and
daughter—the real reason why he was here. “Dammit,” he shouted. Cloud spun on
his heels and looked the airman in the eye, “Get them on board!” he said.
“All of ’em, sir?”
the airman asked.
“Yes,” Cloud
answered. “And Turner? You can count on that court martial.”
Turner smiled and
moved to run out of the aircraft to recover his people. “Yes, sir,” he called
over his shoulder.
Chapter
9
Darkness quickly
filled the valley as the sun dropped below the distant mountains. Joe sat
huddled in the sporting goods store armed with his newly assembled battle mace.
His left arm was swaddled in strips of torn canvas that he had wrapped and tied
tightly to serve as protective armor. Joe’s back was pressed against the
counter, his eyes level with the bottom sill of the storefront’s window.
Figures paced along
the street, moving slowly toward the grocery store parking lot. Joe’s eyes
traveled along the dark lot to the row of trees where he’d left his truck. Two
hundred yards—a couple football fields—is all he’d need to cross. If he ran, he
could be there in minutes. The creatures still followed predictable patterns;
they would continue to be drawn to the store for at least the next day and then
slowly they would dissipate, returning to the smaller hunting packs. Joe didn’t
want to wait that long; he was hungry and thirsty, and he wanted to get back to
the cabin.
He sat silently
watching another pack pass by his current position then readied himself in the
doorway. He made sure the things were out of immediate earshot then readied his
hand on the door. Letting his right hand firmly grip his handmade weapon, he
squeezed tightly, feeling the sweat on his palm. His heart rate increased,
adrenalin beginning to surge in his body. Joe checked his pocket a last time
and felt the straps of the tiny backpack to ensure it was tight to his body.
“Well, guess it’s
time to do this,” he whispered.
Joe-Mac let the
door glide open and stepped into the dark. He stood on the sidewalk in front of
the store. The immediate area was empty, but he could hear the plodding of the
creatures’ feet as they slapped pavement far ahead. He turned away from them
and walked down the street, putting distance on the pack. Instead of moving
straight for his truck in a diagonal line, he decided he would navigate the
long way down the street and cut back up to it, hoping to stay hidden in the
shadows of the storefronts.
The moon drifted
out of the clouds, its lunar light making the concrete appear blue. Looking
into the lot, the figures lit by the light looked ten feet tall and made of
steel with their backs turned to him as they moved away and filed into the
market. Joe passed in front of a brick-faced auto parts store at the end of the
block and paused, crouching low. He heard the sounds of crunching glass. His
body tightened, his head moved left and right, but he was unable to pinpoint
its source.
Joe heard a loud
gasping and intake of air; he spun on his heels and saw a female staggering
toward him. Dressed in rags, her left leg moved awkwardly; the clothing at the
knee ripped away to reveal torn muscle. She lunged forward, the sounds
beginning to gurgle from her drooling mouth. Joe knew she was going to make the
howling noise, the one that alerted the others to prey. Not hesitating, he
launched himself at her, pushing off with his toes like a sprinter in the
blocks as his arm swung up violently. The rope-encased eight ball connected
solidly with the woman’s temple, her head snapping up and back from the force
of the mace. Joe heard her neck crack as her body lifted off the ground,
following its head.
She thumped to the
pavement and lay still; her head turned away and showcased a concave dent where
the mace had struck. He planted his feet and recovered, crouching and waiting
for the next attack to come. His head swiveled and his body turned while
searching; he picked up the sound of running
daughter—the real reason why he was here. “Dammit,” he shouted. Cloud spun on
his heels and looked the airman in the eye, “Get them on board!” he said.
“All of ’em, sir?”
the airman asked.
“Yes,” Cloud
answered. “And Turner? You can count on that court martial.”
Turner smiled and
moved to run out of the aircraft to recover his people. “Yes, sir,” he called
over his shoulder.
Chapter
9
Darkness quickly
filled the valley as the sun dropped below the distant mountains. Joe sat
huddled in the sporting goods store armed with his newly assembled battle mace.
His left arm was swaddled in strips of torn canvas that he had wrapped and tied
tightly to serve as protective armor. Joe’s back was pressed against the
counter, his eyes level with the bottom sill of the storefront’s window.
Figures paced along
the street, moving slowly toward the grocery store parking lot. Joe’s eyes
traveled along the dark lot to the row of trees where he’d left his truck. Two
hundred yards—a couple football fields—is all he’d need to cross. If he ran, he
could be there in minutes. The creatures still followed predictable patterns;
they would continue to be drawn to the store for at least the next day and then
slowly they would dissipate, returning to the smaller hunting packs. Joe didn’t
want to wait that long; he was hungry and thirsty, and he wanted to get back to
the cabin.
He sat silently
watching another pack pass by his current position then readied himself in the
doorway. He made sure the things were out of immediate earshot then readied his
hand on the door. Letting his right hand firmly grip his handmade weapon, he
squeezed tightly, feeling the sweat on his palm. His heart rate increased,
adrenalin beginning to surge in his body. Joe checked his pocket a last time
and felt the straps of the tiny backpack to ensure it was tight to his body.
“Well, guess it’s
time to do this,” he whispered.
Joe-Mac let the
door glide open and stepped into the dark. He stood on the sidewalk in front of
the store. The immediate area was empty, but he could hear the plodding of the
creatures’ feet as they slapped pavement far ahead. He turned away from them
and walked down the street, putting distance on the pack. Instead of moving
straight for his truck in a diagonal line, he decided he would navigate the
long way down the street and cut back up to it, hoping to stay hidden in the
shadows of the storefronts.
The moon drifted
out of the clouds, its lunar light making the concrete appear blue. Looking
into the lot, the figures lit by the light looked ten feet tall and made of
steel with their backs turned to him as they moved away and filed into the
market. Joe passed in front of a brick-faced auto parts store at the end of the
block and paused, crouching low. He heard the sounds of crunching glass. His
body tightened, his head moved left and right, but he was unable to pinpoint
its source.
Joe heard a loud
gasping and intake of air; he spun on his heels and saw a female staggering
toward him. Dressed in rags, her left leg moved awkwardly; the clothing at the
knee ripped away to reveal torn muscle. She lunged forward, the sounds
beginning to gurgle from her drooling mouth. Joe knew she was going to make the
howling noise, the one that alerted the others to prey. Not hesitating, he
launched himself at her, pushing off with his toes like a sprinter in the
blocks as his arm swung up violently. The rope-encased eight ball connected
solidly with the woman’s temple, her head snapping up and back from the force
of the mace. Joe heard her neck crack as her body lifted off the ground,
following its head.
She thumped to the
pavement and lay still; her head turned away and showcased a concave dent where
the mace had struck. He planted his feet and recovered, crouching and waiting
for the next attack to come. His head swiveled and his body turned while
searching; he picked up the sound of running
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