David tackled the dead man; they went down in a mess of tangled limbs as the guard’s rifle blazed away.
Scott instinctively ducked out of the line of fire and snatched up the rifle of the guard he’d killed. He whirled to see David lying atop the other guard, his intestines scattered everywhere. The burst from the thing’s weapon must have disemboweled him.
Scott squeezed the trigger of his rifle and held it, emptying the clip into David’s corpse and the guard below. Done, he tossed the rifle aside. Neither David nor the guard would be getting up again.
He felt a pang of loss and guilt over David’s sacrifice, but he didn’t have time to think about it—the whole compound must have heard the brief battle. So Scott sprinted into the trees and didn’t look back.
10
O’Neil and Captain Steven studied the map spread out on the table before them. Steven stabbed at a point on the map with his finger. “We’ll put in here.”
“South Carolina?” O’Neil asked.
“Why not? This port here is out of the way in terms of the old commercial traffic routes, and it’s close enough for us to reach it within two days.”
“It’ll still be guarded. If nothing else there’ll be those things all over the docks. I don’t like the idea of taking the
Steven smiled. “We’re not. Not this time. We’ll sail in just close enough for the lifeboats to make it ashore.”
O’Neil looked at the captain and blinked, completely baffled.
“Stealth, Mr. O’Neil. It’s something we haven’t tried before. If we go in at night instead of all guns blazing, the
“Sir,” O’Neil said, “I think you should know most of the crew and the people onboard still just want us to take some little island, put down some roots, and finally get off the waves.”
Steven grinned. “No, our mobility is what’s keeping us alive, Mr. O’Neil. Perhaps you should remind these people that if we lose it, we’ve lost the war.”
O’Neil changed the subject, avoiding an argument. “How many men will be needed for the lifeboats in this plan of yours?”
“I was thinking about sixteen, total. That should give them the firepower and the free hands they’ll need.”
“But who’s going to lead them?” O’Neil asked.
11
Scott hadn’t stopped moving for nearly twelve hours, pushing his underfed and exhausted body far beyond its limits. He nearly fell into a tree, grabbing its bark to keep his balance, but finally he dropped to his knees and vomited into the wet grass.
So far he’d seen no signs of his pursuers. When he’d first started running, it had been like something out of a nightmare. Jeeps full of the dead had come roaring out of the breeding complex. The first two hours of the chase had been the roughest, ducking in and out of the trees, zigzagging his path, eluding both those chasing him and the normal patrols in the area. He hadn’t seen or heard a jeep or dead man in the past seven hours though, and he couldn’t force himself to go any farther at this point. He needed rest desperately.
Scott wiped the vomit from his lips and rolled over onto the ground, stretching out. The noise of a rifle chambering a bullet snapped him out of his thoughts.
A woman stood over him with the barrel of a .30-.06 aimed at his chest. She was covered in blood that wasn’t hers. Long red hair was matted to her face and shoulders by sweat, blood, and dirt. She appeared healthy and well fed, but every inch as tired as he felt.
“Hello?” Scott greeted her weakly.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked in a voice filled with both anger and deep sadness.
Scott’s mind raced. What the hell was he supposed to say? “I know a little,” he answered quickly, lying very still so that the woman didn’t feel threatened.
She took a step away from him. “On your feet. My husband and son are hurt. They need help.”
“Okay.” Scott pushed himself up, despite how much his whole body ached.
The woman led him about a fifth of a mile east. He knew instantly something wasn’t right, even before they entered her makeshift campsite. He could see a young boy gagged and tied to a tree, straining against the ropes; the body of a man lay stretched out nearby.
Scott wondered if the woman had kidnapped the child—until he saw the massive gunshot wound on the boy’s chest and began to realize just how much trouble he was in. He forced himself not to stare at it as it twisted under the ropes, tearing its flesh as it tried to get free.
Scott knelt down beside the man, who was alive, just barely.
“Can you help them?” the woman pleaded, the barrel of her rifle still aimed at Scott.
He doubted very much he could fool the woman into letting her guard down. She was too on edge. “Why did you gag the boy?” he asked, hoping to lead her mind back to Earth.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. It was clear she couldn’t rationalize her behavior without admitting her son was dead. “He… he was just gibbering. Saying horrible things. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Was he really your son?”
“Yes,” she answered, not bothering to correct the word “was.”
“And this is…?” Scott placed a hand on the man’s arm.
“Riley. He’s my husband, Riley.”
“He’s going to die just like your son did,” Scott said, staring down the madness in her eyes. “He’s lost too much blood. There’s nothing we can do for him out here.”
“Liar!” The woman’s finger tightened on the trigger as she shoved the barrel of her .30-.06 closer to Scott’s face.
“Whoa!” He raised his hands high in the air. “Careful there! I’m sorry, lady. I just call them as I see them.”
The woman hesitated, lowering the rifle’s barrel slightly. Scott grabbed for the weapon. Too bad for him, Hannah was faster.
12
Hannah smashed the butt of her rifle into the man’s face as he took a swipe for it. He fell backwards, cursing and bleeding from his nose. The things he’d said had cut through her illusions like a razor, exposing the truth: her son was dead and her husband was dying. She’d be damned if this filthy punk was going to take her dad’s rifle too.
She snapped the rifle’s butt back up against her shoulder and braced it. The weapon barked as the shot smashed open the skull of the thing which had once been her son.
