Lost Valley by Walt Browning

Author:Walt Browning [Browning, Walt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Great Wave Ink Publishing
Published: 2019-04-09T16:00:00+00:00

Carver

The sound of an emergency klaxon pierced the walls. The pounding on the door ceased, giving Carver a moment of hope.

That hope was shattered an instant later as the infected continued their relentless assault.

“They’re almost through,” Carver said. “Its decision time. Either we wait here and kill as many as we can when they come through the door, or we try our luck and take the fight to them first.”

“You’re the soldier,” Hope said with resignation.

“Being on the offensive can give you an edge, so that’s where my vote goes.”

“Then that’s our plan,” Hope said. “How do you want to do this?”

As if in answer, the doorframe began to buckle. A clawed hand wormed through the gap, grasping at the air.

“Now!” Carver commanded. “I’ll lead, so just stay on my shoulder like before. If there’s an opening, take it and don’t look back.”

He turned to Shrek and looked into the war dog’s eyes. He pointed at Hope and said, “Wacht!” He could only pray that the dog understood his unusual request.

“What?” Hope asked.

“I told him to guard you,” Carver replied as he moved to the pro shop door. “Normally, I use that command on a prisoner, not someone who’s with me.”

However, Shrek seemed to understand as he slid back to take a flanking position next to the woman, leaving Carver’s side for the first time since the siege began.

“Ready?” Carver said.

“Let’s do it!” Hope replied, just as the back door came crashing into the room.

Without looking back, the two humans and their canine companion flung open the other door, expecting to meet dozens of infected.

But what stared back at them was an empty passage that led to an equally abandoned pro shop beyond. They ran through the shop. The parking lot outside was empty, too.

The sound of a frustrated predator was rapidly approaching them from the rear, motivating them to rush for Carver’s pickup truck.

Running with all their might, they made it to the pickup in just a few seconds. Now all Carver had to do was find his dropped keys. The high-intensity light mounted over the pro shop door served to make the shadows deeper and darker, making the search difficult. Hope dropped to her knees to search under the truck.

“Get in and shut the doors!” Carver said.

Hope refused. Carver turned to guard their rear as she swept the asphalt around the F-150. A screech came from the pro shop, and a single infected creature broke through the remaining glass in the pro shop’s door.

It sprinted with incredible speed at them, its claw-like hands extended and its deformed limbs propelling it in disjointed spurts that rapidly ate up the distance between them.

“Oh crap,” Carver said as he recognized the uniform and gun belt. It was Charlie, the security guard.

“Got it!” Hope yelled as she lifted herself up from under the truck.

She scampered through the driver’s side door and across the seat. Carver was right behind her. The infected creature that had been Charlie let out a blood-curdling scream and launched itself forward in a last-ditch attempt to get to its prey.

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