Serial Killer Z:Infection by Philip Harris

Author:Philip Harris [Harris, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 11

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A thick, rancid smell—blood and death—flooded the room. Pressing my arm across my nose and mouth, I staggered back away from the door. The Spencer-thing let out a groan and stumbled toward me. His movements were sluggish but relentless.

As he advanced, I retreated until I was standing in the door to the main corridor. Even over the siren, I could hear confused shouts and people urging everyone to evacuate. Someone called out that there was a fire. Another that there’d been a biohazard spill.

Spencer groaned and took a quick double step toward me. The smell was almost overpowering. Thick black threads had spread across his face, giving it a strange, veined texture. The skin around his lips was drawn tight, and there was a split running from one corner of his mouth and halfway across his cheek. Black fluid oozed from the wound.

He took another step toward me, but I found myself rooted to the spot. The shadow was holding me there as it examined the creature Hunter Neurologics had created and that I had let loose. The thing standing in front of us was the perfect embodiment of the guilt that my shadow-self sees so clearly. The serum had unlocked that guilt, made it tangible and real. Now everyone could see what the shadow had shown me so often.

Spencer reached toward my face. The movement was slow and clumsy, but my body refused to react until the last moment. I pulled back, and Spencer’s hooked fingers brushed past my nose. It was enough to break the shadow’s spell over me. As I tried to back away, Spencer’s hand caught my chest. Clawed fingers dug into my flesh. I shouted in pain and tried to knock his hand away, but his arm was like iron.

His other hand grabbed my shoulder and hauled me forward. His mouth opened wide, and the shadow’s survival instinct finally kicked in. I jammed my arm across his throat. His teeth snapped closed inches from my face. Liquid, warm and wet, dripped onto my arm. We struggled for a moment, then I managed to get enough leverage to push him back. His shoes squeaked on the tiled floor as he slid backward.

Grunting, I shoved my arm hard across his throat. I had no idea whether he needed to breathe, but his grip loosened enough for me to pull free. I gave him one last shove that sent him staggering away from me and then backed into the corridor.

Someone ran into me. It was Owen’s private investigator, Coughlin.

He pushed me away. “What the hell’s going on?”

Spencer let out a guttural moan, and Coughlin turned toward the lab. His eyes widened, and a confused, horrified look spread across his face.

Spencer stumbled out of the doorway.

Coughlin fumbled with his jacket and managed to retrieve a small pistol. The gun popped, but Spencer was already on top of him. Coughlin screamed as Spencer sank his teeth into his face. Blood poured down his neck as his flesh was ripped away.

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