The Rising Ash Saga | Book 2 | Falling Embers by Westerman R.G

Author:Westerman, R.G. [Westerman, R.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror | Post-Apocalyptic | Infected
Publisher: Little Monster Press
Published: 2021-08-03T04:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Getting inside the compound could prove to be a bit of a challenge, as the last time I did so I was unconscious. I take the only path I know, around the edge of the horse field, making my way toward the stables.

I had not recognized the space due to the angle, but once I pass by the stable yard, I see the break in the wall, now an empty chasm leading straight into the compound.

Now the easiest way in, this place used to be teeming with zombies. Donovan called it the moat, a strip of land fenced and filled with zombies to keep out the danger, and to keep everyone else inside.

I make no effort to remain stealthy as I climb over the broken concrete. Pieces shift and tumble, but I make my way over and into the hallway.

Immediately, I find myself faced with a clutch of five zombies, scattered across the hallway. The sounds of my actions drew their attention, skeletal cheeks and sunken eyes peering as they turn towards me.

“Of course,” I mutter, reaching for my knife. “What’s a family reunion without a handful of zombies?”

The one closest to me, once upon a time a middle-aged woman with long brown hair, runs towards me in quick herky-jerky steps. Fast, like the others, teeth gnashing without purpose.

My blade lands in the side of her neck, sending a tendril of gelatinous blood spewing across my arm. She collapses once I draw the blade through her neck and across her brain stem.

“Sorry, sister,” I say to her fallen corpse. “You were in my way.”

The next one comes at me straight on. The very fact they are attacking me confirms she is controlling them somehow.

The knife handle slips in my hand, covered in viscous blood. I lose purchase for a moment, holding him back with my forearm against his collar bone.

His rotted face is inches from mine, snapping into the air. I turn away, grimacing against the odor of decay blooming from his mouth.

Another comes in behind me, arms grasping me with surprising strength. I stretch my other arm behind me, knife still in hand but slipping against my fingers every time I try to get a decent grip on it.

Turning by body I manage to keep them each at arm’s length, one hand pressed on each of their bony chests. There is only one way out.

I drop to my knees and scurry out from between their legs, turning onto my backside and scooting as far as I can down the narrow hallway. The two of them fall into a tangled mass, unable to follow my trajectory.

I flip my crossbow around and fire off one bolt, piercing both of their heads.

“Not bad,” I mutter. “Three down. Two to go.”

But the remaining two don’t attack. By some unseen signal, they stand at attention.

My head aches. My desire to find Donovan increases to a fever pitch. I lean against the stock of the crossbow, pulling myself to my feet.

“Where are you!” I call out, my voice cracking.

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