Read Online LZR-1143: Infection by Bryan James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bryan James
Tags: Zombies
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shattered window. Poor crazy bastard.
Before turning away, I noticed a bracelet on his arm. It was one of those hospital bracelets that are impossible to take off without scissors or a knife, and it seemed out of place considering neither Fred nor Erica had worn one.
But I did.
Recognizing the mark of my kind, I reached through the broken window, grabbing his wrist and turning the bracelet toward me. Identification number, and then name: Seymour Williams.
What the fuck? How did he make it out of the maximum-security ward? He was one of the new admits: a truly violent psychopath. How could he have found his way to Kate’s group? He couldn’t have, unless someone had let him out and locked the door behind him. This begged the uncomfortable question: had I been locked in?
“Let’s go! Aim for the Target,” Kate yelled at me, snapping me out of my short trance as I put my shoulder under Fred’s arm and helped him forward. He wobbled unsteadily, but was able to move. Several creatures moaned behind us, recognizing our presence. Another blast. Loud cursing, engine revving, then another blast. And another. We crossed the empty parking lot in darkness, the glowing red target a promising Mecca.
Several parked cars, left in the parking lot for reasons unknown, cast shadows we avoided, as we moved as quickly as we could across the dark cement. Fred groaned, and Kate looked back.
“We can stay ahead of them, but if the doors are locked here, we may have problem,” I said, also looking to our rear. The lights in the store were off. Not a good sign.
We reached the beige concrete wall between the garden center and the glass entrance doors and moved toward the latter, Kate supporting Fred as I grabbed the handle and pulled. Damn.
I moved towards the automatic doors, waving my arms like a wild man in front of the sensors. Nothing. Double damn.
I looked to the parking lot. They were moving steadily toward us, a fat woman in a moo-moo in the lead, hands opening and closing slowly on the end of outstretched arms, head cocked to the side, eyes staring forward, locked on our group. Behind her, a tall man in a tee shirt and jeans, a cell phone still clipped to his pants, bloody arm revealing his bite wound. Following him, a small child, mouth torn slightly open at the cheek, hair missing from one side of the head, where white bone showed through.
“Garden center,” I said shortly, grabbing Fred by the arm.
“Pancake,” was his woozy reply, as Kate hefted the other side of his inert form.
We reached the chain link fencing surrounding the melange of peace lilies, paving stones, and brightly colored annuals. The door was no use, obviously, but the chain link was open on the top. No telling whether we had access to the store from the garden, or whether that way was locked too, but these things couldn’t climb, so we might be safe for a short time if got up and over.
Fatty was about forty feet away, and getting closer. Her retinue followed closely behind, like a line at a buffet, all with a hungry purpose.
I looked at Fred, who still looked dazed and uneasy. “Can you climb, buddy?” I asked, as nicely and calmly as possible, gesturing to the fence. “We need to get in here.”
Thirty feet.
“Pancake,” he nodded, tripping forward and grabbing the fence. He started to climb, and I helped him up, boosting him to the top until he was bent over, his chest hanging over the other side, legs kicking toward the parking lot.
Twenty feet.
Kate went up next, and I levered her feet over the top. As she reached the summit, Fred fell heavily to the concrete on the other side, landing squarely on his buttocks and grunting in pain. Kate’s lab coat flipped over her head and her hair veiled her face, as she twisted and came down on her feet.
Ten feet.
I jumped as high as I could, grabbing the links and pulling up hard. Cold steel dug into the soft flesh of my fingers, joints unused to exertion groaning in distress. My feet
Before turning away, I noticed a bracelet on his arm. It was one of those hospital bracelets that are impossible to take off without scissors or a knife, and it seemed out of place considering neither Fred nor Erica had worn one.
But I did.
Recognizing the mark of my kind, I reached through the broken window, grabbing his wrist and turning the bracelet toward me. Identification number, and then name: Seymour Williams.
What the fuck? How did he make it out of the maximum-security ward? He was one of the new admits: a truly violent psychopath. How could he have found his way to Kate’s group? He couldn’t have, unless someone had let him out and locked the door behind him. This begged the uncomfortable question: had I been locked in?
“Let’s go! Aim for the Target,” Kate yelled at me, snapping me out of my short trance as I put my shoulder under Fred’s arm and helped him forward. He wobbled unsteadily, but was able to move. Several creatures moaned behind us, recognizing our presence. Another blast. Loud cursing, engine revving, then another blast. And another. We crossed the empty parking lot in darkness, the glowing red target a promising Mecca.
Several parked cars, left in the parking lot for reasons unknown, cast shadows we avoided, as we moved as quickly as we could across the dark cement. Fred groaned, and Kate looked back.
“We can stay ahead of them, but if the doors are locked here, we may have problem,” I said, also looking to our rear. The lights in the store were off. Not a good sign.
We reached the beige concrete wall between the garden center and the glass entrance doors and moved toward the latter, Kate supporting Fred as I grabbed the handle and pulled. Damn.
I moved towards the automatic doors, waving my arms like a wild man in front of the sensors. Nothing. Double damn.
I looked to the parking lot. They were moving steadily toward us, a fat woman in a moo-moo in the lead, hands opening and closing slowly on the end of outstretched arms, head cocked to the side, eyes staring forward, locked on our group. Behind her, a tall man in a tee shirt and jeans, a cell phone still clipped to his pants, bloody arm revealing his bite wound. Following him, a small child, mouth torn slightly open at the cheek, hair missing from one side of the head, where white bone showed through.
“Garden center,” I said shortly, grabbing Fred by the arm.
“Pancake,” was his woozy reply, as Kate hefted the other side of his inert form.
We reached the chain link fencing surrounding the melange of peace lilies, paving stones, and brightly colored annuals. The door was no use, obviously, but the chain link was open on the top. No telling whether we had access to the store from the garden, or whether that way was locked too, but these things couldn’t climb, so we might be safe for a short time if got up and over.
Fatty was about forty feet away, and getting closer. Her retinue followed closely behind, like a line at a buffet, all with a hungry purpose.
I looked at Fred, who still looked dazed and uneasy. “Can you climb, buddy?” I asked, as nicely and calmly as possible, gesturing to the fence. “We need to get in here.”
Thirty feet.
“Pancake,” he nodded, tripping forward and grabbing the fence. He started to climb, and I helped him up, boosting him to the top until he was bent over, his chest hanging over the other side, legs kicking toward the parking lot.
Twenty feet.
Kate went up next, and I levered her feet over the top. As she reached the summit, Fred fell heavily to the concrete on the other side, landing squarely on his buttocks and grunting in pain. Kate’s lab coat flipped over her head and her hair veiled her face, as she twisted and came down on her feet.
Ten feet.
I jumped as high as I could, grabbing the links and pulling up hard. Cold steel dug into the soft flesh of my fingers, joints unused to exertion groaning in distress. My feet
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