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

Lance stumbled from the wreckage, still disoriented from the crash. He pulled the hunting knife from its sheath and stepped beside Cass. His mouth went slack when he saw the riotous mass coming for them from down the street.

They ran, following the road around the bend. The bridge to their right had nothing to offer so they kept going.

Heinz Field came into view as they passed a group of trees, still a half mile away at the least. A helicopter rose into the air from the center of the stadium, banking away and disappearing as it flew east.

Lack of food sapped the endurance from Lance’s muscles. His breathing became ragged and shallow.

“I don’t think I can make it,” he gasped.

Cass didn’t slow. “You don’t have a choice.”

Though she was right, that didn’t give Lance any extra energy. His stride became sloppy, knees threatening to give out.

The pops of distant gunfire came from the stadium.

Engines roared behind them.

“Here come the marauders.” Lance looked over his shoulder and saw the daywalkers getting closer.

“The what?”

“The militia.”

“Geez, I thought that I gave a lot of things nicknames,” Cass huffed.

Hundreds of the newly infected clogged the street ahead.

Lance and Cass slowed to a stop, bent at the waist, trying to catch their breath.

Barbed wire-covered sawhorses and chain link fences blocked the street, running down to the river. Dozens of daywalkers, maybe hundreds, were caught in the razor wire, their flesh tearing as they tried to press their way through.

“My god.” Cass stared at the mass of death ahead, her head shaking. “This was a bad idea.”

Lance looked at the oncoming group behind them, hearing the engines of chasing vehicles. Time was running out.

A straggler, blue-veined and eyeless, weaved around an abandoned Hyundai Santa Fe heading for Cass. It loosed a glass-shattering shriek as it closed in on her.

Cass planted her heel and spun, the axe swinging in a wide arc.

The daywalker’s head separated from its shoulders as Cass finished the smooth movement. The lopped-off cranium bounced off the street as the body crumpled to its back, limbs twitching.

“You’re such a bad ass with that thing,” Lance said.

“Won’t do us a whole lot of good in about twenty seconds.” She placed the head of the axe on the ground and leaned against the handle, watching the infected close in from behind them.

Lance looked around in desperation, knowing they were knocking on death’s door.

A side street on the left had more of the daywalkers coming down it. Only the river on their right looked safe.

“The river! I hope you can swim.” Lance grabbed Cass’ arm as he ran by her.

“What?”

Lance pointed at the edge of the water. The last of the daywalkers stood a few feet in from the shore, caught in the barbed wire. “None of them are in the water!”

They hopped over a guardrail, landing in the rock-covered shoulder, and ran down the bank.

A foot-pedal boat floated fifty feet beyond the shore, lolling on the current. Lance pointed at it as they ran, a glimmer of hope welling inside. It was just far enough away that he didn’t know if he had the strength to make the swim.

Cass said, “Can you make it that far?”

“Gotta try. Drowning would be better than being eaten alive.”

Another of the sick, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, tore himself away from the barbed wire as they approached.

Cass severed his right arm with an overhead swing of her axe. They kept going as he screamed behind them, arcs of sanguine fluid shooting from the exposed socket.

They reached the shore, Lance splashing knee-high into the water.

“Hold on.”

He turned around. “What?”

Two trucks and a motorcycle roared down the road, coming in behind the swarm of daywalkers. The marauders had finally caught up.

“Help me get my axe in the holster.” Cass grabbed the blade, lifting it over her head and aiming the handle at her back.

“Fuck the axe! They’re coming!”

“No! Help me!” She high-stepped into the water beside him, eyes blazing.

Lance wanted to argue with her, but he knew they were out of time. He spun her around by the shoulders and grabbed the bottom of the axe’s handle, guiding it into the holster. Cass worked it the rest of the way in, letting Lance secure the flap that held it in place.

He didn’t waste any time as he waded further into the Allegheny River. When he was waist high, Lance submerged his chest and shoulders, gasping as the chilly water sucked his breath away.

Ten seconds of freestyle swimming told him that he didn’t have the energy to make it to the boat that way. He rolled over and tried the backstroke, letting himself float as best he could.

Cass pulled away with powerful kicks and fluid, graceful movements. Lance marveled at her endurance and athleticism.

He lifted his head, watching the mayhem on land.

The trucks and motorcycle skidded to a stop, tires screeching. Men piled out of the vehicles, weapons raised, bullets flying. They shot at the backs of the daywalkers that chased Lance and Cass, cutting a quarter of them down in an instant.

One of the men shouted, pointing toward the water. The others swung their guns around and shot at Lance.

“Swim faster!” Lance yelled, unsure if Cass could hear him or not.

Sprouts of water flew into the air in front of Lance as bullets zipped into the river. He urged himself on as cramps racked his back and hips. Agony tore at his muscles as he swam on.

The infected shifted their attention to the men as they stopped to reload. Their unintelligible shouts floated over the water. The militia returned their fire to the infected, spraying them with shotguns and automatic rifles.

Lance’s legs gave out. His head dipped under the surface, water invading his nose and stinging his eyes. Panic gripped him, his muscles quaking as cramps consumed him. He tried to relax, needing to let his body float.

He failed.

His arms splashed feebly as he watched the light reflecting off the surface of the water move further away. The tips of his fingers submerged, his body falling into the depths.

Lungs burned.

Spasms took his body.

Eyelids drooped.

A shadow formed on the surface.

Water rippled as a hand reached in, gripped Lance’s wrist.

He was pulled up as his mind slowed, muscles finally loosening.

His head broke free and he gasped, inhaling air and water. Harsh coughs hurt his chest as he tried to breathe, struggling to clear his lungs. His shirt tightened around his neck, pinching the skin.

“Help me out here.” Cass grunted. “Kick your fucking legs!”

She pulled him against the edge of the pedal boat, guiding his hand to the edge. He held on for dear life, resting his forehead against it as he continued coughing up water.

Lance wanted to thank her, but he couldn’t spare a breath to speak.

Engines fired to life on the shore.

He grabbed the boat with his other hand and turned his head, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. The men climbed back into their vehicles and turned around, smoke trailing their spinning tires as they sped away. The growing group of daywalkers pursued them.

“Saved by some monsters,” Cass said. “Didn’t see that coming.” She looked down at Lance. “We need to work on your cardio. Didn’t you ever haul your dumb ass to the gym?”

Lance’s mind cleared little by little as he held onto the boat. “Didn’t see the point. Depression is a bitch.”

After another minute of rest, he struggled to pull himself out of the water. Cass leaned against the far side of the pedal boat, displacing their weight. It still dipped precariously close to the tipping point as Lance finally swung a leg over the side and rolled in.

“No more running. Ever.” Lance stared up at the blue sky, taking in big mouthfuls of air. “I think I was wrong—being eaten might have been better.”

“Stop whining. We’re alive.” Cass sat in one of the molded-plastic seats, having to sit on one butt cheek because the axe on her back made her shoulders rotate.

He looked over at her. “You’re sitting like you have a stick up your ass.”

Cass grappled with the axe and holster, managing to pull it free and lay it across the flat surface in front of their seats. “Does that suit your majesty?”

“Almost. I could use a sandwich too. And a beer. Cold beer.”

She socked him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

Lance slid into his seat with more difficulty than he liked. It felt like his body had blown a gasket.

They watched the shore, floating toward the stadium.