The Darkest Days (Death & Decay Book 0.5) by R. L. Blalock Page A

and find them
immediately. His chest felt as though it would explode if he did
not find them. “Sarah!”
    In three quick steps, he strode through the
entryway and into the living room. The open floor plan allowed him
to look over the living room, dining room, and kitchen. All were
distressingly devoid of anyone.
    A heap on the couch caught his attention. Wads
of red-soaked kitchen towels lay strewn across the stained couch
and floor.
    Suddenly, Wyatt couldn’t breathe. There was a
lot of blood. Someone had been hurt, badly. Someone else had tried
to help them.
    “Sarah!” His calls became desperate as he lunged
for the hall that led back to the bedroom.
    A shadow passed the first doorway on the right.
Ben’s room. A split second behind the shadow, Sarah nudged open the
door.
    “Oh, thank God!” His relief was quickly swept
aside as a frightening shriek ripped from her throat.
    She lurched out of the bedroom and into the
hallway. The dying evening light that seeped through the windows
revealed her true appearance. Her right shoulder was a ragged mess.
A few of the fingers on her left hand were bloody stumps. Blood
matted her long, mahogany hair into a tangled mess. Her usually
fair skin—what wasn’t smeared with gore—was ashen and chalky.
    “No.” The word was barely a whisper. Wyatt could
no longer hold back the tidal wave of despair that had threatened
to drown him for the past seventy-two hours. Tears streamed down
his cheeks as Sarah advanced on him.
    She vaulted the final distance between them.
Wyatt stumbled back, unable to make his muscles obey the commands
of his brain. Sarah wrapped her arms around him in a vicious,
viselike hug. At the last second, Wyatt managed to hook his hand
underneath her chin as they collapsed to the floor.
    “Sarah, please stop!” He had seen dozens of
others act just this way, and yet he could not do anything other
than beg her.
    His wife had never been weak, but now her grip
was crushing. It took every ounce of strength in his weary body
just to hold her back. But his strength was not endless. While his
muscles grew weaker by the second, Sarah only seemed to grow more
agitated.
    “Sarah, stop!” A fresh trail of tears trickled
down his cheeks as he wrapped his left hand around her slender
neck. Despite the fact that her air was almost completely cut off,
Sarah struggled as if nothing had changed. Her fingers hooked
around his vest as she tried to pull herself closer to him.
    “Honey, please.” Her teeth gnashed just inches
from his face. Empty eyes stared back at him.
    Almost against his will, Wyatt brought his gun
up and pressed it to the side of Sarah’s head as he had done to
others so many times in the past few days. With just the slightest
pressure the trigger depressed. Sarah’s head jerked to one side as
a bright red mist showered from the other side.
    Suddenly, Sarah stopped thrashing and flopped
against Wyatt’s chest. For a moment, all he could do was lie on the
floor, pinned by Sarah’s weight, as he listened to the ragged
wheeze of his own breathing and the rapid thrum of his heart.
    As his heart and breathing began to slow, he
heard a new sound. Irregular and soft. Gently, Wyatt shifted
Sarah’s lifeless form to the floor and stood up. The shuffling came
from down the hall, in the master bedroom.
    His mind would not allow him to grasp what might
be behind that door. Tiny fingers wrapped around the edge of the
partially open door. As Ben toddled into the hall, there was no
trill of excited laughter, no clapping, no elated dance that
usually greeted him when he returned home.
    Instead, Ben opened his mouth and screeched.
Even in the shadows, Wyatt could see the boy’s face was covered in
blood. His hands were red as though he were wearing mittens. The
blood seeped down from his face to stain the tattered remains of
his small dinosaur shirt. One of Ben’s shoes was missing, giving
him an exaggerated stagger.
    Before Ben could move, Wyatt lunged