Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands by Brian J. Jarrett Page A
Authors: Brian J. Jarrett
Tags: Horror, post apocalyptic
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air behind her. Only feet away, four figures limped out of the shadows, snarling and growling, closing the distance quickly. From the dark recesses of the warehouse more wailing erupted.
Trish knew that if she wanted to live she had only one choice.
She ran.
“Wait! You can’t just leave me here!” Ryder yelled, his voice diminishing as she darted through the darkness. The flashlight barely illuminated the way, its pale yellow light cutting only a few feet into the pitchy darkness. She gripped the pistol tightly, her finger resting on the trigger.
Boxes and equipment lined the shelves around her, creating menacing shapes in the shadows just beyond the flashlight’s reach.
Behind her Ryder screamed, his cries intermingling with the sound of the carriers.
She passed through the first aisle and ran into the darkened intersection of another perpendicular aisle. The darkness seemed to swell around her like a suffocating blanket. The howls echoed, bouncing off the walls until she couldn’t tell from where they’d come. She could think only to run, away from Ryder and away from the infected.
Another intersection approached, lurking and threatening. She rested her finger lightly on the trigger, readying herself. Anything could be waiting in those shadows. Ignoring the voice in her head telling her to keep running, Trish slowed to a walk and crept into the darkened convergence of aisles. She flicked the light left and right. Empty.
She picked up speed again and ran through another aisle, also empty. Brittle screeching surrounded her now, growing louder, as if the deadwalkers were gaining on her. She could imagine them tracking her through the darkness, their bodies twitching and jerking as they pulled themselves along, cornering her before tearing her to bits.
Another darkened intersection loomed ahead. She slowed, shining the flashlight, finger still poised on the trigger...
The carrier seemed to appear from nowhere. It screamed as the light struck its face, its eyes glowing. It snarled, recoiling from the unexpected blast of light. Reflexively, she raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Panic tore through her. The carrier shook off the blinding effect of the flashlight, taking a deep breath and belting out a ferocious screech. Its black eyes pierced her as its body tensed, ready to leap.
She squeezed the trigger again. Nothing. Glancing at the gun again she quickly found the problem.
The safety.
The carrier leapt just as Trish released the safety. She aimed and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed and then the carrier was on her. She pulled the trigger again, point-blank, punching a softball-sized hole in the carrier’s back as the bullet exited its body.
Trish and the carrier landed together in a pile on the concrete. Warm blood leaked onto her shirt, the thing’s matted, stinking hair fanning out over her face, falling into her open mouth. It reeked of sweat and filth. The smell overwhelmed her and she vomited bile onto the floor.
Summoning up her strength, she shoved the dead carrier aside and stood. Wailing and moaning erupted from the Stygian shadows, more intense than before. Stunned and running on adrenaline, she kept moving. She no longer slowed at the dark intersections between the aisles. The flashlight bobbed as it cut through the murky darkness, the sound of her own breathing filling up her ears like the repetition of a ticking clock.
She nearly hit the wall when she reached it. She skidded to a quick stop and frantically searched for an exit. Seeing none, she found herself at a crossroads. If she chose wrong it could be the last decision of her life.
Without the luxury of time, she chose a direction. Around her the shrieking seemed to multiply, blending into a horrific chorus. She could almost see the infected taking shape in the shadows around her.
Moments later, another flick of the flashlight revealed the red reflection of an EXIT sign, beckoning to her from above a
Trish knew that if she wanted to live she had only one choice.
She ran.
“Wait! You can’t just leave me here!” Ryder yelled, his voice diminishing as she darted through the darkness. The flashlight barely illuminated the way, its pale yellow light cutting only a few feet into the pitchy darkness. She gripped the pistol tightly, her finger resting on the trigger.
Boxes and equipment lined the shelves around her, creating menacing shapes in the shadows just beyond the flashlight’s reach.
Behind her Ryder screamed, his cries intermingling with the sound of the carriers.
She passed through the first aisle and ran into the darkened intersection of another perpendicular aisle. The darkness seemed to swell around her like a suffocating blanket. The howls echoed, bouncing off the walls until she couldn’t tell from where they’d come. She could think only to run, away from Ryder and away from the infected.
Another intersection approached, lurking and threatening. She rested her finger lightly on the trigger, readying herself. Anything could be waiting in those shadows. Ignoring the voice in her head telling her to keep running, Trish slowed to a walk and crept into the darkened convergence of aisles. She flicked the light left and right. Empty.
She picked up speed again and ran through another aisle, also empty. Brittle screeching surrounded her now, growing louder, as if the deadwalkers were gaining on her. She could imagine them tracking her through the darkness, their bodies twitching and jerking as they pulled themselves along, cornering her before tearing her to bits.
Another darkened intersection loomed ahead. She slowed, shining the flashlight, finger still poised on the trigger...
The carrier seemed to appear from nowhere. It screamed as the light struck its face, its eyes glowing. It snarled, recoiling from the unexpected blast of light. Reflexively, she raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Panic tore through her. The carrier shook off the blinding effect of the flashlight, taking a deep breath and belting out a ferocious screech. Its black eyes pierced her as its body tensed, ready to leap.
She squeezed the trigger again. Nothing. Glancing at the gun again she quickly found the problem.
The safety.
The carrier leapt just as Trish released the safety. She aimed and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed and then the carrier was on her. She pulled the trigger again, point-blank, punching a softball-sized hole in the carrier’s back as the bullet exited its body.
Trish and the carrier landed together in a pile on the concrete. Warm blood leaked onto her shirt, the thing’s matted, stinking hair fanning out over her face, falling into her open mouth. It reeked of sweat and filth. The smell overwhelmed her and she vomited bile onto the floor.
Summoning up her strength, she shoved the dead carrier aside and stood. Wailing and moaning erupted from the Stygian shadows, more intense than before. Stunned and running on adrenaline, she kept moving. She no longer slowed at the dark intersections between the aisles. The flashlight bobbed as it cut through the murky darkness, the sound of her own breathing filling up her ears like the repetition of a ticking clock.
She nearly hit the wall when she reached it. She skidded to a quick stop and frantically searched for an exit. Seeing none, she found herself at a crossroads. If she chose wrong it could be the last decision of her life.
Without the luxury of time, she chose a direction. Around her the shrieking seemed to multiply, blending into a horrific chorus. She could almost see the infected taking shape in the shadows around her.
Moments later, another flick of the flashlight revealed the red reflection of an EXIT sign, beckoning to her from above a
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