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Authors: T.W. Piperbrook
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eyes—two black marbles without reflection or emotion. Her skin was gray and wrinkled, as if ready to peel off her and reveal a new person underneath.
He pushed the rifle away from him, hoping to throw the little girl off, but Isabelle kept her deadly grip on the stock and barrel. She snapped at him over the top, doing her best to gnaw his flesh.
Noah turned his head. If the girl got ahold of him, it’d be over. Once she took the first bite, she’d keep tearing and clawing until he was dead. He needed to get out from underneath her. He needed to break free.
A second later he got his opening.
He thrust his knee upward, catching her in the stomach. The girl let out a screech and released her grasp on the gun.
Noah shoved the rifle upwards, connecting with her jaw, and sent the little girl reeling onto the floor. Then he scampered to his feet. He raised the gun, intending to fire off a round, but Isabelle had already pounced.
Noah fell backward against the bed. The frame slid across the floor a few inches; the clothes tumbled off and onto the carpet. Isabelle flailed at the bed, tearing at the bed sheets in an attempt to get at him. He could see the door out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t dare make a run for it.
The second his back was turned, she’d shred him.
Instead he rolled across the bed, avoiding her reaching hands, and got to his feet on the other side. He took aim with the rifle.
Isabelle stopped, as if sensing her predicament. He studied her face, searching for any semblance of the little girl she once was. She looked left and right, black eyes swiveling as they scanned the dolls and posters that’d once occupied her time. Did she have any recollection of what she’d been? Did she have any idea what had happened to her?
“Isabelle!” Noah called.
He paused, finger on the trigger, holding a bead on her head. He’d killed several of the things before, but he’d never faced one so young. The girl finished surveying the room and eyed him from the other side of the bed.
“Isabelle!” he repeated. “Can you hear me?”
Her face relaxed for a moment. He watched as she lowered her arms and sniffed the air. Could she understand what he was saying? Were his words getting through? The little girl stopped snarling. Her dark eyes locked on his face.
“I can help you,” he tried. “If you’ll listen to me. We have a safe place across—”
The infected girl leapt from the bed, letting out a shriek that filled the room. Her mouth hung open in rage; her hands clawed the air.
Noah fired.
The shot connected with her head. Isabelle fell to the bed like an empty sack, a lifeless body comprised of clothes and hair. Her hands went still.
Tears streaked Noah’s face, blurring his view of the room and the body. He circled around the bed, still pointing the rifle, but the little girl was dead. There was nothing he could’ve done.
There never had been.
He remained in the room for several seconds, staring at the girl and her belongings. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault. In the end he’d pulled the trigger, but it was the men perpetrating the infection who’d loaded the gun.
Maybe the agents were right. Maybe mankind’s destiny had been decided from the beginning. Maybe they were all meant to die.
Noah wiped his face on his sleeve. Even if he somehow survived this nightmare, there’d be no taking back what he’d done, and no forgetting it.
Keeping one hand on the gun, he knelt down and picked up the clothes that had spilled to the floor, then draped them over the little girl’s face.
When he returned to the road, the sun was shining. He held his hand over his eyes to avoid the glare and inspected the ruined street. Because of the gunshot, he’d expected a horde to approach at any minute, putting off his plans to leave.
Instead, the street was calm and silent.
He patted his pockets, worried he’d dropped the car key in the scuffle, but he found it in his shorts.
He
He pushed the rifle away from him, hoping to throw the little girl off, but Isabelle kept her deadly grip on the stock and barrel. She snapped at him over the top, doing her best to gnaw his flesh.
Noah turned his head. If the girl got ahold of him, it’d be over. Once she took the first bite, she’d keep tearing and clawing until he was dead. He needed to get out from underneath her. He needed to break free.
A second later he got his opening.
He thrust his knee upward, catching her in the stomach. The girl let out a screech and released her grasp on the gun.
Noah shoved the rifle upwards, connecting with her jaw, and sent the little girl reeling onto the floor. Then he scampered to his feet. He raised the gun, intending to fire off a round, but Isabelle had already pounced.
Noah fell backward against the bed. The frame slid across the floor a few inches; the clothes tumbled off and onto the carpet. Isabelle flailed at the bed, tearing at the bed sheets in an attempt to get at him. He could see the door out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t dare make a run for it.
The second his back was turned, she’d shred him.
Instead he rolled across the bed, avoiding her reaching hands, and got to his feet on the other side. He took aim with the rifle.
Isabelle stopped, as if sensing her predicament. He studied her face, searching for any semblance of the little girl she once was. She looked left and right, black eyes swiveling as they scanned the dolls and posters that’d once occupied her time. Did she have any recollection of what she’d been? Did she have any idea what had happened to her?
“Isabelle!” Noah called.
He paused, finger on the trigger, holding a bead on her head. He’d killed several of the things before, but he’d never faced one so young. The girl finished surveying the room and eyed him from the other side of the bed.
“Isabelle!” he repeated. “Can you hear me?”
Her face relaxed for a moment. He watched as she lowered her arms and sniffed the air. Could she understand what he was saying? Were his words getting through? The little girl stopped snarling. Her dark eyes locked on his face.
“I can help you,” he tried. “If you’ll listen to me. We have a safe place across—”
The infected girl leapt from the bed, letting out a shriek that filled the room. Her mouth hung open in rage; her hands clawed the air.
Noah fired.
The shot connected with her head. Isabelle fell to the bed like an empty sack, a lifeless body comprised of clothes and hair. Her hands went still.
Tears streaked Noah’s face, blurring his view of the room and the body. He circled around the bed, still pointing the rifle, but the little girl was dead. There was nothing he could’ve done.
There never had been.
He remained in the room for several seconds, staring at the girl and her belongings. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault. In the end he’d pulled the trigger, but it was the men perpetrating the infection who’d loaded the gun.
Maybe the agents were right. Maybe mankind’s destiny had been decided from the beginning. Maybe they were all meant to die.
Noah wiped his face on his sleeve. Even if he somehow survived this nightmare, there’d be no taking back what he’d done, and no forgetting it.
Keeping one hand on the gun, he knelt down and picked up the clothes that had spilled to the floor, then draped them over the little girl’s face.
When he returned to the road, the sun was shining. He held his hand over his eyes to avoid the glare and inspected the ruined street. Because of the gunshot, he’d expected a horde to approach at any minute, putting off his plans to leave.
Instead, the street was calm and silent.
He patted his pockets, worried he’d dropped the car key in the scuffle, but he found it in his shorts.
He
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