Amongst the Dead by David Bernstein Page A

spring.  
    “Were…” She took a deep breath “…were you…shot?” She already knew the answer, but the words came out anyway. Jack made it official.  
    “Seems they got me good, but at least…you got…them.” He forced a smile revealing blood-stained teeth. “I’m going to get out now. It will be hard…for you to…drive if I’m in the seat.” He started laughing before the chuckle became a gargle of blood and phlegm.  
    “No,” Riley said, grabbing his arm. “You’ll be fine.”  
    Jack smiled after clearing his throat. “No kid. I won’t.” He opened the door, placed a foot on the pavement and went to get out, but tumbled to the ground.  
    Her eyes widened as her mouth hung open at what she saw. Blood glistened on the back of the driver’s seat, pooling on the cushion like spilled strawberry syrup.  
    She opened her door, jumped out and ran around the car to where Jack lay face down. She saw the bullet hole in his jacket—crimson fluid leaking from it. He’d been shot center mass between the shoulder blades.  
    “Jack,” she whispered, tears forming, vision going blurry. She bent down, placing two fingers on his carotid. She felt nothing. No thump. He was dead.  
    She stood up, the world seeming to spin out of control. She’d only known Jack a few days, but she’d grown to love him in that short time. The air around her was still save for the car’s gentle idle. Another person taken from her. She should’ve broken down, cried hysterically, but instead she felt a growing kernel of heat within her gut. She was beyond angry, her insides fuming with rage. This wasn’t circumstance; this was the doing of evil men. It was the army men’s fault Jack was dead—that she was left alone again. The small kernel of heat now spread throughout her body as if she was radioactive.  
    Feeling numb, dead inside except for utter hatred, Riley pulled Jack’s sidearm from his holster, pointed it at his temple and fired. She’d managed to shut her eyes upon firing, not wanting the image of destroying her friend’s remains stuck in her mind. The act would be enough to bring nightmares. She didn’t need to see the gore and was confident the point blank shot to the temple was enough to ensure he didn’t come back.
    Riley turned away, opening her eyes. Leaning into the car, she turned the ignition off and withdrew the car key, stuffing it into her pocket. There was no point in wasting gas or leaving a vehicle with a car key that could be used to come after her. She’d never learned how to drive, the car useless to her.  
    She would hike the rest of the way to Poughkeepsie, no matter how long it took. Going back to the cabin was too dangerous—if there still was a cabin to go back to.  
    She was ripped from her thoughts by a scream. It came from behind her, beyond the bend in the road where the SUV flipped. Her eyes became slits, her teeth grinding together, jaw muscles defined.  
    Walking around the car to the passenger’s side, she reached inside, grabbed her rifle and a couple of ammo clips, and began marching back up the road.  
    Within a few minutes she came upon the wreck. The black SUV rested partially on its roof and front end, slanted against the pavement. Steam hissed from the crumpled hood as fluids leaked onto the ground. The windshield had multiple cracks, lightning-like throughout, and was splattered with shiny redness.  
    Riley approached cautiously, tiptoeing around to the driver’s side. A man lay broken in the driver’s seat, appendages twisted at unnatural angles like a discarded marionette. His body was jerking as if something was tugging at it. His eyelids flung open. Riley jumped back, barely containing herself. She raised her weapon.  
    “Please…” the man groaned. “Kill me.” His face was caked in blood and he spoke as if he’d just come from a visit to the dentist.  
    “Are you Deak?” she asked coldly.  
    “Please,” the man gurgled.  
    “Is your name