“I didn’t w-want to leave…but Tariq, he ch-changed. He started g-going c-crazy and talking ab-about the d-dark. And the others started doing the s-same.”
I took a step back. Was this woman already infected?
Nick bent over, looked the woman in the eye. “Ma’am, don’t worry, okay? You’re safe here.”
“They’re c-crazy. They’re g-gonna kill us.”
“Guys…” Stone whispered.
My neck creaking, I faced him. George and Nick did the same. He was pointing at the monitors on the wall at our back. The cameras outside did not consistently pick up sound. The weather made sure of that. Fewer things were louder than the wind anyway, but we didn’t need speakers to hear what erupted through the cold.
It was gunshots.
I am no soldier. I could never be. The amount of discipline and mental fortitude required by America’s finest was beyond my capabilities, but the time spent out in the frozen wasteland had toughened me up. Not much, just enough to shake the fear I felt and kick my ass into gear.
I turned toward the monitor. The curtain of white made it difficult to see who had fired the shots. I had expected only one or two people—the stranger named Tariq that the woman had spoken of—but there were six more figures approaching through the whirling snow.
I sensed the presence of others too. Not the people, but the monsters. They followed tragedy and despair; they bred evil.
As I leaned forward, squinting to get a better look, another series of gunshots rippled through the air. I dropped with the others.
The barrage went on for a solid thirty seconds. Bullets thumped into wood and whined off metal, and nearby, the humming from the closest generators stopped.
Another thirty seconds later, the lights in our section of the City died.
“Everyone okay?” Nick asked.
“Define okay,” Stone answered.
George was fumbling with his walkie. He called the rest of the Scavs, told them to get ready to fight.
“Grady,” Nick said, “you, Stone, and the young lady get inside.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I had hoped my days of violence were long behind me. I was all for avoiding conflict. We might have had the home court advantage, but these people had the power of the darkness on their side, a power which seemed to grant immunity to the deadly effects of the current climate.
I led the way down the steps as the wind battered us from seemingly all directions. Even the places I’d suffered frostbite burned with pain. I ignored it as best I could.
Halfway down the steps, a gust rocked the entire tower. The metal support beams groaned like dying animals, louder than the blast of wind in our ears. Stone lost his balance and stumbled into the woman, who was between us. They both crashed into me. I gripped the railing with both hands, fighting against their weight. Splinters dug through my gloves and pricked my flesh—more pain to add to the list. Spinning around, I bent and helped them back to their feet.
Once I reached the snow, which wasn’t deep since the maintenance crew had plowed that evening, I helped him and the woman down the final few steps.
We rushed through the trenches and made it to the tunnels’ entrance. I pressed my keycard against the reader. The light glowed a violent, almost mocking red and stayed that way for nearly twenty seconds before it faded. That wasn’t good. It should’ve instantly turned to green if the backup generators hadn’t taken any damage yet.
Stone, leaning on a single crutch, unzipped his coat a few inches and plunged his hand beneath his many layers. Once his fingers closed around the lanyard his own keycard dangled from, he yanked it off his neck. The clasp broke in a spray of plastic. As he held it against the reader, a roar of guttural screaming cut through the wind. These were not the screams of people in pain; these were the screams of people who had lost their mind. Animalistic. Angry. Terrifying.
The woman nearly collapsed with fear. I had her upper arm, holding her up.
The front gates behind us creaked, and then began shaking. The glow from the lights didn’t stretch that far, but I could picture what was happening by the sounds alone. The infected had reached the entrance and were now slamming something against it. It sounded like two-by-fours, but I would later learn that wasn’t the case. They were using their heads, bashing them against the ice-crusted metal until blood poured from their noses and brows.
The keypad glowed red, and I tried the card again, praying it would work. Nothing happened.
We’d have to enter from a different point, but the nearest door was a quarter of a mile away. We’d never make it through the snow, especially with armed crazy people outside the gate. Still, we’d have to try—
Just as a burst of wind lit my skin with cold, the door burst open, and out came the other Scavs.
Zoe Quintrell led the charge, clutching an assault rifle to her chest. Beside her was Chad Oldman, a meathead in his mid-twenties; Aaron McKane, who was only nineteen and had once asked me how I managed to score a cutie like Eleanor upon our first meeting; and Stu Whitmore, a balding man of about fifty with wireframe glasses covering eyes that brimmed with intelligence. They, too, held rifles of some sort, scary-looking weapons you’d see in video games.
Stu was the only one to stop and help us into the sweet, sweet warmth of the tunnel. The others didn’t notice us; they kept their focus on the mission, but they were too late.
The front gates were breached. The strangers had already broken through. They rushed the watchtower, their guns spraying fire into the darkness, creating a strobe light effect, which got me thinking that an epileptic seizure was on the horizon for myself or someone else.
I froze at the threshold and listened to the screams and the shots. I had to fight. I had to fight, because this
