Read Online Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 by Dirk Patton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dirk Patton
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the
distance to our destination I was looking to my right and pulled to a stop with
my hand on Joe’s arm when I detected movement.
Bringing my rifle up, I could just make out a form worming
its way through the grass. It would move for a few moments, then go still
before starting all over again. Joe didn’t have the benefit of a scope, having
only iron sights on his rifle, and settled for peering under the shade of his
hand. Motioning him to follow, I began moving slowly to my right.
As I walked I kept up a constant scan, looking for any other
signs of life. But all I saw was dry grass waving in the breeze. I flashed
back to my encounter with the razorbacks in Arkansas and asked Joe if there
were any of the animals in this part of the country.
“Nothing big enough for us to worry about,” he said. “Used
to be mountain lions, but they’re long gone.”
I nodded and kept walking, trying to get a better view of
what was moving. A few yards later I was able to see enough to tell it was human.
But infected or not? Pushing on, I got a better look and identified it as a
male. Then I could see something sticking up from the body. A couple of
minutes later I was close enough to recognize an arrow sticking straight up
from the man’s back.
“Got to be an infected,” I said after I told Joe what I
could see with the scope.
Keeping a very close eye on our surroundings, we continued
on until we were within a few feet of the male. It was infected. An arrow was
lodged dead center in its lower back, and had presumably severed the spinal
cord. It was pulling itself along with its arms, dead legs dragging behind it.
The wind shifted and it must have smelled us. Its head
raised and turned in our direction as it emitted a low hiss and began trying to
pull itself towards us. The male was dressed in what I presumed was
traditional Osage garb. I glanced at Joe who was staring mesmerized at the
poor soul on the ground.
“Know him?” I asked.
“He’s a-ki-da,” he nodded. “One of the ten for the Sky
Chief. Never been off the Res, and didn’t even speak English as far as I
know.”
“What about the arrow?” I pointed at the long shaft
protruding straight into the air from the male’s back. The shaft was obviously
made from a straight tree branch and had what looked like real bird feathers.
It was stained a bright red, a color so brilliant and deep it had to have come
from a berry.
“Traditional warrior arrow,” he said. “May I borrow your
rifle? Mine makes too much noise.”
I looked at him for a moment, then worked the sling over my
head and handed over the weapon. He clicked the selector to semi, stepped
forward and fired a single round into the infected’s head. The skull deformed
before rupturing, then the male lay still.
Returning my rifle, Joe leaned down and grasped the arrow’s
shaft, wrenching it from the body. When it came out the resulting wound looked
just like the wounds I hadn’t been able to identify on the female infected back
at the crash sight. Snapping the shaft in half with his hands, he mumbled
something in Osage and tossed a piece of the arrow on either side of the
corpse. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing. He’d tell me if he wanted
me to know.
“Let’s go,” he said, turned and resumed our run to water.
12
Half an hour later Joe slowed to a walk. We were
approaching the edge of a cut in the terrain and before we could silhouette
ourselves on the high ground he dropped to his belly and began crawling
forward. Not needing to be told, I followed suit and together we moved to a
sharp edge and looked into a large bowl shaped depression, about eighty yards
across.
If I had to guess, I’d say the dent in the earth was made by
an ancient meteor strike. The terrain for the past several miles had been
perfectly flat, then for the past few hundred yards we had made a gentle climb
to reach the lip.
distance to our destination I was looking to my right and pulled to a stop with
my hand on Joe’s arm when I detected movement.
Bringing my rifle up, I could just make out a form worming
its way through the grass. It would move for a few moments, then go still
before starting all over again. Joe didn’t have the benefit of a scope, having
only iron sights on his rifle, and settled for peering under the shade of his
hand. Motioning him to follow, I began moving slowly to my right.
As I walked I kept up a constant scan, looking for any other
signs of life. But all I saw was dry grass waving in the breeze. I flashed
back to my encounter with the razorbacks in Arkansas and asked Joe if there
were any of the animals in this part of the country.
“Nothing big enough for us to worry about,” he said. “Used
to be mountain lions, but they’re long gone.”
I nodded and kept walking, trying to get a better view of
what was moving. A few yards later I was able to see enough to tell it was human.
But infected or not? Pushing on, I got a better look and identified it as a
male. Then I could see something sticking up from the body. A couple of
minutes later I was close enough to recognize an arrow sticking straight up
from the man’s back.
“Got to be an infected,” I said after I told Joe what I
could see with the scope.
Keeping a very close eye on our surroundings, we continued
on until we were within a few feet of the male. It was infected. An arrow was
lodged dead center in its lower back, and had presumably severed the spinal
cord. It was pulling itself along with its arms, dead legs dragging behind it.
The wind shifted and it must have smelled us. Its head
raised and turned in our direction as it emitted a low hiss and began trying to
pull itself towards us. The male was dressed in what I presumed was
traditional Osage garb. I glanced at Joe who was staring mesmerized at the
poor soul on the ground.
“Know him?” I asked.
“He’s a-ki-da,” he nodded. “One of the ten for the Sky
Chief. Never been off the Res, and didn’t even speak English as far as I
know.”
“What about the arrow?” I pointed at the long shaft
protruding straight into the air from the male’s back. The shaft was obviously
made from a straight tree branch and had what looked like real bird feathers.
It was stained a bright red, a color so brilliant and deep it had to have come
from a berry.
“Traditional warrior arrow,” he said. “May I borrow your
rifle? Mine makes too much noise.”
I looked at him for a moment, then worked the sling over my
head and handed over the weapon. He clicked the selector to semi, stepped
forward and fired a single round into the infected’s head. The skull deformed
before rupturing, then the male lay still.
Returning my rifle, Joe leaned down and grasped the arrow’s
shaft, wrenching it from the body. When it came out the resulting wound looked
just like the wounds I hadn’t been able to identify on the female infected back
at the crash sight. Snapping the shaft in half with his hands, he mumbled
something in Osage and tossed a piece of the arrow on either side of the
corpse. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing. He’d tell me if he wanted
me to know.
“Let’s go,” he said, turned and resumed our run to water.
12
Half an hour later Joe slowed to a walk. We were
approaching the edge of a cut in the terrain and before we could silhouette
ourselves on the high ground he dropped to his belly and began crawling
forward. Not needing to be told, I followed suit and together we moved to a
sharp edge and looked into a large bowl shaped depression, about eighty yards
across.
If I had to guess, I’d say the dent in the earth was made by
an ancient meteor strike. The terrain for the past several miles had been
perfectly flat, then for the past few hundred yards we had made a gentle climb
to reach the lip.
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