Carrion Virus (Book 2): The Athena Protocol by M.W. Duncan

its sling and pulled out his combat knife then rapped the weapon against the masonry of the wall. The infected sprinted into view, kicking up clumps of snow as it ran. Dylan sprang like a coiled snaked, bringing the blade up into the jugular. The infected thrashed, flailing its arms but Dylan clung on, bringing it down into the snow, driving the blade deeper and deeper with short thrusts. Gemma closed her eyes, not to banish the killing, but to banish the memories fighting to be recalled, memories of her first encounter with an infected. Fear. Blood. Her friend being charged. Violence. And then escape.
    Dylan was before her, his torso and neck splattered with blood. He picked up handfuls of snow, using it to clean as much of the blood from himself as he could. “We need to move on.”
    “But the blood?” Gemma argued. She knew the risk. And so did Dylan.
    “And what do you suggest?” he snapped. “I take a shower?”
    She argued no further.
    Dylan kicked snow over the face and neck of the downed infected. They passed with no comment, George never letting his eyes drop to the corpse.
    They pushed on, past the deserted city. Remnants of normality were laid out, half-buried by the snow. Shopping trolleys, cars with their doors left open. Bags left where those escaping dropped them. The snow hid a terrible tale. Shops, long ago shut for business and left to the mercies of looters stood empty, their once rich window displays stolen, and replaced by shattered glass and snow.
    Ahead, over Market Street, and up the adjoining side street, a group of five or so figures moved about, creating as little noise as possible. Not infected? One of the group kept watch, standing next to a Land Rover, the engine a low rumble. The rest, armed with a variety of garden implements, spades and a long-handled axe entered the small Irish bar and carried out boxes of alcohol. Again Dylan pushed Gemma and George down to their knees.
    “Looters.” He spat into the snow. “Idiots. The noise of the engine will bring infected down on them.”
    “We can go around, up Market Street, onto Union Street and to Marischal College that way.”
    Dylan shook his head. “It’s too risky. We’re better in the side streets.”
    “We can wait here until they’re finished,” suggested George.
    Dylan shot George a wrathful glare. “Every moment we’re exposed like this is another chance for infected to discover us. We need to scare them off.”
    As if fated was tempted, a milling group of shambling infected entered the street. They were two-hundred metres from Gemma, and not much less from the looters. Gemma touched at her camera, but thought twice. The clicking sound would give away their location.
    The new swarm of infected, several scores in strength, make their halting progress down the street. The looters had not yet noticed the approaching danger. The baseball bat one had been carrying was now propped up against the side of the vehicle.
    Gemma turned to her two companions. “We have to go back. Those looters see us and they’ll make enough noise to bring the infected down on top of us.”
    “We can’t go back. We need to keep moving forward.”
    George tugged on Gemma’s shoulder. “For God sakes, let’s go back. What are we doing out here? It’s crazy.”
    Dylan grabbed hold of George’s chin and made sure those terror-filled eyes focused nowhere but his face. “You’re here and we move forward. You make enough noise and I’ll silence you. Understand?”
    Whether the words were designed to scare George into compliance or whether they held darker grains of truth, Gemma was not sure, but she was frightened enough to intervene.
    “That’s enough, Dylan.”
    His blazing eyes turned on her. “And you’ll do better if you take the same advice.”
    Dylan let go of George’s face. Tears ran south along the frightened man’s cheeks. Gemma could have cried, too. In the hotel at their first encounter, the handsome Dylan had been so gentle, so