The Remaining: Refugees by D.J. Molles

Author:D.J. Molles [Molles, D.J.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2012-11-04T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16: GOING UP

Standing before it, Lee tensed and drew his hand back, ready to strike out. Jake stood directly beside him, and to either side the others trained their rifles on the form and held their breaths.

“He’s not breathing,” Jake mumbled.

Lee stared at the man, at the bib of crusted blood around his neck and chest. Dark, almost black-stained skin. The blood was not smeared, as though the old man had been feeding, but instead was caked as though it had poured from his own nose and mouth. Now standing closer to him, Lee could see the malformation of his head, caused by the explosive compression and decompression of a high-powered bullet.

Lee bent down to look closer. “He’s been shot in the head…”

A thunder clap obliterated the silence.

The sound was so sudden and overwhelming that Lee felt every muscle in his body jerk simultaneously like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. Strangely, nonsensically, he thought that the body of the old man had been booby-trapped and it had exploded. But it still sat before him, crumpled and motionless against the door.

He looked up at Jake, to see what the noise had been.

The younger man leaned over, one hand on his knees and the other steadying himself against the wall. He looked right at Lee, dumbfounded, confused, terrified.

Then he coughed, and blood spewed out.

Lee watched a thick gobbet of red as it flew through the air. It seemed slow and lazy as it arced its way down to the ground. He could hear the sharp intake of his teammates’ breaths, the shuffling of feet, the movement of fabric. He could feel his gut tightening, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“Get inside!” Lee shouted.

The sensation of time-warp dissipated.

He reached up and snatched a handful of Jake’s sleeve as the kid’s knees buckled and his body sank against the wall.

LaRouche began to fire his weapon rapidly. The sound of his rifle was like an explosion that set off an avalanche. Lee was suddenly surrounded by a ring of fire and noise as everyone opened up, the muzzle flashes like tongues of flame licking out into the darkness, everyone aiming for the rooftops.

Lee pulled roughly at Jake’s arm, forcing him to flop onto his back. His eyes were wide and pale, the blood like tar around his mouth. His chest rose and fell, and Lee could see the gaping wound in the glitter of the muzzle flashes, like dozens of cameras going off. He jammed both of his hands under the kid, the concrete rasping away the skin of his knuckles, and hooked his fingers into Jake’s armpits. He jerked the kid partially upright.

“Open the door!” Lee screamed behind him. “Open the fucking door!”

Someone—Lee couldn’t tell who it was—stepped around and kicked the dead body out of the way of the door and then yanked it open. Lee didn’t wait for an invitation. He immediately began backpedaling, trying to maintain his grip on Jake, but the guy had begun to squirm around and claw at his chest.

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