Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (15 page)

The man kicked the door open. He lingered in the opening.
His labored breathing indicated that he wasn’t used to this level of physical
exertion. He grunted a few times, and then said, “Who’s down there?” The words
meant little to Kathy in her current state. The guy pulled out something shiny.
She wanted to reach for it, but restrained herself. His thumb moved along the
top, but nothing happened. He yelled something, and then he dropped the shiny
object to the ground. He took two steps forward, stopping before the first step.
He reached out to the side, where the light switch was. His thick fingers
flicked the switch up and down. Nothing happened.

Kathy remained crouched under the long bench that ran the
length of the garage. A canvas tarp shielded her body. She’d left a small gap
to see through. The ache in her hand and calf had gone. Neither wound seeped
crimson fluid now.

The man lumbered down the stairs. He let his rifle lead the
way. He turned and faced her direction.

“I know you’re in here. You don’t come out now, I’ll shoot
you when I find you. You want that?”

Want?

She knew want. That was what she felt when she thought about
attacking the man and sinking her teeth into his flesh.

He took a few more steps forward, poking and prodding at
things in front of him with the barrel of his rifle. His breathing was louder
now, and it rattled. Patiently, Kathy waited. His thick-soled boots thumped
against the floor in rhythm with her heartbeat. He extended the barrel of his
rifle toward her. She nodded her head an inch, allowing the tarp to close in
front of her eyes. The barrel caught the tarp and pulled and lifted. She held
it with her hand. The guy made a sound like a snort. He began poking, missing
her at first, but eventually hitting her shoulder.

She stifled a growl.

“What do we have here?” he said.

The sound of his breathing rose to an abnormal level. A wave
of odor enveloped her. His sweat mixed with earth. She lifted her head, parting
the tarp. She was face to face with the man. His eyes grew wide and his mouth
fell open. A hollow, wheezing sound came out of the hole in his face.

Kathy lunged forward. The tarp clung to her body. She
wrapped her left arm around the back of the guy’s head, grabbed hold of his
chin, and pulled hard to his left. His face jerked sideways, exposing his thick
neck. She slammed her head forward and dug her teeth into his flesh. Biting
down, she whipped her head side-to-side. The more she moved, the further her
bite sank. She pulled back. A wave of fluid spurted from the man’s neck and
washed over her face. His body convulsed and then went still. She continued to
tear at his flesh with her teeth, feeling stronger with every bite.

Though the man provided her with plenty to feast on, she
remembered that there were others with him. They’d invaded her space. It was
important to her to eliminate them as well, even if she didn’t know why.

Kathy rose. She stepped over the lifeless body on the floor
and headed toward the stairs.

Sean inched the barn door open and slipped outside. He used
his field glasses to survey the area leading up to the house. It was empty. He
looked at the rear windows. There was some sky reflection, but he could see a
few feet inside and did not notice anyone looking in his direction. He wouldn’t
be able to see the front unless he went further out into the field. He didn’t
want to do that, though, as it would expose him. He had to get to the house
quickly, then take his chances that he was a faster shot than any of the men.

He secured the M9 in its holster and grabbed the MP7. The
weapon felt natural in his hands. Aside from moving it around when he purchased
it, he hadn’t handled one since Nigeria.

After surveying the house for a couple minutes, Sean rose
and moved as quickly as he could across the barren stretch of field. The
prosthetic he wore was not suitable for sprinting. He could jog at a fast pace,
though, and it allowed him the ability to maneuver easily while walking.

As he approached the house, Sean scanned the area in
sections starting from his left. One of the kitchen windows darkened. One of
the men, he presumed.

Did they have their back to him, or were they facing him?

The rifle blast that shattered the window and sent a bullet
flying his way answered that question.

Sean dove forward, landing on his chest and knocking the
wind out of himself. Silence and darkness enveloped him. The pain in his chest
made it difficult to determine if he’d sustained any injuries. He managed to
get a breath into his lungs. Not much, but enough to start the process. He
forced his clenched eyelids open. Tall grass surrounded him. Sean rolled to his
left three times. The grass provided cover, but he knew the man who had shot at
him would have seen where he went down. Another shot rang out. It hit the dirt
a few feet away, sending a cloud of dust a foot into the air.

Sean brought his elbows in and propped himself up a couple
inches. His MP7 had shifted to the side. He brought it forward, ensured the
safety was off, and switched to three-round bursts. He figured he was thirty
yards or more from the house. In this situation, his M4 would have been a
better option. He’d left it inside. Sean refused to let a little detail like
that derail him. He could make the shot he needed from this distance.

Sean crawled forward. The edge of the patch of wild grasses
approached. Once there, he parted it to the side, brought the MP7 close to his
face and aimed through the stock open sights. He had both telescopic and laser
sights inside the bunker, but had not fixed either to the weapon. Another
detail he couldn’t let get in his way.

He scanned left-to-right and back again. On the second pass,
he saw a rifle barrel sticking through a hole in the kitchen window. Target
acquired. Sean took a deep breath, took out the slack in the trigger, and
prepared to take his shot.

The last sliver of Kathy’s humanity realized that the area
between the garage and kitchen used to be much brighter. She glanced up. A
diffused glow hovered around the light. As she lowered her gaze, things
returned to the intense black and white she’d experienced in the garage after
killing the heavy man.

The satiated feeling had not lasted long. She was prepared
to attack again.

Was that because her hunger would forever be insatiable, or
was it because she knew there was more available?

The noise that drew her out of the garage erupted again. She
knew the sound, having heard it several times over the years. Still, it made
little sense to her.

Kathy reached out for the corner of the wall. Her fingertips
brushed against the side of the stainless steel refrigerator. It felt dull and
cool. She pressed her shoulder to the wall and inched forward.

Three quick, quieter shots rang out, followed by another
loud one.

She leaned forward, letting her head ease past the invisible
barrier between the kitchen and hallway. A man, much skinnier than the one in
the garage, stood with his back to her. He had on a blue and black checkered
flannel. The way it hung at his sides, she figured it was unbuttoned. He held a
rifle in his hands. The barrel protruded through the window.

My window.

The thought flitted away as quickly as it had appeared.

Though she dragged her wounded leg, she moved effortlessly
through the kitchen toward the man. He didn’t seem to notice her. Whatever he
shot at held his full attention. She stopped a foot away from the guy. His
scent was not as strong as the other. That didn’t matter to Kathy. She wanted
to kill even more than she wanted to eat at that moment.

The man turned his head to the side and let out a thick,
phlegmy cough. Kathy leaned to her right, attempting to stay out of his
peripheral vision. Again, he did not take note of her. His right arm came up,
elbow out. The barrel of his rifle rose. The guy cleared his throat.

“Time to die, asshole,” the guy in the flannel said.

Kathy reached up and wrapped her hand around his right
bicep.

“What the hell?” the guy said, looking over his shoulder. He
jerked back. The rifle rose and shattered three more panes of glass.

She whipped her left hand around his neck and pulled back
with both arms.

The guy screamed and discharged his weapon.

Sean ducked when he heard the shot. His mind registered that
the weapon had been pointed at the sky.

A scream sounded like it came from within the house.

“Kathy,” he said.

Sean rushed to his feet and began jogging toward his home.
He glanced to the left and right of the house, at each window and over his
shoulder, ensuring no one followed him.

A man called for help.

Sean extended his MP7 away from his chest. He had fired one
shot, using three rounds. That left him with twenty-seven more bullets, or nine
three-round bursts. He made a line for the back door, disregarding any sense of
caution. He climbed the four steps to the back deck, and then threw his
shoulder into the wall next to the door. Turning the handle, he found it
locked. He peered through the paned glass and saw no one. Using one of his M9
pistols, he broke the pane nearest the handle, reached through, and unlocked
the door.

A man pleaded from further within the house.

Sean lunged through the doorway. What he saw in the middle
of the kitchen made him stop in his tracks. He’d seen plenty during his time as
an Air Force PJ. There wasn’t a battle wound he hadn’t dealt with. But the
sight of the man on the floor, his unbuttoned blue and black checkered flannel
scrunched up under his shoulder blades, his head hanging on by a flap of skin,
torso ripped open, guts spilled out to the side, almost made him vomit.

It wasn’t that the wounds were gruesome.

He knew who did it. And he didn’t want to face that.

“Get off of him,” a man wearing a white t-shirt with cutoff
sleeves said.

Kathy lifted her head to see who spoke to her. Warm blood
coated her cheeks, chin and jaw. She felt the fluid dripping down her neck,
across her chest, and down her stomach as she rose.

“Jesus Christ.” The guy tried to run backward. He tripped
over his own feet and fell backward to the floor.

Kathy started toward him. Now satiated, ending the guy’s
life was her sole intention. The sight of his mouth opening and closing, like a
fish out of water, as he pleaded for his life made her angrier.

The guy used his elbows and heels to scoot backward. His
shirt caught on something and tore on the side. Kathy didn’t rush. She matched
his pace. Sooner or later, he’d run out of room. She no longer thought
rationally about what she was doing. The fact that there was at least one more
man somewhere in her home or on her property escaped her now.

The man rolled over when he reached the stairs. Puffy black
hair lined the back of his arms. He got to his hands and knees. He started to
ascend the staircase, climbing up like a young toddler. Kathy stepped up with
her left, then dragged her right foot up. She repeated the process,
step-by-step. The guy managed to distance himself from her. At the top of the
stairs, he stood. She saw him from the waist up. His shirt had some blood on
it. She continued to climb as he looked around. He ran toward the rear wall,
then returned with the computer printer. The cord dangled as he hoisted the machine
over his head. With a yell, he tossed it in her direction. It headed straight
for her. She gripped the banister with one hand and held the other in front of
her face. Though she leaned back, the printer connected with her forearm,
breaking her ulna. She yelled out in pain.

The guy turned and ran to the rear of the room again.

Kathy picked up her pace, disregarding the dull ache in her
arm. She reached the top of the stairs and came face to face with the guy.
Sweat poured down his face. The collar area of his white t-shirt was soaked in
sweat. He brandished a fire poker at her. She groaned. He swung it side to side
in front of her. She didn’t react. He’d strike soon enough. It played out in
pictures in her mind. She saw the attack, and saw her defense.

Soon she would have her opportunity to take advantage of the
situation.

“Come on, bitch,” the guy in the sweat and blood soaked
t-shirt yelled. “Attack me now, you freak.”

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

The guy drew his right leg back and lifted the fire poker up
and over his head. His body twisted away from her. He let out a yell. The
weapon started on a trajectory over his shoulder and toward her. She flung her
broken right arm up in an effort to intercept the blow. The metal rod came down
hard on her arm. A loud snap indicated that the second bone in her forearm had
snapped. She felt a sharp pain, which instantly dulled. Her eyes went to the
spot of the wound. The skin on her forearm had ruptured. Four ragged ends of
bone stuck out. Blood squirted straight up in the air.

The man drew in a quick, shallow breath.

She shifted her gaze toward him. He focused on the gruesome
sight of her arm. Again, the corners of her mouth twitched.

She lunged forward as she drove her left arm up toward his
neck. Her fingers found his Adam’s apple and squeezed as she pushed him toward
the rear wall. Her grip tightened. She felt his neck crush in her hand. His
yells, once audible, were nothing more than a whisper now. She leaned in and
tore at his cheek with her mouth. The flesh ripped away from his face like
gristle on a steak. His feeble attempts to swat her with the fire poker were
brushed off. She leaned back and drove her knee into his stomach.

He went limp.

She leaned in, pinning him with her upper torso. She grabbed
his right arm and yanked, separating his elbow and shoulder. She grabbed his
hair and pulled his head back. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was in her
grasp and there was nothing he could do about it. Kathy lunged forward and sunk
her teeth into his neck, biting and pulling until she tore through his jugular.
Warm blood pulsated across her face and hair. The guy dropped to the floor.

Kathy stood over him, panting, ready to find the fourth man.

Only he found her first.

A blast rang out, coinciding with a burning in her upper
torso. She flew five feet to the side, smashing into the wall. Somehow she
managed to hold herself up until he fired again. This time she fell. She
supported upper body with the wall. She looked down and saw that the last shot
had blown her leg off at the knee.

How fitting
, human Kathy interjected.

She struggled to pull herself toward the guy in the blue
shirt.

“Not another inch.” The man fired once again.