“How did you know that would work?” Carol huffed as they continued running through the next alley.
Broussard’s voice shook as he answered. “I didn’t. It was all I could think of to keep it from alerting the others.”
The pair slowed at the end of the next alley and Broussard peered around the corner, searching the street for monsters. “I don’t see anything.” Carol whispered.
Broussard pulled back into the shadows and shook his head. “I see movement in the darkness.” He pointed ahead of them and Carol squinted in the dwindling light.
“I don’t…” She froze as grey skinned bodies darted back and forth. “They look confused.”
Broussard pulled her deeper into the alley and watched as the creatures slowed, their attention turning to the opposite direction from the pair. “Surely the signal generator can’t be heard from here,” his voice was a soft whisper, “but they seem distracted by something.”
The pair watched as the creatures slowed their movements and all turned away, facing the direction that the military had moved on to. Slowly the small crowd began to shuffle up the street and turned, making their sluggish pilgrimage toward the frequency generator.
Broussard blew his breath out hard and fell back against the wall, his hands trembling. “That was perfect timing.”
Carol gripped his shoulder. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
Broussard shook his head. “No. We carry on.” He glanced back the way they had come. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”
“Andre, my fears are not worth risking our lives over.” She pulled him closer and tried to peer into his face. “It’s not like I have proof…it’s just a feeling.”
“Your reasoning was sufficient to convince me.” He stood straight and squared his shoulders. “I feel the risk is worth keeping you safe, chére.”
She opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t. She watched him step out of the dark alley and into the moonlit street. He waved her out to the street and he slowly approached the closest car. “And with them distracted by the generator, perhaps it is safe to look for transportation.”
Simon propped the rifle along the window sill to steady it then nearly pissed himself when the front tire of his truck popped and hissed at him, air escaping as the bullet ripped through the rubber.
“I ain’t changing that shit!” He leveled the rifle again and began taking pot-shots at the wall. “I’m gonna kill you all and take YOUR truck home!”
He emptied the magazine and turned to reach into the bag again then froze when his eyes met the red-eyed gaze of a tall male Rager standing at the rear of the truck.
“Fuck me…”
The creature screamed and leapt at him just as Simon dove through the rear door and into the floor of the truck. His hands scrambled for the duffle bag and he gripped a pistol just as the monster tugged at his pants leg. Simon spun, bringing the pistol up and squeezing the trigger as the grey skinned beast sunk its teeth into his wrist.
Simon howled, rapid firing the pistol until the infected man spun around, the bullets shredding the meat and bone of his shoulder. Simon pushed himself up with his good hand and emptied the magazine into the fallen attacker. “Fucking animal!”
He ejected the magazine then spied the blood running from his wrist. “Uh oh…”
Simon launched himself into the front seat and made a mad scramble for the bottles rattling around on the passenger side. He quickly unscrewed the cap of the first bottle he found and began to pour it liberally across the open bite wound. He hissed and sucked in air as the alcohol washed the exposed meat.
“Goddamsonofabitchin…FUCK!” He popped the bottle into his mouth and sucked the brown liquor out then quickly resumed pouring the antiseptic drink across his wrist.
His feet slid out from under him and he fell onto the dried grass beside the truck. The bottle was still clenched in his grip and he blew his breath out hard as he stared at the bleeding wound on his wrist. “I ain’t going out this way.” He shook his head and wrapped his lips around the bottle once more. He tilted it back and opened his throat, letting the fire water slide down into his gullet.
When the bottle was empty, Simon pulled himself to his feet and reached for the pistol. His eyes swam as he fumbled for a fresh magazine, and he had to try multiple times to slam the magazine into the grip. He grasped the slide and pulled it back, racking a round into the chamber.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his good hand to his temple. “Jeezus…my head.” He could feel his face flush and he prayed that it was the cheap liquor he had just dumped into his system. “Feels like a fucking hangover.”
The barrel slid from his sweaty temple and hung limply at his side. He reached across the seat again and grabbed a second bottle. His legs shook as he slid back to the ground, the pistol in one hand and a fresh bottle in the other. “I’ll fucking do myself, before I…” He blinked rapidly and forced himself to suck in air. “But not…if…” The words had trouble forming and Simon squeezed his eyes shut again as a searing spike of pain shot through his head. Both hands came up to his temples and he pressed the barrel of the pistol to one side and the liquor bottle to the other.
I ain’t going out like this. Not as one of them. He could form the thoughts, but it was like he had no control over his tongue.
Simon opened his mouth and tried to speak, just to hear his own voice again. He had to prove to himself that he’d caught it in time. That the alcohol had done what it was supposed
