Elixr Plague (Episode 3): Pandemic by Richardson Marcus

Author:Richardson, Marcus [Richardson, Marcus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Freeholder Press, LLC
Published: 2019-11-27T22:00:00+00:00

8

Run and Gun

St. Charles, Illinois

Seneca crouch-walked forward, feeling all the while that someone was watching. Rifle up, he kept the red dot sight on the back of the zeke’s head and crept closer. The group of zombies didn’t so much as flinch. As he drew within five yards or so, his boot found a piece of paper on the ground and made a soft crinkle sound. The rear zombie on the right stopped and looked around, not realizing the sound came from behind.

Seneca motioned with his left hand for Ward to peel off, then adjusted the rifle to port arms and picked up speed. He crashed into the stopped zombie with a grunt and the monster exhaled nastiness and fell in a slobbering, flailing mess. He stepped over the mindless ghoul and smashed the stock of his rifle into the lower spine of the next one, following that with his right shoulder. The combination worked, and he was past the targets in a heartbeat, now both writhing and moaning on the ground, unable to quickly get to their feet, just as he’d suspected.

A glance told him Ward had similar success, and they regrouped before racing down the street as fast as their heavy packs would allow. They didn’t stop until they reached the next cross street, then Seneca pulled them over behind the corner of a burned-out house.

“What’s up?” breathed Ward.

Seneca took a moment to catch his breath. “Something isn’t right.”

Ward looked around. “Damn, I wish I had me some NODs right about now.”

Seneca shifted the weight on his feet and peer around the house. Ward was right—some night optical/observation devices would be worth their weight in gold in the coming days and weeks. He couldn’t tell if the zekes could see any better than people at night, though their hearing might be a tad better.

He closed his eyes and relied on his hearing for a moment. At first, he only heard his own heartbeat thudding in his ears, then Ward’s attempt to cover the fact that he was breathing harder than he should—were he twenty years younger. After another few seconds, Seneca relaxed and picked up a gentle breeze rustling the drying leaves in the trees that arched over the street, and the whisper of leaves that had already fallen as they were carried along the gutters and through the street. The raspy sound continued unabated as the leaves went on their nighttime journey through the deserted streets.

“You hear that?” asked Seneca in a voice barely above a thought.

“No, man…I got nothing,” replied Ward.

“Yeah…that’s what I mean. It’s too quiet.”

“Good night,” Ward muttered. “Don’t be pulling that Obi Wan gut-check shit on me again. This ain’t the sandbox, man. I promise you, there ain’t no haji waiting on the corner to cap our asses.”

Seneca agreed, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He looked back the way they’d come. The moonlight filtering through the early autumn canopy overhead illuminated little, but what he could see looked benign.

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