Savages by Christina Bergling

Author:Christina Bergling [Bergling, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: horror
ISBN: 9781628279795
Publisher: Bad Day Books, an imprint of Assent Publishing
Published: 2014-12-18T23:00:00+00:00

9

I woke up to screaming, baby screaming. For the briefest of moments, my half-sleeping brain held me in bed with Dante snoring beside me as cries echoed down the hall from the nursery. Then I felt the dirt under my cheek and remembered where I was.

I instinctively reached for the bundle. It was nothing but a crumpled coat. His arm was still over it as he snored passed out—a heavy, lazy, drug-induced breathing.

By the breaking dawn, I could see Uriah struggling, shushing and trying to wrangle the irate infant. I could make out the wild look in his eyes and the desperation on his face. Must make it quiet. He tried to wrap his arms around the child, yet the babe fought with every fiber of its little being. He squirmed and screamed and bucked. Uriah’s inexperienced hands fumbled and failed to get a grip on the tiny body enough to flee with him.

I could read the panic in his face; then, in an instant, it changed. He almost snarled, and aggression extended out through his movements. He lowered the babe to the ground, practically dropped him to the dirt, then began clawing at the ground around him for something. I was already sprinting. Before I even saw him grasp the rock, I was on top of him. I dove at him and turned my face to avoid colliding with his. I let my chest deliver the brunt of the impact into his shoulder and send him flying back away from the baby.

The child was still squalling beside him as I tackled him. Our bodies flopped onto the dirt; I heard the breath rush out of his body as my weight slammed against him. Dust flew up around us in a cloud. He reacted like an overturned turtle, arms and legs shooting out sloppily. I kept my body rigid, concentrated on keeping him incapacitated, on punishing him. He pushed and kicked until he writhed out from under me and forced himself upright.

He came at me in a flurry of limbs and snorts, untrained and unfocused. He grunted and threw a blur of careless punches. I could have rolled my eyes at his incompetent attempt. I breathed calmly and dodged the impacts, turned his momentum against him. My fury brought me clarity, unleashed my training. He lunged in desperately to grab me. His eyes were wide and wild, his fingers pathetically anxious. I took hold of his arm and contorted it until it folded against him, wrestling him down to the ground. I kept thinking, he’s one of them.

He continued his inept fight, bucking and snarling. I moved on top of him and crawled up his body until I could firmly press my shin into his throat. I deprived him of the air required for his wasted exertion. I knelt and pushed until his fingers clawed at and dug into my thigh, trying to lift me. Then I reached to the ground beside us and took his rock high in my hand.

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