Devoured - - (list of e readers .TXT) 📗
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The head of an eyeless beast poked through the jagged pieces of glass that remained, an inhuman wail echoing off the suddenly silent street.
Other infected answered the call, loosing a dozen cries through the building.
Chaos followed.
People fled, dropping their stolen wares and abandoning their friends. They ran in all directions, screaming and crying, shoving others out of their way. A teenager climbed the pole holding the lights at an intersection, yelling at anyone who tried to follow him up.
Lance waited, knowing that he couldn’t fight through the herd until it thinned. His foot wouldn’t allow him to keep up and he would end up getting trampled to death. As he stared at the panic and confusion, he knew that this was what waited at Heinz Field.
People wanted out and they would kill each other to get there. The government would have its hands full if they thought they could contain this.
He eyed the hospital, scanning the windows in case something decided to come outside. Several faces stared back at him from inside locked rooms. He couldn’t help but question who was safer—the people barricaded in the hospital with those things, or him in the streets with a fearful population.
The crowd thinned within minutes and he set off, using his left hand along the walls of buildings and handrails, needing the support to keep pressure off his foot. A trail of bloody footprints followed in his wake.
Two cars were flipped over, their windows smashed in. People ran up and down the streets, generally ignoring each other as they smashed and stole their way through the city. He couldn’t believe how quickly everyone took to thievery as soon as the law left town.
A liquor store that Lance frequented was stripped bare. Empty shelves, opened freezers, and smashed bottles were all that remained. Lance felt sorry for those who couldn’t keep themselves from drinking their days away even as the world came crashing down.
He had to stop and take breaks every fifteen minutes. Fatigue and pain threatened to bring a halt to his journey, so he bided his time and rested when he couldn’t stand the anguish in his foot. The soreness in his left side abated a bit as he went, the muscles stretching and relaxing, even as the lower part of his body worsened.
As he sat on the steps of an apartment building, the tenants going in and out with armfuls of groceries and electronics, he spotted one of the sick—a man in the early stages of the illness.
He appeared more coherent than the woman he’d encountered the day before, though his motor skills were off and he still mumbled. The man walked on the other side of the street, looking around as if he didn’t understand where he was.
People scrambled away when they saw him, shouting for help and threatening him to stay back.
He didn’t listen.
The man made it to the front of a closed Subway when a gang of polo-shirt-wearing men came up from behind him. They held baseball bats, crowbars, brooms, and even a bowling pin.
Lance saw them coming and knew what would happen next. He got up and rushed away as fast as his bare feet would allow, ignoring the angry taunts and muted bludgeoning that came from behind him.
More of the infected wandered ahead, but their madness was more advanced, any aggressors not daring to go near such insanity. They stumbled through the streets, mostly ignoring everyone. A few gave chase to the slower, fatter populace of the ‘Burgh.
One woman stood out among the rest. The shade of her skin neared translucence, her skeletal system already deforming. Lance never saw the front of her, but he knew that her eyes were shriveled, her face full of veins. The murderous desire had already begun to overtake her.
Lance took a different street, knowing that the detour would cost him precious time, but he dared not go near the woman. The alleys had less people, though the fear of being caught in one with an infected person kept him from using them.
He couldn’t outrun anyone if cornered, so he chose his path carefully. The bleeding from his foot slowed as he went, his trail less obvious.
The pain never lessened.
Though he saw several beatings and heard dozens more, Lance never saw a police officer or EMT. He lost count of how many of the banshee-like screams he heard come from apartment buildings and businesses.
The sun neared the horizon by the time he stumbled onto his block and caught sight of his aging building. As the streets darkened, more of the sick appeared, their movements more fluid, the sluggishness he’d seen earlier gone.
Lance whispered a tiny prayer as he painstakingly climbed the stairs to his apartment, glad that he’d made it home before dark. Something about the night attracted them, and he didn’t want to be around when they took control of the streets.
Steam clouded the mirror, the bathroom fan unable to keep up.
Lance stared at the tub of hot water, working up the courage to step in. He grabbed a towel from the rack beside the door and squeezed it in his hands, hoping to channel some of his oncoming anguish into it.
He sat on the edge of the tub and slowly lowered his uninjured foot into it, hissing at the heat. The toll of walking on the streets in his bare feet was greater than he realized. The agony of every abrasion and knick intensified as he held the foot there, gritting his teeth and squeezing the towel.
After an excruciating half a minute, the pain ebbed.
“And that was the good foot,” Lance muttered to the empty room.
He lowered the rest of his body, minus his sliced foot, into the water at a snail’s pace. The heat warmed him immediately, attacking the soreness in his ribs and shoulder. It had been years since he’d taken a bath, and at that moment, he couldn’t figure out why.
His left foot hovered above the surface as he submerged himself up to the neck. The impending pain hung over him, making his face pinch in on itself as he gathered what little willpower remained.
Taking a deep breath, he dunked his foot and squeezed the towel as if he wanted to murder it. He bit back a scream, thumping his left hand on the outside of the tub. The end of the balled-up towel went between his teeth and he hyperventilated against it. It took everything he had to keep his foot submerged.
The misery eased fractionally, giving him only the slightest relief.
The bottoms of his feet had blackened with filth from the walk. He desperately wanted to avoid infection, realizing that a trip to his general practitioner probably wouldn’t happen again in the next millennia.
The worst part remained.
He scooted forward, his shoulders coming out of the water, and pulled his foot toward his face. The wound was dirty, but didn’t appear particularly deep. It was just enough to hurt like hell.
Lance never liked having his feet messed with or tickled, so having a piece of a glass stab into his arch came straight out of a nightmare.
The next twenty minutes consisted of swearing, scrubbing, and possibly a tear or two, though Lance tried to convince himself that some soap got in his eyes.
He found bandages in the hall closet and attached a large one to his foot. Too much pressure caused pain, so he walked around the apartment on his heel, glad that no one was around to see how ridiculous he looked.
His favorite robe clung to him as he shambled around, enjoying its comfort in silence. Liz hated its tattered appearance and made sure to say something every time he wore it.
Wearing it now without her constant nagging proved a great comfort amidst the carnage outside.
After a series of rapes occurred in the city a few years ago, Lance bought Liz a small pistol for her purse. He’d never gotten around to getting her a concealed carry permit because, as far as he knew, she never took the damn thing with her anyway. She hated guns and wouldn’t even relent to going to a shooting range for practice. After several arguments over it, he began to wonder why he bought it in the first place.
He dug in her dresser drawers and rifled through her closet, hoping she hadn’t thrown it away. After several minutes of searching, he found a box of bullets but couldn’t find the gun anywhere.
“Damn it, Liz. You should have known that I would need that stupid thing when the world ended.”
He left the room in ruins, knowing she probably wouldn’t see the apartment ever again. If they managed to get out of Pittsburgh, there wasn’t much reason for them to chance coming back. Even if the plague died out and humanity prevailed, what would remain of the civilization here?
Mankind was rapidly sliding down the food chain.
He settled for a butcher’s knife he took from a magnet hanging above the counter.
As the sun finally set, Lance took a seat by the window and watched the street below. Normal people were scarce, though he could see lights in many apartments across the street. The sick and violent roamed the city, their cries filling the night.
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