Affliction Z (Book 3): Descended in Blood (15 page)

Sean reattached his prosthetic. The high-pitched squeal in his ears settled into a soft hum. Not a normal sound.

During the encounter, the messenger bag had fallen. He located it on the floor near the door, which stood partly open. Light glinted off the screen of the GPS. Had he not caught the flash, he would have left the device behind.

He stopped short of the opening. The afflicted he’d seen in the doorway had abandoned its position.

As Sean reached for the GPS, the sight of his blood soaked hands threw him into a panic. He pulled back and began searching for a wound. He checked his arms, legs and torso. Felt around his neck and head. There were no obvious wounds. Nothing that could have produced the volume of liquid on his hands and arms and coating his clothing.

Not mine.

The afflicted had produced the dark sludge.

He had the urge to strip off his clothing and burn it. Wouldn’t be a smart idea with a looming trip through the woods. Leaving the soiled garments on had its drawbacks as well. Could he spread the virus through their blood? He thought back to the information he’d learned from the scientist in the underground facility. It wasn’t possible then, as far as Sean recalled. But things could have changed. So it was in his best interests to find something new to wear.

He pictured the rooms in the clinic. Nowhere had he seen scrubs. But he hadn’t checked up front or behind the receptionist counter.

Sean secured the GPS in the messenger bag and turned toward the hallway. The buzzing in his ears increased.

He recalled something else from his time in Nigeria and more recently in the woods outside Phil’s camp. The afflicted emitted a hum, almost like an electrical buzz, when in the presence of other afflicted. He didn’t know why. Communication, excitement, energy colliding. Could be anything.

He knew the sound was not in his head. It swept in from outside. Sean leaned against the wall and peered down the alley toward the shopping center. The narrow lane looked deserted. An opportune time to run.

One minute, that’s all I need.

Glancing down at his stained clothing, Sean made up his mind. Check the front, then go.

He made his way down the hall past the rooms that housed expired and slain corpses. He resisted the urge to check the rooms a second time. He avoided forcing his way into the remaining locked room. Someone had secured it for a reason. He was content leaving it a mystery.

At the end of the hall he hesitated in front of the locked door that led to the waiting room. Sean had no way of knowing who or what was in there. He took a deep breath and held it, steadying his nerves and slowing his racing heart. The handle felt cold and damp against his sweaty palm.

He turned the lock, then cracked the door open. The flashlight covered most of the room. The chairs in the waiting area were tipped over and pushed against the outer wall. The blinds were drawn. A wave of hot air washed past. Sean nudged the door open and stepped in with both hands on his M4.

A four-foot high counter separated the waiting room from the receptionist desk. Sean leaned over and panned his light into a narrow storage area. The room was mostly barren, but in the back, on a wire shelf, he spotted plastic bags that contained pink and blue scrubs.

Sean slung the M4 around his back, then gripped the opposite side of the counter with both hands. He lifted his right leg up on the surface and pulled himself on top. And as he sat there, lifting his left leg and prosthetic up, he heard something bang against the door.

Sean froze for a second before lowering himself back into the waiting room. He placed the flashlight back on the M4 and aimed it at the door.

The banging persisted. It sounded as though multiple fists pounded against the door and surrounding wall. Wood rattled against the frame. Drywall cracked and splintered. He wasn't sure why they didn't just open it. Perhaps the afflicted mind lacked the coordination for simple object manipulation. But it was obvious the barrier between Sean and them wouldn't hold for long.

Sean turned and located the front entrance, along with any obstacles between him and it, committing them to memory in the event he had to spin around and fire. There was no doubt in his mind what was on the other side of that door. He considered sending several rounds through it. Wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it might prove harmful. His earlier shots had attracted this new wave of afflicted. They had followed the sound to the rear of the building. If he fired now, it might draw others to the front.

Leaving Sean trapped.

The banging raged on, rising in intensity. Sean cast glances over his shoulder to ensure they had not penetrated into the room.

He reached the opposite end of the waiting area where two wooden doors stood between him and outside. He grabbed the right handle and tugged and shoved but the door didn't move. If it was on some sort of electric or magnetic locking system it should open without resistance. He tried the other knob and met the same problem.

He heard a loud crack from behind. They would be through soon.

Sean took a few steps back and aimed his M4 and opened fire on the exit doors. He placed several rounds between the knobs and also near the top in case there was a latch there. Then he rushed forward and drove his shoulder into the center. The doors parted, creating a gap of around six inches. Light from outside flooded in. The area in front of the clinic looked empty. He glanced down and saw that someone had attempted to barricade the clinic with a filing cabinet.

It gave half a foot with one shove. Keep at it.

The majority of the cabinet blocked the left side. Sean turned his focus to the right. He backed up and flung himself forward several times. Each shoulder assault moved the cabinet and inch here, five inches there. Finally, the gap was wide enough that Sean could slip his body through.

He took the messenger bag off and tossed it over the makeshift barrier. Then he removed his M4 and set it on top of the cabinet. As he had at the receptionist counter, Sean reached across the top of the filing cabinet and pulled himself on top.

The door at the opposite end of the waiting room crashed open.

Four shadowy figures emerged through the doorway. They took several steps in, stopped with their heads back, noses in the air. Their arms were outstretched. Three more afflicted fought at the opening, each trying to get through while the other two pulled them back. And behind them there were more. A twisted mass of bloodthirsty beings with nothing more than Sean's demise on their minds.

He secured his M4 and let his right leg slip over the far edge of the filing cabinet. His prophetic banged against the steel.

The afflicted in the room moved in unison in response to the sound. First their heads shifted in his direction. Four sets of eyes took on an ominous glow. One yellow, another red, the others green.

How fast could they move? In Nigeria Sean had seen afflicted that moved faster than any man. They had operated without hesitation or remorse.

But these afflicted seem to regard Sean with a sense of curiosity. Was it because he hadn't run? Did his prosthetic give off some sort of vibe, some frequency that kept the afflicted at bay?

That made little sense. After all, he’d fought off one just a few minutes prior in the back of the clinic.

The three afflicted who had been fighting resolved their differences and entered the room. Now seven of them stood shoulder to shoulder as others filed in behind them.

They made no advance.

Yet.

Sean pulled his leg up, careful to keep the titanium from smacking the filing cabinet.

Two afflicted stepped forward. They stopped halfway. The others followed.

Sean lost count of how many there were. More than he could handle.

He whipped himself around and slid off the filing cabinet. The ground was soft and uneven. He stumbled forward into the glass door. Looking back, he saw he had landed on a body.

The barricade lurched toward him. The force caused the corpse on the floor to roll over. Sean stared down into the discolored face of a middle-aged woman. The cabinet moved again. Sean looked up into the faces of half a dozen afflicted. They jostled for position. Every time one reached across the top of the filing cabinet, two or three others pulled it back.

Sean glanced outside. Several other afflicted had gathered across the street. They’d responded to his shots, no doubt. They stood there as one, all looking up at the sky.

He moved until his back touched the glass, then exerted force against it. The door didn’t move.

“Christ,” he said.

An afflicted screamed in response. The others joined in, creating a shrill chorus.

The deafening noise turned Sean’s stomach, and he felt the sound as pain spread throughout his body. He lifted the M4 and fired two rounds. Two afflicted fell back. The others pulled the wounded away and shoved them to the ground and stepped up to take their place.

That’s a losing battle.

Sean turned toward the door. The afflicted across the street had taken notice of the latest shots. But their focus was directed elsewhere. The echoes ripped through the front and back of the building. In the rear, it bounced off the walls and down the alley. That was where the afflicted stared. In the direction of the shopping center.

The afflicted inside with him let out another joined shriek.

Sean fired at the top, middle, and bottom of the door. Glass splintered into a massive tangle of spiderwebs. He kicked with his prosthetic. Shards the size of pizza slices fell to the ground. Using his M4, Sean broke the remaining pieces near the top. Once the opening was wide enough to allow him through with minimal damage, he exited the clinic. Jagged fragments dug into his shoulders and upper arms. He powered through as fresh blood seeped from his wounds. He pulled his shirt over his head and cast it on the ground to prevent any afflicted blood from mixing with the cuts.

The supplies.

Sean looked back and saw the messenger bag on the floor, surrounded by glinting shards of crimson-coated glass. The bag contained the GPS, and all the medical supplies he needed to save Barbara.

An afflicted crawled over the top of the filing cabinet. It spilled over onto its head, flipping so that its torso landed on top of the bag.

Across the street, the first afflicted took notice of Sean. Several others were walking toward the alley that split the clinic and the shopping center, leaving only the road to his left open for escape.

But first he had to get the damn bag.

Chapter 16

The pickup trucks rumbled forward along the deserted asphalt. Large tires sounded as though they crunched the road beneath them. Skeletal remains of wrecked and abandoned vehicles appeared every so often, but for the most part, the back roads were empty.

The sun came and went behind the thickening clouds. Warm air fragranced with pine blew in through the opened windows.

Twice the convoy had gone off road where pileups blocked the way. Each time, they had sent a scout ahead to verify no one lay in wait, ready to ambush the group.

Three crew cab trucks carried eighteen men. Four seated inside each vehicle, and two in each truck bed, armed with assault rifles and enough ammunition to take on a militia. If someone or something tried to stop them, they’d be mowed down in a hail of lead.

Phil recalled the scene at the house on the hill. The names of the folks who had lived there escaped him now. They didn’t matter. Wasn’t their bodies strewn about the property. Murdered. Butchered. All while trying to investigate a potential threat to their camp.

The work of Sean Ryder, Phil had told Barton and the others. Without a doubt. And when he had produced the linked GPS unit and showed them Ryder’s location, each man nodded in turn and said something along the lines of how they would avenge their fallen brethren. There had been some debate over what to do with Ryder once they found him. Phil had stepped in at that point and assumed control. Ryder, Phil had assured them, was no ordinary survivalist. He had training and skills that would make it difficult to apprehend him. He might not go quietly. They had to be prepared to coerce him, or straight up execute him on sight.

Nothing would please Phil more than apprehending Ryder and feeding him to the afflicted.

Alive.

Like those he had sworn to protect at his camp.

Phil rode in the front passenger seat with Barton driving. Behind him sat Justin and Ralph. They had remained silent since crossing the border into North Carolina. Finally, Barton cleared his throat and spoke.

“How are we looking?”

Phil looked down at the GPS. The linked unit had been motionless every time he checked during the previous fifteen minutes. “Still at the south end of Chapel Hill. We’re close, maybe three miles away.”

A few weeks ago, that would have meant there were minutes left in the journey. Not anymore. They were transitioning from country to the suburbs. Cars lined the road shoulder in greater numbers. People fleeing attack, or out of gas. Or taking their last breaths as the sickness overcame them and pushed them into the next life. For some that meant death.

For the others, damnation.

Phil glanced out and saw a group of afflicted. His breath caught in his throat and he jutted his finger at the seven figures who stood in a ditch. Their expressions blank. Gazes turned toward the sky. Were they sleeping? Were their minds so far gone that without prey to hunt they just gazed upward, doing nothing?