Broussard shook his head. “I’m not making myself clear, doctor. We have no idea how to even begin.” He glanced to Carol, who stiffened when an armed guard chambered his rifle.
He stepped forward, pleading. “You don’t understand; we are not—”
“No, Dr. Broussard,” Higgins stated coldly. “It’s you who doesn’t understand.” He motioned to the secondary acrylic cells. “These people are of the upmost importance. You may feel free to use the others for testing.” He chuckled as he stood and began to pace slowly. “That is, after all, the only reason they’ve been allowed to continue breathing. But the vice and his people? They are the goal.”
“I’m telling you, we don’t know how to help them.”
Higgins sighed as he slowly shook his head. “Then I’m afraid you know more than you should, and we have no use for you. And you know what we do with guests we have no use for.”
“Are you threatening us?” Carol demanded.
Higgins turned cold eyes to her. “Simply stating facts, my dear.” He looked back to Broussard. “You will cure the vice president and his people or you will be terminated with extreme prejudice.”
Simon struggled with the rifle, ejecting the magazine and shoving a fresh one into the magwell. He braced the butt of the stock against his midsection and pulled the charging handle, chambering the weapon.
He could feel the sweat pouring off of him as he propped the rifle back on the window sill and he tucked it against his good shoulder. “Come on, you bastard. Stick your head up one more time.”
“That won’t be happening,” Buck stated firmly. “Stop! Put the rifle down and turn around very slowly.”
Simon froze, his hand slipping away from the trigger. “Easy now, buddy. I’m just trying to protect what’s mine.”
“So am I.” Buck stepped out of the dining room and into the living room. He could see the back of the shooter’s head and had a clear line of sight even with the couch between them. “Put it down and step away from the window.”
Simon let the rifle drop to the carpet and held his hand out. “I can’t raise the other arm. It was wounded a few days ago and still hurts like hell.”
“Maybe you should try being nicer to potential neighbors,” Buck replied dryly. “Now step away and turn around.”
Simon stepped away from the fallen rifle and slowly turned around.
“Son of a…it’s you.” Buck thrust the pistol out more firmly, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. “How the hell did you survive?”
Simon cocked his head and squinted at the young man standing before him. “I know you, don’t I?” He stepped closer and leaned forward, staring at the man’s face. “Yeah. You were the one who was there when I got bit.”
“Tell me…how did you survive? You were bit by a Zulu.”
Simon chuckled, still holding his hand up. “Yeah, the Rager bit me. And yeah, I turned.” He did his best shrug with his wounded arm in a sling. “I went through the whole deal. The pounding headaches, the anger, the…” He glanced away then turned back to the young man. “The cannibalism.”
Buck’s face twisted. “You’re a fucking monster.”
Simon nodded slowly. “I was. I can’t deny that.” He looked up at Buck and shook his head. “But something happened. I’m not that man anymore.”
“Bullshit,” Buck growled. “You were just shooting at us. But I’m supposed to believe that you’ve changed?”
Simon’s face hardened. “I didn’t hit any of you, did I?” He nodded toward the rifle. “That’s an AR10. It has a Leupold scope. It’s a flat shooter out to about two hundred yards.” He raised a brow at the young man. “You really think I couldn’t have plugged both of you fuckers before you even knew what hit you?” He shook his head and gave him a tight lipped smile. “I just wanted to scare you away.”
“To protect what’s yours, right?” Buck held his pistol tighter and stepped towards Simon. “You deserve this.”
Hatcher patted his pockets, searching for a spare magazine. “Always be prepared, I say,” he mocked himself as he came up empty. He huffed and sat back glaring at the pistol in anger. “Maybe if he gets close enough I can throw it at him.”
The shot that fired sounded muffled. Hatcher knew that it had to have come from inside the house. He swallowed hard and slowly rose to his full height. He peered over the wall, expecting to see Buck in the window, waving at him.
“Come on you little shit,” Hatcher mumbled. “Show yourself…” He felt his mouth go dry as the house remained silent. Hatcher felt his stomach drop and his hands began to shake as he stepped towards the corner of the wall. “Come on, Buck….”
He stared at the pockmarked house with the shattered windows and willed Buck to appear. To be okay. To show up with a huge shit-eating grin on his face.
Hatcher stumbled as he rounded the corner, uncaring that he was open to the sniper. He choked on the air as he filled his lungs. “Buck!”
About the Author
Heath Stallcup was born in Salinas, California and relocated to Tupelo, Oklahoma in his tween years. He joined the US Navy and was stationed in Charleston, SC and Bangor, WA shortly after junior college. After his second tour he attended East Central University where he obtained BS degrees in Biology and Chemistry. He then served ten years with the State of Oklahoma as a Compliance and Enforcement Officer while moonlighting nights and weekends with his local Sheriff's Office. He still lives in the small township of Tupelo, Oklahoma with his wife. He steals time to write between household duties, going to ballgames, being a grandfather and the pet of numerous animals that have taken over his home. Visit him at heathstallcup.com or Facebook.com for news
