This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection) by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Thorn Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

“Hola,” Jorge said.

The man on the left was dressed like one of Mr. Wilcox’s banker friends, although his suit was rumpled, the sleeves ragged and his necktie twisted to one side. He was short, fat, and balding, with thick hands and pasty, wormlike fingers. He was a man who’d never performed manual labor.

The other man was close to the porch steps. Despite the heat, he was dressed in brown coveralls and there were dark blotches along the front.

Blood?

The man in coveralls was tall and lean, his face pocked and stubbled. He looked familiar, with his slicked-back hair, green baseball cap, and thick eyebrows, but Jorge was pretty sure the man wasn’t one of the farmhands. Perhaps he worked on one of the construction crews.

Neither man responded to his greeting. Jorge lifted the machete, which had been dangling along his right thigh. Jorge wasn’t sure whether they were sick like Willard White. They didn’t look dangerous, but their quietness disturbed him.

He pointed the machete at the banker and waved the blade down the driveway, indicating that the man should go.

There is no car. How long has he been here?

Maybe the man had walked from town, but that would have taken a day. Jorge couldn’t imagine the plump man walking the length of the gravel drive, much less the ten miles to town. Not in those fancy leather shoes.

“You,” Jorge said to the man in coveralls. “Move away.”

The man turned his back and started up the steps. The banker finally blinked, the first motion to cross his face since Jorge had emerged from the barn.

Jorge pictured little Marina inside the house, and Rosa frightened of the noises outside and unable to hide it. “Stop,” he said, afraid to shout.

The man in coveralls ignored him, crossing the porch to the front door, his heavy boots drumming the wooden boards. Unlike Willard, the man in coveralls moved with purpose, although his gait was jerky and unbalanced.

He’s trying to get in.

Ignoring the banker, who at one time would have commanded almost as much polite respect as Mr. Wilcox, Jorge ran for the porch. If he moved fast enough, the man in coveralls wouldn’t reach the door.

But as Jorge raised the machete and prepared to launch himself up the steps, he sensed motion to the left. The banker closed in with a speed that belied his girth. He slammed into Jorge, wrapping him in a hug and knocking them both to the ground. The machete flew from Jorge’s fingers.

Jorge rolled, scrabbling for purchase on the lawn. The banker gripped him around one thigh, and Jorge kicked backward, pounding into the man’s shoulder. The man’s face was pink with effort. He appeared to be grinning.

“You blancoculito,” Jorge muttered, not wanting to raise his voice.

The “white little asshole” clung to Jorge, his expensive jacket ripping. Jorge kicked and spider-crawled backwards. The crazy attacker still clung to him.

The man in coveralls reached the door and rattled the knob.

While the banker was definitely afflicted with whatever had contaminated Willard, the man in coveralls acted with intent and intelligence.

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