The Compound by Ford Robert

Author:Ford, Robert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blurred Images
Published: 2014-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Calvin had the little fucker dead in his sights when he felt the hard steel press against the back of his head. He cursed himself for losing the upper hand. He stared into the eyes of the man behind the steering wheel and considered, for one brief tired moment, pulling the trigger anyway, his own death be damned. These were hardened convicts, all of them, and whatever the hell they were doing here, it was no good. The world would be a better place without any of them in it.

The thought of Sheila won out and he eased his pistol back, thumbing the hammer closed. Calvin felt the weight of the sawed off inside his coat and against his ribs. If he were lucky he would have a chance to use it.

There was a shuffle of feet on asphalt behind Calvin and he smelled the rotted stink of death. The man behind him screamed and Calvin turned to see him firing his pistol into one of the dead. His pistol fired empty and as the zombie grappled onto him tighter, the convict screamed and reached out, grabbing hold of Calvin’s jacket lapels and yanking him forward.

Calvin stumbled and the three of them tumbled to the parking lot in a dog pile, their weight slamming Calvin to the bottom and making him lose his grip on the .357. He turned his head at the last instant, avoiding cracking the back of his head again, but sacrificing the side of his face against the asphalt, making the world spin in his vision.

Diesel fumes coughed into Calvin’s face as the truck started up and pulled away. He heard the driver screaming for his fellow prisoners. The convict thrashed on top of Calvin, punching the zombie latched onto him.

The creature gripped its hands around the prisoner’s head and wrenched it sideways, pulling him toward his mouth. Calvin watched maggots wriggle from its nostrils as it bent forward. He could smell the fetid stench of death from its gaping mouth.

Screeching at the top of his lungs, the prisoner struggled atop Calvin, driving elbows into his ribs and chest as he tried to get away. Calvin could see his pistol lying just out of reach on the pavement, and he tried to work his hand into his jacket to get the sawed off. There was no way to maneuver with the extra weight over him.

There was a dull, wet, puncturing noise like someone biting through the skin of an overripe nectarine, and Calvin saw the zombie tearing into the side of the prisoner’s throat, peeling the flesh away to expose muscle and thin strings of yellow tendons. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying the hollow of the prisoner’s throat and over the body armor he wore. The man’s eyes fluttered and he jerked and started convulsing.

Calvin positioned one arm beneath the shoulder of the convict and gave one violent heave, turning them both over onto their side. He twisted sideways and stretched his free arm out to grab the handle of his pistol and felt the shift in weight behind him.

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