Survival (2 page)

What would his next move be? His truck was out of commission. He could return to it and survey the contents, but he was certain the men had taken everything.

For all intents and purposes, he was back to square one.

The pickup had contained all his belongings: his weapons, his clothing, and his uncontaminated food. Without it, he’d been robbed not only of a means of transportation, but a way to survive.

He needed a weapon.

He scanned the forest as he crawled, looking for a loose branch or stick. Anything would be better than his bare hands.

After a few more feet, he encountered a fallen tree. The trunk was rife with branches. He searched for a limb of suitable size—something he could carry—and wrestled it from the bark. The branch broke with a
snap
. The stick was about three feet long and several inches wide, sporting a jagged end from where he’d ripped it free.

It was a far cry from the weapons he’d had in the truck, but it’d have to do.

It’d been several minutes since he’d last heard the men. He stopped to catch his breath, resting against the thick trunk of a tree. He was exhausted. It felt like he’d been running forever, though he knew it’d probably been only a few minutes.

After a while, the sound of his ragged breathing was drowned out by the sounds of nature. He could hear birds cawing, insects chirping, and the faint rustle of the wind. Out of nowhere, he imagined his body decomposing in the forest, and he felt a shudder run the length of his body.

If he died, how would his family ever find out what had happened to him?

The thought filled him with a tremor of emotion. At this point, Portland seemed farther away than ever.

The past few days had been something out of a nightmare, one he’d hardly had a chance to process. Earlier in the week, he’d rented a van with his best friend, making his way from Albuquerque to Las Vegas. They’d made it two hundred miles before the infection hit.

And now Kendall was dead. Killed by his hands.

Noah tried to force the thought from his mind, but it’d already taken hold. He could still see his best friend’s expression as he’d stabbed the shiv into Kendall’s neck; his mouth had been agape, his infected flesh spitting blood like a geyser—

Stop it.

Noah clenched his teeth, trying to rid his mind of the image. The only thing he needed to concern himself with was surviving and getting home. Everything else was just noise.

His brain had too much to bear.

He staggered to his feet. In the past few seconds, the woods had grown louder. It was as if the creatures of the forest had picked up on the silence, intent on filling the void. It took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the sound of nature he was hearing, but the sound of men.

His pursuers had found him.

Noah plunged through the forest, the crack of rifles echoing around him.

Bullets pinged off the trees; branches snapped beneath his feet. He could hear the men shouting as they ran, taunting him as they fired.

There were two voices. He wasn’t sure where the rest had gone, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

The stick was heavy in his hands. If it weren’t his only weapon, Noah might’ve dropped it. He did his best to gain ground, knowing he was hopelessly outmatched and out of strength.

His options were few.

Though the forest was thick, he couldn’t see a place that would provide permanent cover. The men had him in their sights. If he were to duck behind a tree, surely they’d find him.

A gunshot connected with a nearby oak. One of the men laughed. Were they missing him on purpose? Were they delaying the inevitable? His brain couldn’t process the reason behind their violence. It made no sense. He’d never met these men before; he’d never wronged them. And yet here they were trying to end his life.

It was as if everything had gone out the window when the infection had taken over.

He could only guess that the men had been waiting for an event such as this one, ready to capitalize on the chaos and insanity. In just a few short days, Noah had seen a host of unspeakable acts.

Even now, the images of what he’d seen still haunted him. Worst of all were the things he’d done himself.

Noah had almost given up hope when he spotted a cluster of sticks and limbs stacked against a tree. It looked like something an animal had built. The foliage was thick and brown, obscuring his view of the inside.

Regardless of its origins, it might provide cover. Desperate, he fell to his knees and crawled inside.

The men were several hundred feet behind him. He scooted into hiding, hoping they hadn’t seen him. A minute later, the footsteps ceased.

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t see him.”

“Split up. We’ll find him.”

Noah held his breath, peering out between the sticks. He could see the figures of the two men in the distance. One skirted behind a cluster of trees and out of sight. The other headed toward him.

Noah gripped the tree branch in his hands, sweat dripping from his brow. The adrenaline of the chase had prevented him from getting a good look at his attackers. Now he found himself wishing he could look away.

The man coming in his direction was wearing a button-up flannel shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. His shaggy hair stuck out in clumps, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. His jaw was set, his teeth clenched together. His rifle swayed from left to right as he scanned the forest.

Noah remained still. Because of the limited space, he’d been forced into a crouch; branches jutted just above his head. He glanced behind him. There was an opening on the other side of the shelter. At any moment, the man would spot him and he’d be forced to run through it.

Noah’s purple polo shirt might as well be a homing beacon in the forest. Once he was out in the open, there’d be no disguising his presence.

The man was fifty feet away and closing. Forty. Noah inched backward on hands and knees, ready to run.

He scoured the forest, searching for the second man, but he was nowhere in sight.

The homemade shelter butted against a thick oak. Noah crept backward through the opening, slipping behind the nearby trunk. His pursuer stopped a few feet away. His gaze settled on Noah’s former hiding place.

Had Noah been found?

For a second, Noah was convinced the man could see him, that he was waiting him out. Each passing second was part of the man’s sick game, a quest to prolong the kill.

But Noah couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t give up on his family.

Not now. Not ever.

Noah leapt out from behind the oak. The man stepped back in surprise, his mouth hanging open. Before the man could react, Noah gored him in the neck with his stick. He twisted the jagged branch into the man’s throat, embedding it deeper into his flesh. The man clutched his neck in agony, blood spurting from the newly opened wound. His rifle clattered to the ground. Noah let go of the branch and stepped back.

His eyes grew wide as he surveyed what he had done. But there was no time to second-guess his actions.

He scooped up the weapon, spinning to face the forest. The second man was already in view, closing ground.

“You son of a bitch!” the man yelled.

Noah fired the rifle through the trees, but his shot went wide. He had no idea how many bullets were left. He barely knew how to aim.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” he screamed.

He fired again, watching the man take cover behind a nearby tree. The man he’d stabbed gurgled and writhed on the ground. Noah kept his gun trained on the forest in front of him, slowly backing away from the scene.

His entire body was shaking; the rifle felt like lead in his hands.

There was a large tree to his right. He moved toward it, watching for signs of the second attacker. He’d almost made it when the man appeared. Noah fired again. The weapon bucked in his hands; this time, the man screamed.

Had he hit him? Was it over? Noah wasn’t waiting to find out.

Trembling, he fled through the forest.

T
ommy advanced through the diner.

Caddy stumbled over a spilled ketchup bottle, dropping her bag of provisions. Apples and oranges and cans rolled across the tile. She cried out as her hip banged against one of the stools, and she struggled to maintain her balance.

Dammit.

It was too late. The food she’d scavenged was gone. Caddy skirted toward the end of the counter, dodging a host of debris. She’d almost made it when a hand latched onto the back of her shirt.

She ripped free and swung around to face her attacker.

Tommy was almost on top of her. His eyes—formerly deep and blue—were now an inky shade of black. It’d been years since she’d spoken to him, but she’d seen him working at his father’s hardware store. She tried to remember the last conversation they’d had, but drew a blank.

Did it even matter anymore?

Caddy withdrew her knife. Tommy pawed the air, testing the waters. Caddy inched backward, trying to gauge the distance behind her. If she made a break for the counter, he’d catch her.

She couldn’t risk it. She had to stand and fight.

She studied the man—
creature
—in front of her. Tommy was over six feet tall and weighed about two hundred pounds. There was no way she could knock him off-balance. She could come at him with the knife, but if she missed…

The creature swung.

His arm came within inches of her, and Caddy barely ducked the blow. She stumbled backward, fumbling with the tops of the barstools. Tommy was off-balance.
Go. Go.

Caddy fled deeper into the diner. Glass and food crunched under her shoes. She leapt over a carcass on the floor. In no time she’d maneuvered around the counter, heading for the open door that led to the back room.

The place where she’d left her boss’s body.

But there was no time to think about that now. Caddy could only run. Run and hide and try to stay alive.

She whipped through the doorway, Tommy right behind her, and tried to slam it shut. The wood crashed into his bulky frame, splintering and cracking under his weight.

So much for keeping him out
.

The back room was a mess of shelves and condiments, most of which she’d knocked over during her last shift. Underneath one of them was the body of Darlene Tanner, the head waitress. The woman’s body had started to decompose, filling the air with the fetid odor of her flesh. Caddy’s eyes watered at the sight and smell.

The rear door was twenty feet away. To Caddy’s dismay, it was closed.

Even if she were to make a break for it, she’d have to contend with shelves and debris. There was no time. She pedaled backward, watching her attacker.

Tommy sprang. This time, there was no dodging him.

The young man crashed into her, taking her to the floor. His breath hit her like a tidal wave—a mix of salt and sand and sewage. His teeth clicked and clacked, his hands burrowed into her clothing. She clung to her knife, fighting for leverage, using both hands and feet to ward him off.

She’d been in a similar position with him in high school—on the night they’d shared conversation and a kiss—but back then, the situation had been different. At the time she’d been enamored with the high school track star. He’d been a senior and she’d been a junior; he’d been popular, while she’d barely been noticed. They’d been flirting for weeks in class, and after several awkward conversations, he’d invited her to watch his practice.

They’d been sitting on the bleachers at Chester High when it happened. Caddy had spent the last few hours cheering from the sidelines while Tommy had stolen glances at her from the field. By the time they’d sat together on the stands, shortly after everyone else had gone home, there was no doubt in her mind that he was going to kiss her.

The attention had made her feel special and wanted, the opposite of the way she’d felt for most of her life.

The opposite of the way she felt now.

Tommy’s body stank of garbage, and his weight was like an anvil threatening to crush her. Caddy bucked and writhed, doing everything in her power to break free.

“Get off me!” she shouted.

If Tommy understood her, he made no effort to comply.

With both of her arms pinned, she was helpless. Tommy leaned closer, mouth inches from her face, preparing to bite.

Come on, Caddy!

She pushed with all her strength.

Mercifully, her right arm—the one that held the knife—slid free, and she reared back and jabbed it into Tommy’s ribcage. The creature wheezed and thrashed on top of her.

Caddy continued to stab him. Once. Twice. Three times. With each blow, his grip weakened. Finally, she slid out from beneath him.

Tommy remained on the ground, fluid leaking from his wounds, but he showed no signs of pain. After a few seconds, he clambered to his knees, hissing and spitting, repositioning for attack.

Caddy couldn’t allow that. With a feral cry—one she hardly recognized as her own—she leapt up and plunged the blade into the top of his skull.

Tommy Prentiss faltered, then sank to the floor.

He hadn’t been that great a kisser, anyway.

N
oah ran through the forest for what felt like miles. The punishing rays of the sun made him feel light-headed; his legs felt like dumbbells. His throat was parched and sore. He needed water. He needed rest. But he couldn’t allow himself to stop.

Not until he was certain he was safe.

The forest was a multitude of hiding places, and any one of them could be fortressing the men. He hadn’t heard them for miles, but he wasn’t convinced he was in the clear.

He’d killed two of them. That meant others would be coming.

He was sure of it.

Tears streaked his face as he relived what had just occurred. The memory of the man’s impaled neck was imprinted on his brain. He’d already added it to his collection of memories: an image of bloodshed and savagery stockpiled for eternal playback.

The images shuffled like flashcards.

Overhead, the caw of a bird startled him, and he aimed the rifle at the sky.
Calm down, Noah.
It took several minutes for his heart rate to settle. He wiped a stream of sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath.