FOUR
Ethan paced back and forth in the lobby, checking his watch. He was sweating as he watched more of the creatures fill the parking lot. This was insane, the werewolves had slaughtered every moving thing out there and yet more came. They needed to get the hell out of this city. At least out on the highway, there would be less of the things, at least he hoped so. The stench of the bodies and bowels outside was nearly overwhelming. Both of the agents had looked like they’d bathed in blood and had enjoyed it. Enjoyed it! He thought that he might be going insane because this whole mess was screwing with his head.
He tried to remember when things started going sideways. He remembered leaving San Diego and heading east to look for Agent Zed. Were the first indications of flight cancelations the beginning of the end? He’d heard about the virus but he’d not really thought anything about it. There was always shit in the news. When he’d been pulled off his original assignment and sent to Las Vegas, O’Donnell never said a word about the virus or zombies or anything. Had he known? When he’d left Vegas, things were starting to get weird. He’d seen people stumbling around but he’d not thought anything about it. Drunks and Vegas went hand in hand. He’d moved on and headed across country and as he got near Washington, he’d been told to head to Huntsville. Once more he wondered if O’Donnell knew something but had said nothing about the virus and zombies. Did the President know? Was he even now sequestered someplace safe while the rest of the country burned?
“Fucking werewolves and zombies. This shit just isn’t real,” he muttered to himself.
“Oh, it’s real, brother. Make no mistake,” Xander said walking toward him with nothing but a towel around his hips. His blond hair was spiking up from the shower and his black beard glistened with water. At least it wasn’t blood or intestines. Xander leaned his long frame over and scooped up his clothing and then picked up Zahara’s clothes. Ethan looked past Xander but didn’t see the woman.
“Was she coming after me?” Ethan asked quietly. He remembered the bloody golden eyes of Zahara as she zeroed in on him after the fight. He’d felt the tingling in his tailbone, that antediluvian throwback of survival. If Xander hadn’t bit her neck and stopped her, Ethan was fairly sure he’d have been torn apart. Did they even think like humans when they were in that form?
“She’d have killed you and not even thought about it. When our bloodlust is up, it is difficult to stop. When it’s that kind of slaughter, well...” Xander nodded out to the piles of bodies.
Ethan felt fresh sweat pop out on his forehead and wiped at it.
“Do you think either of you will be infected? You had a hell of a lot of infected blood all over you.”
“I don’t know, I feel pretty good. I got a few bites but those are already healing,” Xander said and turned and bent to show his shoulder. There were bites and scratches, black but it appeared as though they were old wounds instead of fresh. He grunted and shook his head. It was implausible and quite remarkable. Yet he’d seen them change with his own eyes. Smelled them, a combination of wet dog and earth.
“Maybe you should turn me into a werewolf,” Ethan said, trying the thought on for size. He stepped back when Xander’s eyes went gold and glowing with speculation.
“Honestly, I don’t know if I could turn you. I was born this way. So was Zahara. If push comes to shove, I’ll try. I can’t say that you’ll turn or even live. That shit is in the movies. But I guess if it was a choice between being a werewolf and a zombie, I’d choose werewolf,” Xander said and grinned, his canines grew long and sharp. He turned and walked back to the room, humming. Just when he got to the door, Ethan heard Zahara’s giggle. He shook his head. Fucking werewolves.
Ž
Reggie stood before his house, a conflagration of thick smoke and popping flames. The relentless drone of cicadas buzzed through his head like a heartbeat. The tears that fell from his eyes never made it to his cheeks as they dried from the intense heat washing over his body. He hoped at some point he would just explode in flames so he could join his family. He was a coward and he knew it. He couldn’t just end it. A wretched sob ripped from him and he fell back, moving like an automaton and made his way to his Jeep.
“You have sinned and you’re reaping what you sowed. God is punishing me, I know He is,” he whispered brokenly as he climbed into the midnight blue, Jeep Gladiator. He’d salvaged what he could and had packed it into the vehicle. A handful of photographs, water, food and his guns and ammunition. He was going on a killing spree and he’d take down anything and everything he came across and he would burn as he went. He would set the world on fire and maybe he would die and be at peace. In the bed of the truck were cans of fuel, he’d need those to set the cars, buildings and people ablaze. He headed west, searching the emptiness around him. Why had he been away from home? Why hadn’t he been there to protect his family? Those were questions that would haunt him for the rest of his life. If he’d have been home, he could have saved his babies. He could have defended his home. Who had brought this plague into his home? Was it the Klan? Was it his neighbors? Was it a stranger? The same
