Devoured - - (list of e readers .TXT) 📗

Lance peered back at their pursuers, seeing that nearly twenty daywalkers followed them in tireless pursuit.

One of the men ahead saw them coming and spun around, screaming at the others. The rest turned at ninety degree angles, rifles butted against their shoulders, and aimed directly at Cass and Lance.

The man in front, large and dark-skinned, shouted something they couldn’t hear.

Lance grabbed Cass’ elbow and yanked her down, diving to the pavement. Skin skidded on rough asphalt, pebbles and dirt digging into scrapes.

Bullets whizzed over their heads, sounding shockingly similar to the near hits Lance had heard in a hundred action movies.

They covered their heads, squeezing against their ears, praying a stray round wouldn’t hit them.

The barrage of gunfire lasted a full ten seconds before abating. The engines of the helicopter continued their onslaught on Lance’s ears.

He slowly lifted his head, seeing the men through a cloud of smoke, their weapons still aimed in his direction. He rolled onto his side, looking behind, seeing Cass do the same.

Bullet-riddled bodies littered the parking lot.

Death throes ran through several, limbs wrenched with spasms.

Two dragged themselves forward, legs trailing behind, blood draining from exit wounds.

The helicopter ascended, rising straight into the sky at a rapid pace, before banking hard and flying over a residential area. The sound dissipated as it shrank against the blue canvas of sky.

“Are you OK?” Lance asked Cass.

“Fine. You?”

“Scraped my knees a bit,” Lance said as he worked his way to his feet.

“Will you live?” Cass lifted her axe from the pavement. “Should I amputate?”

Lance stared at the men before them. “Might want to be careful about swinging that axe around right now.”

The large man in front stepped forward, rifle still held up. Deeply tanned skin, and a thick, gnarly beard covered his face. Crow’s feet around his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Just two survivors,” Lance said, holding his ground. “Those things were chasing us and we heard the chopper so we ran over here.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t shoot you.”

Cass shifted her weight. “What are you guys doing? We haven’t seen anyone else alive in over a day, let alone a helicopter with a bunch of soldiers.”

“We aren’t soldiers.”

“You’re wearing uniforms.”

Lance watched the other men. They jammed fresh mags into their rifles and scanned the surrounding area with hardened eyes. A few more Vladdies of the fresher, newly minted variety stumbled into view from the other side of the office building.

The men shot them down in a flash.

“Get on your way,” the leader said. “You don’t want to be anywhere near us.”

“I’m not sure I believe that, considering you have a helicopter covering your asses.” Lance peered around, not liking their wide-open position. “What are you guys doing out here anyway?”

The man frowned. He turned around and gave his men a hand signal. They fanned out, taking positions at the corner of the building and behind parked cars.

“Funny how quickly things change. What would have been top secret information last week is now worthless.” He stepped closer, stopping when he was just out of reach of their bladed weapons. “We’re searching for nests.”

“Nests?” Cass asked.

“Where do they go during the day? We’re checking all buildings with large basements or underground parking garages—anywhere that is dark during the day.”

“Have you found any of them yet?”

“What do you think we were shooting at? Probably two hundred of them in there.”

The building drew Lance’s gaze like a magnet. “What do you do when you find them?”

The man made a throat-slashing gesture.

Cass asked, “You guys are Special Forces, aren’t you?”

“We were. Not sure what you’d call us now. Exterminators, maybe.”

“Who’s giving the orders now? Is the government still functional?”

“We’re still getting reports from various parts of the country, but they’re mostly military or some nut hiding in a bunker with a radio. No one has heard from the president or his cabinet in days. I have no idea who’s calling the shots now.”

Lance listened to the man’s account of the status of the country, or lack thereof, in a passive, unblinking way. Nothing surprised him anymore, and he was shocked at how easily he absorbed the idea that civilization had collapsed.

The man turned back to his men and gave them another signal. One of them reached into a small bag carried on his back and pulled a hand-sized device from it.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked, watching as the man pointed the unknown equipment at the office building.

“Blowing the place to hell. Now get out of here. I’ve already wasted too much time talking to you.” He headed back to his group.

“Where should we go? Who’s left?” Cass called to him as he walked across the parking lot. “Is Heinz Field still safe?”

The bearded man turned back to them once last time. “Yeah. We also have PNC Park quarantined. Get there soon. They’re not going to be able to take many more people.”

Lance and Cass watched as the men spoke to one another for a minute before fanning out again and moving down the street, leaving the office building behind.

“I thought they were blowing the place up?” Lance asked.

“Maybe they’re calling in artillery or something.”

They walked across the parking lot, giving the office building a wide berth, throwing nervous glances at it. A tall church, Catholic from the look of it, sat on the opposite side of the street. Homes, two stories with brick exteriors flanked it, populating the sprawling residential area.

Cass’ face, flushed from the exertion of their escape, remained stoic as she watched their surroundings. A sheen covered her stomach and lower back, sweat flowing freely.

Lance pointed to the church. “Maybe we can find some food in there. Don’t they usually have kitchens in the basement?”

He hadn’t been in a church since he’d graduated high school. His mother, a profoundly religious woman, forced him to go twice a week for the majority of his childhood and teenage years. By the time he’d left for college, Lance decided that he never wanted to spend another Sunday morning sitting in a pew.

And he hadn’t. Even when his mother died a few years later, he never felt like attending a service, searching for answers, or explanations of life and death. The pull of religion never took hold of him.

“No idea. I could eat though. It’s been a day and a half.” Cass switched the axe from one hand to the next. “I’m still not convinced that we shouldn’t go with those spec ops guys. They have a whole lot of firepower.”

“They want nothing to do with us. And they’re jumping head first into a world of shit. Going in the exact opposite direction of them is probably the best thing we can do.” Lance hoped he was right. The men had saved their lives after all.

Cass grunted. “Maybe.”

The idea of small groups of bad asses fighting back during the day was intriguing. Though Lance didn’t expect the effort to make much of a difference, the idea that someone in charge had half a brain was somewhat reassuring. But what chance did a dozen men have against an entire city of murderous monsters?

They crossed the street, catching the last glimpses of the bearded hard cases as they disappeared behind a sprawling, Victorian-styled home. A handful of infected walked down the center of the road, spouting gibberish to no one in particular.

Lance went up the front stairs of the church, lifting the machete in front of him. Two closed doors, wooden with ornate carvings on the front, stretched nearly twenty feet into the air.

Holding his ear against one of them, Lance listened to the silence beyond. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Let’s make this quick,” Cass said. “We have a lot of ground to cover tonight if we’re going to make it to the stadium before nightfall.”

The doors opened easily despite their bulk, the hinges squealing. A small foyer waited inside. Pamphlets and torn out Bible pages covered the floor.

Lance stood before the threshold of the door, staring at the ransacked space before them, contemplating not going in at all. His shirt stuck to his back, sweat flowing from his pores from running down the street. The cut on the bottom of his foot throbbed.

Wind blew in from the open doors, rustling the papers.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m second guessing going in there—what the hell does it look like?”

“It isn’t any safer out here than it is in there.”

Lance couldn’t argue with that. He threw a quick glance into the street and spotted more Vladdies meandering about. No place was safe anymore.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind Cass as she followed.

The stained glass windows in the chapel were smashed, covering the floor in jagged pieces. Blood covered the pews. Streaks of crimson ran down the aisles.

“Jesus,” Lance said, his blaspheme echoing in the empty space.

“I don’t think Jesus was watching when this happened.”

Organ pipes, dented and torn away from the wall, leaned against a balcony in the back of the church.

A shoe, bloodied and