parked beside him had a tiny red light flashing on the dashboard. Not pausing for a second, Mason grabbed a metal garbage can from the curb and hurled it at the side window of the car. The glass shattered in a spray of pellets, and the street was suddenly filled with the screeching wail of the car's alarm. Those creatures running toward him immediately changed course toward this new sound, but then a more insidious aspect of the ploy made itself apparent. The alarm was so loud that it was attracting others into the street. They appeared out of doorways and from around corners and from inside alleyways and from everywhere at once, and every last one of them was running headlong directly toward the sound.
While those close to him were distracted and before the others arrived, Mason threw himself into the street and sprinted back across the road, planting himself between a lamppost and a mailbox. A middle-aged woman tore past and clipped the mailbox with her foot, but Mason held the box to keep it from falling and watched the woman stumble on with the jagged tip of bone protruding from her ankle.
This spot was safe for the moment, but he couldn't stay. The alarm was echoing through the streets, and more were coming from all sides. A dozen. Twenty. More still. In moments, there would be nowhere to go. Mason stepped out into the middle of the road and watched a loose mob rushing directly at him. He took a deep breath and held it, then he engaged in a desperate, deadly game that would either prove his downfall or his salvation. As each beast ran headlong toward him, he dodged to one side or another as quickly and quietly as he could manage, hoping that the harsh wail of the siren would cover any scuff his shoes might make on the pavement. As one creature raced past him, he would take a few steps away from the gathering swarm, gauge the speed and direction of the next in line, and deftly deke to the side to let it pass.
At last he reached the intersection, and the rushing crowd thinned, but Mason didn't stop to congratulate himself. He'd managed to extricate himself from the mess, but it had been a mess entirely of his own making. From here on, he'd have to be smarter. It would take all of his wits to survive this hellscape, but as he stepped gingerly over the destroyed corpse of a young child, he knew that he'd either survive or die trying.
He turned the corner, and with one last quick look over his shoulder, walked as swiftly as he dared away from the noise.
CHAPTER V
Now that the wail of the siren was dulled, other sounds took its place. Screams. Growls. Glass shattering. Distant gunshots. The sounds of a city tearing itself apart. Mason stopped for a moment and surveilled his new environment. Three males were hunched over two different corpses near the far end of the block. Two others were standing thirty yards away, heads tilted and ears tuned to the street. A male and female raced from one side of the street to the other and disappeared into an underground garage, followed almost immediately by a man's desperate howl. Two others were ambling slowly down the middle of the road directly toward Mason; an old man and a young girl, walking side by side and straight down the centerline. They looked like they might be a man and his granddaughter, and appeared so unremarkable that Mason thought that they might actually be refugees like he. He even went so far as to give them a little wave of recognition, but then they drew close enough for him to see their faces. They had wild, sightless eyes, and their chins were painted red with fresh blood. He stepped quietly to the side, held his breath, and let them pass by a dozen feet away.
Halfway down the block, a door suddenly opened and a man stepped onto the sidewalk. He was nattily dressed in a gray suit, but his tie was askew, and a scrap of toilet paper was pinned to his chin by a drop of dried blood. Apparently, this poor hapless buffoon had gotten through his entire
While those close to him were distracted and before the others arrived, Mason threw himself into the street and sprinted back across the road, planting himself between a lamppost and a mailbox. A middle-aged woman tore past and clipped the mailbox with her foot, but Mason held the box to keep it from falling and watched the woman stumble on with the jagged tip of bone protruding from her ankle.
This spot was safe for the moment, but he couldn't stay. The alarm was echoing through the streets, and more were coming from all sides. A dozen. Twenty. More still. In moments, there would be nowhere to go. Mason stepped out into the middle of the road and watched a loose mob rushing directly at him. He took a deep breath and held it, then he engaged in a desperate, deadly game that would either prove his downfall or his salvation. As each beast ran headlong toward him, he dodged to one side or another as quickly and quietly as he could manage, hoping that the harsh wail of the siren would cover any scuff his shoes might make on the pavement. As one creature raced past him, he would take a few steps away from the gathering swarm, gauge the speed and direction of the next in line, and deftly deke to the side to let it pass.
At last he reached the intersection, and the rushing crowd thinned, but Mason didn't stop to congratulate himself. He'd managed to extricate himself from the mess, but it had been a mess entirely of his own making. From here on, he'd have to be smarter. It would take all of his wits to survive this hellscape, but as he stepped gingerly over the destroyed corpse of a young child, he knew that he'd either survive or die trying.
He turned the corner, and with one last quick look over his shoulder, walked as swiftly as he dared away from the noise.
CHAPTER V
Now that the wail of the siren was dulled, other sounds took its place. Screams. Growls. Glass shattering. Distant gunshots. The sounds of a city tearing itself apart. Mason stopped for a moment and surveilled his new environment. Three males were hunched over two different corpses near the far end of the block. Two others were standing thirty yards away, heads tilted and ears tuned to the street. A male and female raced from one side of the street to the other and disappeared into an underground garage, followed almost immediately by a man's desperate howl. Two others were ambling slowly down the middle of the road directly toward Mason; an old man and a young girl, walking side by side and straight down the centerline. They looked like they might be a man and his granddaughter, and appeared so unremarkable that Mason thought that they might actually be refugees like he. He even went so far as to give them a little wave of recognition, but then they drew close enough for him to see their faces. They had wild, sightless eyes, and their chins were painted red with fresh blood. He stepped quietly to the side, held his breath, and let them pass by a dozen feet away.
Halfway down the block, a door suddenly opened and a man stepped onto the sidewalk. He was nattily dressed in a gray suit, but his tie was askew, and a scrap of toilet paper was pinned to his chin by a drop of dried blood. Apparently, this poor hapless buffoon had gotten through his entire
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