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

Tapping woke Lance from a shallow sleep.

Rays of sunlight stung his eyes as he rolled onto his back, making him shield his face with his hand. The fog of sleep slowly dissipated as he looked around the room.

Liz and Don slept in the chairs, curled into tight balls to stay warm.

He couldn’t remember falling asleep. They were watching the news last night when the exhaustion overcame him and then here he was. He’d slept through the night without waking up once. Judging from how far the sun was from the horizon, Lance guessed he’d slept for at least ten hours. How much of that was his body healing from being hit by a car, and how much was stress, he didn’t know.

The stiffness in his muscles and fullness in his bladder confirmed how long he’d been asleep. He sat up, grunting at the ache in his left arm and ribs. He hurt worse this morning than he had yesterday. Some painkillers would do him wonders right then.

Snow played on the television. Every channel had nothing but static as he flipped through a few.

More rapid tapping came, one after another.

Lance froze, listening, wondering if someone might be at the door, trying to get their attention. The sounds came faster then, louder.

Drifting in the window from the street.

Ignoring the pins and needles in his left foot, Lance slid off the bed and sneaked over to the window, not wanting to wake Liz and Don up.

Three bodies lay in the street, pools of blood expanding underneath them.

Soldiers stood in a line by the entrance of the hospital, rifles raised, shouting orders.

A man ran toward them, shrieking like the woman down the hall. He only wore pants, no shoes or shirt, his body vascular and ashy. His musculature was visible through his skin, bulging in a mad tapestry of flesh.

They shot him down when he reached the bodies. He flopped like a fish, wounded, but not dead, clawing his way forward.

One of the soldiers fired again and the man’s head snapped back before plopping to the asphalt.

“Jesus.” Lance bit into his knuckle, his mind not wanting to accept what he saw. “They’re killing civilians.”

“Hmm?” Liz stretched out behind him, uncurling her legs. “What’s that sound?”

“Gunfire. Gunfire and death.”

“What?” She jumped to her feet, crossing the room in three long strides.

Lance pointed at the street below. “They were running at the soldiers and they shot them.”

“No way! They can’t do that!”

“They are. I think those people are infected with whatever this thing is. Look at that guy’s back. See the veins and muscles? He barely looks human.”

Liz squinted. “This can’t be happening. Why would they just kill them and not subdue them? These are sick people, not criminals!”

Lance agreed with her. He couldn’t believe that he just witnessed a person get shot down like that. If he was being honest with himself, he was even more shocked at how distorted the victim’s body had become.

He resembled a monster more than a man.

Things were moving too fast. Every few hours something new and horrible happened.

Don clopped over to them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you guys shitting your pants?”

“They’re killing people in the street,” Lance said, still staring at the dead man. “Things are going to hell in a hand basket.”

They watched as the soldiers moved the bodies to the sidewalk and reloaded their weapons. Another armored vehicle arrived with a man stationed behind a mounted gun on top.

They were gearing up for a war.

“Guys, we need to get out of here ASAP,” Don finally said.

“How?” Lance turned to him. “There are armed guards and military personnel outside the door. A colonel or a major already threatened me.”

“Why?” Liz asked.

“Said I was a troublemaker or taking liberties or something like that. Seemed like an asshole.”

The door to the room opened and Doctor Brown stepped through.

“Good morning,” he said.

Lance looked him over, shocked at how fatigued the man appeared. Dark circles hung under droopy eyes. Half of his shirt was tucked in—the other half dangling over his belt. Bloodstains dotted his coat.

“Liz, Don, this is Doctor Brown.” Lance eased back onto his bed, glad to be off his feet again. It was amazing how years of office work had sissified his legs. Every time he took some pressure off them, he felt orgasmic.

Don stepped forward, offering a hand. “Doc Brown? Really?”

“Please save the Back to the Future jokes for another time. I’m too tired to pretend that you’re the first person to make the connection.” He gave Don’s hand a feeble, exhausted shake before turning his attention to Liz. “Are you Lance’s wife?”

Liz hesitated. “Yes.”

Her response surprised Lance. He’d expected an emphatic ‘hell no’.

“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but under these circumstances, it’s not.” The doc stepped away from the door, lowering his voice. “I only have a few minutes, but I promised to keep you in the loop, so here I am.”

“You look tired, Doc,” Lance said.

“We don’t have time to sleep, unfortunately. We’re trying to get ahead of this thing, but it’s not looking good.”

“No shit, Doc. They’re shooting people out there.”

“They’re shooting people in here too.” Brown shook his head. “I can’t even begin to explain the things I’ve seen. Two of the people under our care were killed this morning by military personnel.”

Liz gasped. “How can they do this? Why are they doing this?”

“The men were shot in self-defense. They attacked several of our orderlies and broke loose. The soldiers shot them before they could hurt anyone else.”

“How many people are infected now?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know. We have at least fifty cases in the hospital, but we’ve had more people coming in all night.”

Don said, “And three more were just killed outside.”