broken window dig into his flesh like razors as he pulled out more and more of the fractured glass, the open space allowing him to hear Jennifer's heart-wrenching wails.
A garbled snarl sounded inside the car, and his daughter's shrieks cut off with a wet squeak.
“ Oh, god, no!” Kell sobbed, tears running down his face. “No, goddammit!”
He was still yanking at the window, hand lacerated dozens of times and pouring blood, when one of the undead in the vehicle lunged forward. It was Agent Jameson who saved him by pulling hard on his belt; Kell was gone by then. The man he was, every quirk of personality that created the unique tapestry of him was simply lost in a tide of grief and rage. As he fell backward onto his seat, the monster that had lunged at him, that had taken his daughter, stared at him through the gaping hole in the window before tearing into his unconscious wife.
Kell could not look away. Why should he? This was the end of his world. There was nothing else. Right then there was no reason to move, no sense of self-preservation.
Jameson knelt next to him and raised his weapon, fired a single shot through the window. The creature that had taken everything from him dropped instantly, Karen's blood still vividly scarlet on its lips.
“ Come on, man,” Jameson said. “We have to get out of here. We have to tell people.”
Kell didn't move at first, but Jameson kept yelling in his ear. “Doctor McDonald, there are several of them left. They're going to come after us as soon as they finish...what they're doing. We need to run, and we have to tell Agent Jones that Chimera is now loose.”
A sudden, dark sense of purpose filled him. A promise remembered.
Jones.
Jameson tried to pull Kell to his feet again, but the big man stood on his own. The agent shouted things at him, but nothing important. Things about survival, about securing a vehicle. Kell ignored him and hopped down to the ground, walked around the car and slapped the back of his (mostly) good (but still heavily bleeding) hand against the rear fender of the SUV.
The zombie at the back was only leaned into the vehicle, and stood straight to take in its next victim. Even as it turned to face Kell he hefted a foot and kicked the thing in the knee, breaking the joint backward. He stepped back as it toppled spinning to the pavement, and danced a little as the thing grabbed at his feet. Kell did the most expedient thing and kicked it again, this time in the side of the head.
The zombie appeared dazed for a second, and Kell took that time to stomp as hard as he could on its neck, leg pistoning several times before it stopped moving. Even when the bones and nerves in its cervical spine were so much mush and splinters, the jaw still worked. So he stomped on that, too.
There were only a few others left; one completely in the back of the SUV where it noisily consumed what was left of the unknown agent, and two others crammed against the front window, where the remains of Agent Wilson served as a nice distraction.
Kell walked around the car that had run into them, only then noticing the driver—a little old lady—was being torn apart by another of the undead. Kell pointed toward the back seat of the SUV as he heard Jameson sidle in behind him. “Kill the one in the back,” he said coldly.
Kell picked up Agent Paul's dropped weapon as Jameson moved in to comply, and pulled the man's corpse closer. He found what he was looking for—spare ammunition.
Kell squatted at the passenger door of the old woman's car and tapped on the window. The zombie gnashing its teeth in her throat—an obese man with a thick beard drenched in blood—looked up.
Having never fired a handgun, he missed with the first shot. That bullet shattered the window, which fell in sheets and was clearly not safety glass, and struck the old woman in the temple.
“Fuck,” Kell said as the undead cocked its head at him in curiosity. Carefully, he steadied the gun in his wounded
A garbled snarl sounded inside the car, and his daughter's shrieks cut off with a wet squeak.
“ Oh, god, no!” Kell sobbed, tears running down his face. “No, goddammit!”
He was still yanking at the window, hand lacerated dozens of times and pouring blood, when one of the undead in the vehicle lunged forward. It was Agent Jameson who saved him by pulling hard on his belt; Kell was gone by then. The man he was, every quirk of personality that created the unique tapestry of him was simply lost in a tide of grief and rage. As he fell backward onto his seat, the monster that had lunged at him, that had taken his daughter, stared at him through the gaping hole in the window before tearing into his unconscious wife.
Kell could not look away. Why should he? This was the end of his world. There was nothing else. Right then there was no reason to move, no sense of self-preservation.
Jameson knelt next to him and raised his weapon, fired a single shot through the window. The creature that had taken everything from him dropped instantly, Karen's blood still vividly scarlet on its lips.
“ Come on, man,” Jameson said. “We have to get out of here. We have to tell people.”
Kell didn't move at first, but Jameson kept yelling in his ear. “Doctor McDonald, there are several of them left. They're going to come after us as soon as they finish...what they're doing. We need to run, and we have to tell Agent Jones that Chimera is now loose.”
A sudden, dark sense of purpose filled him. A promise remembered.
Jones.
Jameson tried to pull Kell to his feet again, but the big man stood on his own. The agent shouted things at him, but nothing important. Things about survival, about securing a vehicle. Kell ignored him and hopped down to the ground, walked around the car and slapped the back of his (mostly) good (but still heavily bleeding) hand against the rear fender of the SUV.
The zombie at the back was only leaned into the vehicle, and stood straight to take in its next victim. Even as it turned to face Kell he hefted a foot and kicked the thing in the knee, breaking the joint backward. He stepped back as it toppled spinning to the pavement, and danced a little as the thing grabbed at his feet. Kell did the most expedient thing and kicked it again, this time in the side of the head.
The zombie appeared dazed for a second, and Kell took that time to stomp as hard as he could on its neck, leg pistoning several times before it stopped moving. Even when the bones and nerves in its cervical spine were so much mush and splinters, the jaw still worked. So he stomped on that, too.
There were only a few others left; one completely in the back of the SUV where it noisily consumed what was left of the unknown agent, and two others crammed against the front window, where the remains of Agent Wilson served as a nice distraction.
Kell walked around the car that had run into them, only then noticing the driver—a little old lady—was being torn apart by another of the undead. Kell pointed toward the back seat of the SUV as he heard Jameson sidle in behind him. “Kill the one in the back,” he said coldly.
Kell picked up Agent Paul's dropped weapon as Jameson moved in to comply, and pulled the man's corpse closer. He found what he was looking for—spare ammunition.
Kell squatted at the passenger door of the old woman's car and tapped on the window. The zombie gnashing its teeth in her throat—an obese man with a thick beard drenched in blood—looked up.
Having never fired a handgun, he missed with the first shot. That bullet shattered the window, which fell in sheets and was clearly not safety glass, and struck the old woman in the temple.
“Fuck,” Kell said as the undead cocked its head at him in curiosity. Carefully, he steadied the gun in his wounded
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