desperately to push off but it was impossible with the weight of the crowd guiding the man into him. Robert tripped and fell backwards with the man on top of him. He struggled against the weight of the man and the stampeding of feet pounding into him. He felt the man in his face, could feel his breath against his scalp. All he could hear was the pounding footsteps of the crowd and the frenzied screaming of the mob.
Robert violently struggled with the man, trying to push him off or roll him to the side. The man pressed in tight to Robert’s head and grabbed at his ear with his teeth. Robert screamed with pain and rage. He freed a hand and was able to draw his pistol, quickly pushing the barrel into the man’s abdomen and firing four quick shots. Robert could feel the sticky warmth of the man’s blood on his hands. The man bucked slightly, pausing only briefly before he continued to bite, gnawing deeper into Robert’s forehead and face. Robert contorted his body, finally freeing the length of his arm. He painfully raised the pistol to the man’s head and squeezed the trigger.
2.
Hairatan Customs Compound
Zero day plus thirty-two.
Brad sat on the roof of the warehouse looking out at the dark city. The fires had quit burning days ago; the blackness had blanketed the city. There was still an occasional scream, and sometimes a gunshot, but for the most part the city had grown silent over the past few weeks. The compound-turned-refugee-camp was growing in size. They had almost two hundred residents now. Most of them had come in the early days of the outbreak: hungry, scared and looking for a home.
Junayd’s people would find them on their daily patrols, and if they were friendly, he brought them back to the compound. Brad didn’t know how many had been turned away, if any. It was a conversation he didn’t want to have. They left the questions of who to take in and who to turn away with the locals. Brad considered Junayd the mayor of this refuge; if anything, he thought of himself as the sheriff. The informal relationship had worked, and the camp was prospering, as well as any camp in a wasteland.
When Brad looked over the edge of the roof and into the compound, he could see his people moving about. ‘ His people’, when did he start thinking of them as that? Brad looked out at the gates and walls and saw soldiers patrolling the fences, standing watch alongside Junayd’s men. The Afghan fighters didn’t have the same training and discipline as his soldiers. Even so, they had proven themselves to be trusted warriors over the past month. Many times the Afghans had impressed him; they were very dedicated and loyal to the families they protected.
Brad descended the ladder back into the warehouse, walking through the living area and out into the cool night air. He found a quiet spot, and sat in front of the building that overlooked the gates and his men on watch. He was struggling with the offer that the SEALs had presented to him in recent days. They had asked him to leave this place, to attempt to make it back to Bremmel and beyond, back to society. It was becoming apparent that nobody was going to rescue them. Were they really forgotten?
Junayd’s scouts had made several runs into some of the neighboring villages, but never returned with good news. They had once braved the bridge and attempted to visit the north. They found large packs of roaming primals. After several dangerous encounters, they wisely determined the risk was too great. The bridge was now completely barricaded; nothing would be able to pass it without a bulldozer.
Sometimes they would see the packs standing on the far side of the river. They probed and hunted for a way to cross. So far, the swiftly moving water had stopped them. Still, Brad worried what would happen when winter came. Would the primals freeze like the river? Or would they walk across the frozen waters?
Initially they had hoped the disease would run its course and the
Robert violently struggled with the man, trying to push him off or roll him to the side. The man pressed in tight to Robert’s head and grabbed at his ear with his teeth. Robert screamed with pain and rage. He freed a hand and was able to draw his pistol, quickly pushing the barrel into the man’s abdomen and firing four quick shots. Robert could feel the sticky warmth of the man’s blood on his hands. The man bucked slightly, pausing only briefly before he continued to bite, gnawing deeper into Robert’s forehead and face. Robert contorted his body, finally freeing the length of his arm. He painfully raised the pistol to the man’s head and squeezed the trigger.
2.
Hairatan Customs Compound
Zero day plus thirty-two.
Brad sat on the roof of the warehouse looking out at the dark city. The fires had quit burning days ago; the blackness had blanketed the city. There was still an occasional scream, and sometimes a gunshot, but for the most part the city had grown silent over the past few weeks. The compound-turned-refugee-camp was growing in size. They had almost two hundred residents now. Most of them had come in the early days of the outbreak: hungry, scared and looking for a home.
Junayd’s people would find them on their daily patrols, and if they were friendly, he brought them back to the compound. Brad didn’t know how many had been turned away, if any. It was a conversation he didn’t want to have. They left the questions of who to take in and who to turn away with the locals. Brad considered Junayd the mayor of this refuge; if anything, he thought of himself as the sheriff. The informal relationship had worked, and the camp was prospering, as well as any camp in a wasteland.
When Brad looked over the edge of the roof and into the compound, he could see his people moving about. ‘ His people’, when did he start thinking of them as that? Brad looked out at the gates and walls and saw soldiers patrolling the fences, standing watch alongside Junayd’s men. The Afghan fighters didn’t have the same training and discipline as his soldiers. Even so, they had proven themselves to be trusted warriors over the past month. Many times the Afghans had impressed him; they were very dedicated and loyal to the families they protected.
Brad descended the ladder back into the warehouse, walking through the living area and out into the cool night air. He found a quiet spot, and sat in front of the building that overlooked the gates and his men on watch. He was struggling with the offer that the SEALs had presented to him in recent days. They had asked him to leave this place, to attempt to make it back to Bremmel and beyond, back to society. It was becoming apparent that nobody was going to rescue them. Were they really forgotten?
Junayd’s scouts had made several runs into some of the neighboring villages, but never returned with good news. They had once braved the bridge and attempted to visit the north. They found large packs of roaming primals. After several dangerous encounters, they wisely determined the risk was too great. The bridge was now completely barricaded; nothing would be able to pass it without a bulldozer.
Sometimes they would see the packs standing on the far side of the river. They probed and hunted for a way to cross. So far, the swiftly moving water had stopped them. Still, Brad worried what would happen when winter came. Would the primals freeze like the river? Or would they walk across the frozen waters?
Initially they had hoped the disease would run its course and the
Similar Books
