mindless prototypes that wandered the earth blindly trying to spread their pathetic seed by biting and tearing.
It troubled him a little; that he was drawn toward the people at Catterick as if his actions were predetermined somehow, almost as if he had no say in the matter. He felt a little like a bee that made for pollen mindlessly, with no concept of why it was fulfilling its destiny.
Those concerns were cast aside in a haze of shuddering fury when the pathetic creatures lined the wall in the distance and began to fire their weapons in his direction. All thoughts of caution were abandoned to the addiction. He had to kill them all. Philosophy did not enter into the equation.
When the pitiful weapons the creatures held poured bullets at him through the misty air, Jake McIntosh had already moved. To him, the squeezing of their fingers on the trigger seemed to last forever, bones and ligaments creaking loudly in their flesh like rusted hinges, firing off long, slow warnings long before they fired projectiles. He saw the bullets heading toward him slowly, like a distant storm.
He was weakening; getting tired. The prudent course of action was to retreat, to leave them with the terror and damage he had inflicted and rest until he could return and attack at full strength.
A bullet whined past his head, the whining song of its passage an insult that bored down into the bubbling chaos of Jake’s mind and scattered his thoughts like dust on the wind.
He would have their blood. Every last drop.
With a roar of pure, unhinged fury, Jake put his head down.
And charged.
9
Michael could not hide his relief when he saw John and Rachel descend the steps unharmed. Fantastic scenarios had played out in his mind, of Darren locking them in some room at the top of the tower like characters in a fairytale, or worse; pushing them from the roof before returning to kill the helpless cripple.
He immediately noticed the stunned look on their faces.
"What is it?" He said sharply.
John shook his head, his eyes far away.
"This place is under siege," Rachel said grimly. The Infected are all around Caernarfon, thousands of them, just waiting there."
"What? How is that possible?" Michael tried to keep a lid on the hysteria in his response.
"Not waiting ," Darren said. "That's not it at all. They aren't waiting for anything. They are there because they can't come any closer."
"I don't understand," Michael said, frowning.
Darren sighed dramatically.
"Neither do I, not really. You wanted to know my story. I'll give you the truth, despite the fact you didn't give me the same respect."
Michael opened his mouth, but Darren waved away the protestation before it began.
" Please ," he said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "A family?"
He jerked a thumb at John.
"A driver ?"
He snorted.
"I wasn't born yesterday. It doesn't particularly matter where you came from or what your story is. What matters is what you intend to do here. "
He sat heavily on one of the wooden benches, and gestured for Rachel and John to follow suit. After a moment's hesitation, they sat.
"As I told you earlier, Rachel, I was on Mount Snowdon when...whatever this is began. I first encountered the infection, the virus, when I led a group of climbers back down after we lost communication. We were set upon."
His voice cracked a little, his eyes lost in a terrible memory.
"Half the group were lost immediately. I didn't have the faintest idea what was going on, just that all of a sudden the group I was leading began to kill each other in...horrible ways."
He lifted his jaw and stared at them defiantly.
"I ran. Maybe that makes me a coward. I don't know. I'm not sure that even matters now. The only thing that matters is survival, right? I survived, along with six of my group. We got away by...well, we got away. Still didn't grasp the full extent of this thing though. We thought it was just happening there, at the bus station."
He shook his head ruefully.
"We took a
It troubled him a little; that he was drawn toward the people at Catterick as if his actions were predetermined somehow, almost as if he had no say in the matter. He felt a little like a bee that made for pollen mindlessly, with no concept of why it was fulfilling its destiny.
Those concerns were cast aside in a haze of shuddering fury when the pathetic creatures lined the wall in the distance and began to fire their weapons in his direction. All thoughts of caution were abandoned to the addiction. He had to kill them all. Philosophy did not enter into the equation.
When the pitiful weapons the creatures held poured bullets at him through the misty air, Jake McIntosh had already moved. To him, the squeezing of their fingers on the trigger seemed to last forever, bones and ligaments creaking loudly in their flesh like rusted hinges, firing off long, slow warnings long before they fired projectiles. He saw the bullets heading toward him slowly, like a distant storm.
He was weakening; getting tired. The prudent course of action was to retreat, to leave them with the terror and damage he had inflicted and rest until he could return and attack at full strength.
A bullet whined past his head, the whining song of its passage an insult that bored down into the bubbling chaos of Jake’s mind and scattered his thoughts like dust on the wind.
He would have their blood. Every last drop.
With a roar of pure, unhinged fury, Jake put his head down.
And charged.
9
Michael could not hide his relief when he saw John and Rachel descend the steps unharmed. Fantastic scenarios had played out in his mind, of Darren locking them in some room at the top of the tower like characters in a fairytale, or worse; pushing them from the roof before returning to kill the helpless cripple.
He immediately noticed the stunned look on their faces.
"What is it?" He said sharply.
John shook his head, his eyes far away.
"This place is under siege," Rachel said grimly. The Infected are all around Caernarfon, thousands of them, just waiting there."
"What? How is that possible?" Michael tried to keep a lid on the hysteria in his response.
"Not waiting ," Darren said. "That's not it at all. They aren't waiting for anything. They are there because they can't come any closer."
"I don't understand," Michael said, frowning.
Darren sighed dramatically.
"Neither do I, not really. You wanted to know my story. I'll give you the truth, despite the fact you didn't give me the same respect."
Michael opened his mouth, but Darren waved away the protestation before it began.
" Please ," he said, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "A family?"
He jerked a thumb at John.
"A driver ?"
He snorted.
"I wasn't born yesterday. It doesn't particularly matter where you came from or what your story is. What matters is what you intend to do here. "
He sat heavily on one of the wooden benches, and gestured for Rachel and John to follow suit. After a moment's hesitation, they sat.
"As I told you earlier, Rachel, I was on Mount Snowdon when...whatever this is began. I first encountered the infection, the virus, when I led a group of climbers back down after we lost communication. We were set upon."
His voice cracked a little, his eyes lost in a terrible memory.
"Half the group were lost immediately. I didn't have the faintest idea what was going on, just that all of a sudden the group I was leading began to kill each other in...horrible ways."
He lifted his jaw and stared at them defiantly.
"I ran. Maybe that makes me a coward. I don't know. I'm not sure that even matters now. The only thing that matters is survival, right? I survived, along with six of my group. We got away by...well, we got away. Still didn't grasp the full extent of this thing though. We thought it was just happening there, at the bus station."
He shook his head ruefully.
"We took a
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