The Evolution of Fear by Paul E. Hardisty

Author:Paul E. Hardisty [Paul E. Hardisty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910633250
Publisher: Orenda Books Ltd
Published: 2016-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

28

The Killing Gene

Everything was burning.

Smoke and flame enveloped him. He fell to the ground, crawled forward, eyes streaming, blind, feeling with his stump. He hadn’t gone far, a few metres only, when his knee bumped something soft. He reached out with his hand. It was one of the villagers, lying on the ground near the door. Clay grabbed what felt like the man’s collar, staggered to his feet, started dragging him back towards the open doorway. The man was heavy, unconscious. Clay leant his left side towards the doorway, reached out into the burning air with his stump, jerked the body across the ground. His lungs screamed. He would have to breathe soon, flood his lungs with smoke. He pumped his legs, drove forward. A temperature gradient, the slightest cooling. A few more steps. He could sense an opening, feel a counter-current of air, oxygen being sucked in to fuel the fire. The doorway was close. His nervous system demanded: breathe. He groaned, let go of the man and with his last strength dove forward.

The smoke caught in his lungs as he hit the ground, an acid wail. He crawled forward, sucking in cooler night air, vaguely aware now of Hope and the old man dragging the villager free of the barn, the crash as more of the roof caved in, a burning village of embers pouring from the open doorway, scattering the ground around him, a haemorrhaging carpet of glowing cinders. He staggered to his feet, breathed deep and quickly, hyperventilating, preparing for a deep dive. Then he turned and ran back inside the barn.

This time he got further in, stuck to the same wall where he’d found the first villager, figured they’d huddle together for protection. He moved forward in a crouch, sweeping the ground ahead with his stump, like a blind man with a cane. Still nothing. He moved right, towards the wall. He had maybe another thirty seconds left. The heat was intensifying. He could feel it raw on his face, searing his skin, see it bright-red through his eyelids, smell it everywhere, the char of wood, the singe of hair, burning rubber and boiling metal. Nothing. Shit. He pushed ahead. Still no one. The heat boiled around him, a living turbulence that threw him back. He could go no further. He spun around, aimed for where he thought the doorway was. As he did, his left foot hit something, the unmistakeable give of living flesh. Clay swung back around, reached out with his hand. It was another of the villagers, unconscious. Clay crouched low, started pulling the man free. This one was smaller, lighter than the first. In a matter of seconds Clay had him clear of the barn.

He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

Hope was there, crouching beside him, her hand on the back of his head. Clay retched, spluttered, the pain already starting to cut through the adrenaline. He twisted, pushed himself to his feet, tried to open his eyes. Through narrowed,

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