Invasion of the Dead: Box Set 1-3 by Baillie Owen

Author:Baillie, Owen [Baillie, Owen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Phalanx Press
Published: 2014-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTY- EIGHT

AT FIRST, CALLAN HAD struggled to sleep in the restricted confines of the Jeep. They had leaned the front seats back as far as they’d go, but still, his bulky body wouldn’t lie well in the bucket. Greg’s hulking frame provided more problems, but he seemed to have overcome the issue and was snoring in less than ten minutes.

Finally, Callan drifted, and with it came more of the same dreams he’d experienced in Holbrook. This time, he didn’t cry out though. He woke with a start, realizing it had been a dream, and lay there grinding his jaw, a hollow, pitiless feeling swallowing him. He sat up eventually and was considering getting out and walking off the effects when Blue Boy growled.

The dog’s nose touched the window, peering out. Callan reached out and soothed the thick fur around his neck, following his gaze. The shadows moved. Callan thought his eyes were playing tricks. They adjusted, and he saw there were two of them, one medium height, the other short, both moving in slow motion. He knew they were going for the trailer. When they reached it, the taller one untied the tarpaulin.

Sneaky bastards. He thought about turning on the headlights to scare the shit out of them, but he wanted the confrontation. He took the pistol and a torch from the center console.

Holding his breath, Callan gently pulled the handle and opened the door. It clicked, sounding like a gunshot in the silence, but their lack of notice told him they had not heard. He slid out, motioning for Blue Boy to stay, and squatted as he moved alongside the Jeep. Their whispers drifted to him, but he couldn't make out the words. He reached the hood, then stood, cocked the gun and walked over the gravel with slow, careful, movements. At seven yards, he stopped and aimed his weapon. "Move and I'll shoot you."

The torch threw a yellow cone over the trailer and beyond. There was a dark-haired woman and a young boy. A moment of terror washed over Callan when he thought it was Sherry–or how she had been a few years ago before losing a little weight. This woman looked strikingly similar, except for her thicker, darker hair, and another thought chased the first, jabbing him like a hot poker in the gut. Maybe that’s what his and Sherry’s son would have looked like?

Callan circled them and stood in front, poking the light into their eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

The woman froze. The boy dropped his pack and began to cry.

Just a ploy , Callan thought, worked out beforehand so if they were caught, the victim would offer sympathy . The woman put down her loot and crouched beside the kid, soothing him.

"That's not gonna work," Callan said.

The woman shot him a dirty look. "Don’t be an asshole."

"Lady, you just tried to steal our shit, and I'm the one with the gun. Be fucking nice."

The light in the camper van came on. The woman glared at Callan.

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