Ali pushed herself forward.
So close.
Nearly there.
Shots rang out behind her, the noise startling against the chorus of moans and groans. She braved a quick glance over her shoulder and watched more and more infected stumble around the sides of the house, like a lunch bell had been rung. Or a shotgun discharged.
Which she had done, back in the kitchen. Shit. Damn.
They might not enjoy sunlight but it wouldn’t stop them if a meal was at hand.
Ali dived for the break in the shoulder-high fence and scrambled through on hands and knees, pushing the shotgun ahead of her.
She ran into something that stabbed through her denim, slicing into her skin. A sharp stab of pain shot up her leg and made her gasp.
She ignored the pain and tugged herself free.
The escape hatch was three wooden palings with their bottom halves missing. She had to wriggle and wrench to get her h*ps and butt through, but it beat the exposure of the open streets. Eight weeks worth of dwindling rations and sitting up in the attic, sweating it out, had whittled her away, but it was stil a tight fit.
Behind her the big guy swore as her rear cleared the rabbit hole and sweet liberty beckoned. His pack flew through after her, knocking into her heel. She stumbled back up onto her feet, ready to be gone.
The fence groaned and shifted behind her, protesting the weight as his hands gripped the top, boots scrabbling for purchase as he heaved himself up and over.
Shit.
Before his feet could hit the ground, she was off and running. On through Mary’s prized rose garden, straight over the top of the spot where she had buried the old lady. Her stomach tumbled and turned.
The key was on its piece of string around her neck and she tugged it up and over, wincing when she nearly took off an ear in her haste.
He had to be close behind her, but there was nothing he could do once she was inside. Mary’s house was Fort f**king Knox, bars on every window, deadlocks on every door. Not that it had helped. Back before anyone knew what was happening, Mary had taken a bite to the wrist. Apparently, the plague had been cooked up in a lab somewhere in Asia. No one would admit to exactly where. How it escaped had become another mystery, but it went global in days.
Nothing to be done. Not for Mary or anyone else. It couldn’t be murder if the person was already dead. And infected was dead.
Everyone knew it. Everyone who was left.
Luck was with her and the key slid in, the door clicked open. Everything unfolded as it should. She sobbed with relief. Get inside, and get safe.
The stale, oven-like air of the house greeted her with al the promise of home. She slid the gun onto the kitchen bench, gave both hands over to clenching the door handle and throwing herself against the solid old wood in a whole body effort to slam it shut. Lock the whole f**king mess out. Get back up into the attic. Pull up the ladder. Screw the light of day. She would stay up there til hunger or thirst drove her out, and that was a promise. You could go a long time on a box of cereal and a couple of bottles of water.
This was her home now. Her haven.
“NO!” the big guy roared on the other side. Then his hands were there, fingers jammed in, prying the door open and forcing his way inside. Too strong. She couldn’t stop him. But she wasn’t done yet.
Ali bolted for the ladder, panic pushing at her heels and sweat stinging her eyes. The door slammed shut behind her. The deadbolt was thrown.
A fresh cramp bit into her side, but no way would it stop her. Not a chance.
One hand hit the cool rough surface of a metal rung. Safety was so close she could taste it, sitting on the tip of her tongue like a tease.
Her feet couldn’t work fast enough. Her damp hands slipped, but above, the comforting dark of the manhole beckoned. The superheated air from the midday sun wafted down, furnace-hot and so welcome.
“No you don’t.”
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled, prying her free of the ladder with disgusting ease. She shrieked every insult known to woman and man, fighting him off with al she had. “You f**ker! You motherfucking cock-sucking ass**le. Get your f**king hands off me! Get off me!”
She kicked, punched and flailed. His hard chest stopped her fist short, jarring her wrist. Pain shot up her blood-smeared leg as she kicked. She wasn’t getting anywhere but she wasn’t giving up, either. Whatever the f**k he wanted, he couldn’t have it. She’d fight till her last breath. The big bastard took her down with ease, pinning her to the floor. Not crushing her, but giving no leeway.
Hot tears of frustration scalded her cheeks as she screamed words of abuse at her captor. They were a torrent, jumbled and nonsensical. She screamed till she choked. Then her cries morphed into gulping pleas for him to listen, to let her up and let her go. To leave her alone. Why the hell wouldn’t he listen to her anyway? What the f**k was wrong with him?