HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (42 page)

Justin ran for his life.

The crazies were right behind him.

Dozens of them.

He couldn’t lose them.

He couldn’t hide from them.

All he could do was run, but with every step they closed the distance.

I need to get my hands free.

Justin could run fast. Very fast. And he had good endurance. But he couldn’t run properly with his hands tied behind his back. He needed to cut the cable binding his hands.

He’d spotted sharp objects on the floor, but he couldn’t slow down to grab them. If he stopped running for even a second the crazies would tackle him.

He looked ahead desperately. The corridor led to a four way intersection.

Which way? Where the hell am I going?

He reached the intersection and barely had enough time to read the sign:

Food Court

True Love Wedding Chapel

Persian Indulgence Spa

Casino

Justin ran through the intersection toward the food court.

He knew that place.

The other options sounded like death traps. The food court on this level had two long self-serve buffets surrounded by tables and chairs.

I can use the tables and chairs as obstacles to slow them down. Maybe I can lose them after all.

He reached the food court.

He charged through the entrance.

The food court was full of crazies.

They were tearing the place apart, smashing the furniture and covering the floor in food.

They’re everywhere. I have to get out of here!

Across the food court he spotted the exit.

Between himself and the exit were about thirty enraged passengers. They all spun to lock their hateful glare on Justin.

He couldn’t get around them.

He couldn’t go back.

Oh, hell, no,
thought Justin in despair.
I’m trapped!

Ben strained at the cables binding his wrists to the chair.

It was no use.

He couldn’t break them.

He twisted to check the gunmen.

Two stood studying the surveillance monitors, speaking rapidly into their radios. The helicopter pilot stood behind them, watching the screens.

It sounded like Christov wasn’t having as easy a time with the Marines as he’d anticipated.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Ben twisted as far as he could when someone began banging on the bridge door.

The person outside began shrieking.

‘Let me in. Hurry. Let me in. They’re right behind me!’

It’s one of Christov’s men
, realized Ben.

‘Open the door,’ ordered the pilot.

‘Don’t open that door,’ warned Ben. ‘If you open it, we’re all dead.’

The gunmen hesitated.

The yelling and banging on the door became frantic.

‘Christov needs his path to the helicopter kept clear,’ said the pilot. ‘Get out of the way.’

The pilot wrenched open the door.

The man banging on the door stumbled inside. He looked like all the devils from hell pursued him.

‘Shut it!’ he shrieked. ‘They’re right behind me!’

The man held a flamethrower, but still seemed terrified.

The pilot glanced back through the door.

His eyes opened wide.

He threw his full weight against the door.

It wasn’t enough.

The crazies hit the door at full running speed. The impact knocked the pilot flying backward.

Insane passengers flooded onto the bridge.

Ben wrenched desperately at his restraints. He used every ounce of strength in his body.

I need to get free right now!

The restraints didn’t budge.

The two gunmen who had been monitoring the cameras opened fire. They sprayed bullets into the horde of sick people charging through the door.

Bodies crumpled under the withering gunfire, but bullets couldn’t stop a flood.

The crazies surged onto the bridge.

The terrified gunman dropped his flamethrower and ran for the helicopter.

He reached the ladder, but no further. A woman in a bloody tracksuit jumped and stabbed him in the back with a pair of scissors.

Ben watched the man fall, and then the woman begin thumping the scissors into him again and again.

The pilot tried to regain his feet, but never stood a chance. A man smashed a golf club into the back of the pilot’s head.

The two gunmen still standing kept firing, but Ben heard the desperation in their voices.

They couldn’t keep the crazies back.

The gunman closest to Ben went down with a long shard of broken glass jutting from his throat. As the dying man fell, he kept firing his gun. Bullets sprayed around the bridge. Several rounds slammed into Ben’s chair.

The bullets tore right through the chair and into Ben.

Pain flared in Ben’s side, his arm, and his wrist.

I’m shot. I’ve been shot!

He didn’t cry out. The chair still mostly concealed him from the crazies. He clamped his mouth shut, neither moving nor making a sound as the last gunman kept firing.

Ben heard him reach the doorway.

The corridor must be clear
, thought Ben.
He’s trying to get away.

He was.

Ben heard the firing stop as the gunman sprinted from the bridge.

The crazies pursued him, leaving Ben sitting alone in the bridge surrounded by dead bodies.

Now Ben dared to move.

He checked his bullet wounds.

I wasn’t shot three times. I was shot once.

The bullet’s trajectory had torn flesh from his ribs, his bicep and his wrist. None of the wounds looked life-threatening if he could treat them.

But how can I do that when I’m stuck in this chair!

Ben stared at the blood welling from his wrist. He could barely believe his eyes.

Look what it did!

The bullet hadn’t just torn his flesh. It had nearly severed the cable binding his right arm.

Ben bit back against the pain and twisted his wrist.

Snap!

The binding broke free.

He looked around desperately for something to cut the other cable.

Not far away he spotted the scissors sticking straight up from the pilot’s back.

Myers and Craigson crouched behind the large bins and studied the crazies in the bowling alley.

Myers pushed away the horrible memory of the clown.

Craigson probably felt the same way about the monkey.

‘How’s your face?’ Myers asked over his shoulder.

‘Feels like a monkey tried to tear it off,’ replied Craigson.

Myers knew that Craigson had saved them both. He’d done his best to dress Craigson’s wounds, but they were in awkward spots.

‘Where did you learn to throw a javelin like that?’ he asked.

‘I’ve never thrown one before,’ replied Craigson.

Myers turned around. ‘But you speared him right through the head.’

‘Beginners luck,’ admitted Craigson. ‘You ready?’

Myers looked back at the bowling alley. Crazies filled the place.

‘What are they all doing in there?’

‘Searching,’ answered Craigson. ‘They’re forming groups and searching everywhere.’

Myers had a terrible thought. ‘Justin wouldn’t hide in the bowling alley, would he?’

Craigson shook his head. ‘No. He’s searching for his mother. He’ll keep moving. We can’t stop either. You ready?’

Myers detected something odd.

‘Wait, can you smell that?’

‘It’s these bins,’ said Craigson.

‘Not that smell. I can smell something else.’

Craigson inhaled. ‘Perfume?’

Myers nodded. He recalled the broken perfume bottles in the duty free shop. That was the smell. Like someone who had rolled around in all that perfume.

Off to Myers’ right, a small arcade completely dedicated to table tennis had been torn apart by the crazies.

Even the lights were smashed.

Craigson squinted into the darkness. ‘I see movement. Three of them.’

‘That’s not three,’ said Myers, recognizing the silhouette. ‘That’s just one.’

The gigantic woman who had attacked the Marines in the Duty Free Shop reeked of perfume.

‘It’s Big Momma.’

The mountain of a woman came charging from the darkness. She lowered her head and charged like a bull wearing a floral dress.

Both Marines dove aside, barely avoiding her rushing bulk.

Big Momma
crashed
into the bins.

If the bins were bolted down, they weren’t bolted down well enough. The two bins she hit crashed sideways and sprayed out trash.

Big Momma’s momentum carried her flailing over the bins and rolling through the trash.

The sound of the crashing bins echoed through the entire Sports Zone.

‘Holy shit,’ yelled Craigson, pointing at the bowling alley. ‘Here they come!’

Crazies surged from the bowling alley like ants from a disturbed nest. Big Momma climbed to her feet.

‘Run!’ hollered Myers, taking off across the arcade. The crazies veered to intercept the Marines.

Myers looked forward. They hadn’t searched the entire Sports Zone yet. He had no idea what they were running into.

It was a dead end.

The arcade ended at a large indoor basketball court.

‘This way!’ yelled Craigson, peeling off to the left.

Myers followed.

He saw Craigson’s plan.

An indoor rock-climbing wall led to the deck above through a large hole in the ceiling. Ropes and harnesses lay ready to be used, but the Marines sprinted right past them.

‘Climb as fast as you can!’ Craigson yelled.

The Marines hit the wall climbing.

The crazies hit the wall three seconds later. The pack slammed into the wall so hard that Myers felt the wall shake.

Hands reached up for them.

Fingers grazed their boots.

One woman jumped and grabbed Myers’ boot, but he kicked her hand away.

Below them, the crazies climbed on top of each other to reach the wall. They pulled each other down in their frenzy to reach the Marines.

‘Hurry!’ shouted Craigson.

Myers did. The woman had slowed him down. He climbed as fast as he dared. Below his feet he saw the crazies climbing.

Oh, my God. Look at them. They haven’t forgotten how to climb.

They were racing up the wall like spiders. With absolutely no fear of falling, they leaped from handhold to handhold with unbelievable speed and agility. Myers saw one slip and fall back down onto the crowd.