The owl calls out again and I wait five solid beats. No shadow. No movement. I decide it’s my mind playing tricks on me—wouldn’t be the first time—and I lower my weapon. Increasing my speed, I walk toward the barn until a high-pitched, terrified scream pierces the night. My stomach drops and I draw the hatchet again, running in the direction of the scream. Toward my mother. There’s only one reason for her to scream like that. Only one reason to reveal her location. The barn door is ajar, light from the camping lamp spills out the crack.
A low moan fills the air and I swing the door open. I spot two of them—a male and female—shuffling in the direction of my mother. She’s pushed against the fall wall, trapped. I shake my head, willing her to stay quiet.
My mother had never been one to follow directions well.
“Run!” she shouts.
I lift my hatchet and say in a calm voice, “No.”
The Eaters turn, eyes pale and glassy. Black spidery veins run through the white space of their eyes. I only have seconds to plot my next move, yet my feet are frozen, glued to the ground. The female makes a move in my direction, her long skirt dragging across the dusty floor. Before I can react a blast rips through the air and a hail storm of blood and guts splatter across the barn. My hands cover my ears, now ringing and muffled from the gunshot. My mother holds the gun between two, surprisingly steady hands.
“Come on!” I yell skirting around the body with one eye on the remaining Eater. We have to get out of here while he’s stunned. She grabs her bag but everything is washed out by the enraged guttural roar of the man. He recognizes the death of his friend and gnashes his yellowed teeth in response. “Mom, now. Now!”
She never has a chance. Not once he amps up the super strength and speed that comes from the infection. He lunges at her, teeth bared. She slaps at his arms but he pins her easily, clamping down on her shoulder, tearing through her shirt.
“No!” I shout jumping over the dead Eater on full attack. I strike him with the hatchet, twice, the last one a solid shot through the neck. This finally makes him stop, blood spraying like a fountain. He falls to the ground with an echoing thud, head hanging by a thread.
“Mom?”
She and I stare at one another. Blood oozes from her wound. It’s big, massive really, and the loss of blood has already paled her face.
“Do it,” she says through gritted teeth. I’ve never seen a more determined look on her face.
“I can try to stitch it up,” I say picking up her bag. There’s a First-Aid kit inside. “I bet these are some of the early ones. The non-contagious.”
“Alexandra,” my mother said. “I already feel the infection taking over.”
I hold up the First-Aid pack. “I’ve got antiseptic here.”
“We had a deal, baby. Don’t let me down.”
I stop moving. “You can feel it?”
“It’s a rush,” she says. “Numbness. I feel it in my toes and ears.”
“Maybe it’s shock.”
“It’s like they said on the news.” She looked woozy. I watch as her eyes glaze over like Kevin Richmond at a party, high as a kite. “Do it please. Before it goes bad. There isn’t much time.”
A sob rips through my chest because this isn’t how this is supposed to happen. None of this should have happened. I pull the gun out of the back of my pants and say, “I love you, Momma.”
“Love you too, Alexandra. Do your father proud, okay?” Her eyes have already faded—the blue shifting into a cloudy gray. Her words slur. We have minutes, maybe seconds left. The problem is that she won’t die from that bite. She’s not going to die on her own. I’ll have to do it for her. “Tell your sister I love her.”
I place my hand on the trigger and aim, wishing for a brief second I could turn it on myself.
The bang rips through the room, sending another shrill ringing through my ears. She slouches to the side. I don’t know how long I sit with her but after a bit it’s too much. Without looking at her face, I crawl over, slipping off her wedding ring and the gold chain around her neck. I pick up the gun and grab both backpacks and run out of the barn.
I have work to do. I have to make my father proud.
Chapter Ten
~Before~
9 Weeks Ago
Like every other visit, LabGuy pricks my finger and wraps it in a Band-Aid. Unlike every other visit he reaches into the small refrigerator next to his station and pulls out a vile of clear liquid and a syringe.
“What’s that,” I ask eyeing the needle.