Affliction Z Series Books 1-3

by L. T. Ryan

  The shots continued for another thirty seconds. During that time, Kathy crawled down the hall that led to the garage. She reached up, turned the knob and pulled the door open. Once past the threshold, she closed the door and locked it from the inside. She couldn’t reach the security locks, so she left them. Kathy planted her cut hand on the first step. Though she felt no pain, the severed tendons made it impossible to get a grip, and she tumbled to the floor.

  She stared up at the bright hole in the ceiling. She pulled a step-ladder over, climbed it and slid the cover over the tube’s opening. The garage went dark.

  The firing had stopped. Kathy heard the men shouting. It sounded like they were both inside and outside the home. She looked toward the front of the room. Long fingers of light entered the garage from bullet holes in the garage door.

  She dragged herself toward the back of the room. With her good hand, she pulled the workbench out of the way and managed to open the door hiding the tunnel hatch. She sat back with her heels underneath her and looked at the camera.

  “Please, Sean,” she said. “They’re going to kill me.”

  She tucked her chin to her chest and felt tears slide down her cheek. A buzzing started in her forehead and worked its way around and through her brain. Every inch it traveled, Kathy cared less about the dire situation she was in.

  She only knew that which she desired most was nearby.

  Twenty-Two

  Sean watched in horror as the men extended their rifles and shot at the front of his home. They managed to hit and destroy one of his cameras. The screen turned to snow. He cycled to a different camera, one further back on the property, giving him a wide-angle view.

  He shifted his gaze from the men to his wife. She crawled along the kitchen floor, leaving a trail of blood. It appeared that she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her calf.

  Had she been shot?

  He looked back at the men. They continued to fire. He glanced at the kitchen image. Kathy was gone. Knowing that she wouldn’t have gone back to the living room, he switched to the garage. She lay at the bottom of the stairs. He panned around with the camera. It was evident that they had shot through the garage door.

  What if they’d hit her? Would they take her body? Burn it? Burn the house down?

  While they were safe in the bunker, he’d rather not attract more people, and beings, to the property.

  Kathy lifted her torso off the ground and began crawling to the back of the garage. He knew she was going to the tunnel entrance.

  The men out front had begun to walk toward the house. It wouldn’t be long until one or more of them made their way to the garage.

  Sean brought up the camera feed outside of the tunnel entrance. Kathy’s face filled a quarter of his screen. Though the sound was off, he could tell what she was saying.

  “Please, Sean. They’re going to kill me.” He heard her voice so clearly in his head.

  “Dammit,” Sean yelled, rising from his chair.

  Both bedroom doors opened and the dog ran to his side.

  “What’s wrong, Sean?” Barbara asked.

  Emma looked too scared to talk.

  “Back in your rooms,” he commanded. “Both of you. I don’t have time to explain. Whatever happens, don’t open that door for a fucking soul. Got it?”

  Emma and Barbara both stared at him, and then looked to one another.

  “Come over here, Em,” Barbara said.

  Emma glanced at her father. He nodded, and Emma slipped out of her room and ran into Barbara’s.

  Sean waited until the door clicked shut. He armed himself with two M-9s, holding one in his hand and securing the other in a thigh holster. He pulled out an HK MP7, which he strapped across his chest, and an M4, which he slung over his shoulder.

  Marley followed him to the front door. Though the dog could be an asset, he didn’t want to risk injury to Barbara’s pet.

  “Stay, Marley,” Sean said.

  The dog sat down and cocked his head to the side.

  Sean opened the door and stepped outside. Marley rose and moved forward. “Stay,” Sean said.

  The dog didn’t obey him.

  “Dammit, dog, stay in there.” He nudged the dog back through the door. He then pulled it shut and pushed against it, verifying it was locked. The tunnel felt hollow and empty. It’d stay that way if he went back inside. For now, at least. If he didn’t take care of the men who’d broken in, they might discover the entrance. Though they wouldn’t get through, that didn’t mean they would stop trying.

  Sean planned on leaving the bunker at some point. What would he do if there were an army of men waiting for him?

  He decided to take the tunnel to the barn. The first dark spot he reached, he placed the M4 on the floor against the wall. It was risky, but it might come in handy should someone follow him back down. He removed the ammunition magazine and placed it in one of the spare pockets of his cargo pants.

  Sean rose, glanced back over his shoulder, then made his way toward the barn exit.

  Twenty-Three

  The man kicked the door open. He lingered in the opening. His labored breathing indicated that he wasn’t used to this level of physical exertion. He grunted a few times, and then said, “Who’s down there?” The words meant little to Kathy in her current state. The guy pulled out something shiny. She wanted to reach for it, but restrained herself. His thumb moved along the top, but nothing happened. He yelled something, and then he dropped the shiny object to the ground. He took two steps forward, stopping before the first step. He reached out to the side, where the light switch was. His thick fingers flicked the switch up and down. Nothing happened.

  Kathy remained crouched under the long bench that ran the length of the garage. A canvas tarp shielded her body. She’d left a small gap to see through. The ache in her hand and calf had gone. Neither wound seeped crimson fluid now.

  The man lumbered down the stairs. He let his rifle lead the way. He turned and faced her direction.

  “I know you’re in here. You don’t come out now, I’ll shoot you when I find you. You want that?”

  Want?

  She knew want. That was what she felt when she thought about attacking the man and sinking her teeth into his flesh.

  He took a few more steps forward, poking and prodding at things in front of him with the barrel of his rifle. His breathing was louder now, and it rattled. Patiently, Kathy waited. His thick-soled boots thumped against the floor in rhythm with her heartbeat. He extended the barrel of his rifle toward her. She nodded her head an inch, allowing the tarp to close in front of her eyes. The barrel caught the tarp and pulled and lifted. She held it with her hand. The guy made a sound like a snort. He began poking, missing her at first, but eventually hitting her shoulder.

  She stifled a growl.

  “What do we have here?” he said.

  The sound of his breathing rose to an abnormal level. A wave of odor enveloped her. His sweat mixed with earth. She lifted her head, parting the tarp. She was face to face with the man. His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. A hollow, wheezing sound came out of the hole in his face.

  Kathy lunged forward. The tarp clung to her body. She wrapped her left arm around the back of the guy’s head, grabbed hold of his chin, and pulled hard to his left. His face jerked sideways, exposing his thick neck. She slammed her head forward and dug her teeth into his flesh. Biting down, she whipped her head side-to-side. The more she moved, the further her bite sank. She pulled back. A wave of fluid spurted from the man’s neck and washed over her face. His body convulsed and then went still. She continued to tear at his flesh with her teeth, feeling stronger with every bite.

  Though the man provided her with plenty to feast on, she remembered that there were others with him. They’d invaded her space. It was important to her to eliminate them as well, even if she didn’t know why.

  Kathy rose. She stepped over the lifeless body on the floor and headed toward the stairs.

  Twent
y-Four

  Sean inched the barn door open and slipped outside. He used his field glasses to survey the area leading up to the house. It was empty. He looked at the rear windows. There was some sky reflection, but he could see a few feet inside and did not notice anyone looking in his direction. He wouldn’t be able to see the front unless he went further out into the field. He didn’t want to do that, though, as it would expose him. He had to get to the house quickly, then take his chances that he was a faster shot than any of the men.

  He secured the M9 in its holster and grabbed the MP7. The weapon felt natural in his hands. Aside from moving it around when he purchased it, he hadn’t handled one since Nigeria.

  After surveying the house for a couple minutes, Sean rose and moved as quickly as he could across the barren stretch of field. The prosthetic he wore was not suitable for sprinting. He could jog at a fast pace, though, and it allowed him the ability to maneuver easily while walking.

  As he approached the house, Sean scanned the area in sections starting from his left. One of the kitchen windows darkened. One of the men, he presumed.

  Did they have their back to him, or were they facing him?

  The rifle blast that shattered the window and sent a bullet flying his way answered that question.

  Sean dove forward, landing on his chest and knocking the wind out of himself. Silence and darkness enveloped him. The pain in his chest made it difficult to determine if he’d sustained any injuries. He managed to get a breath into his lungs. Not much, but enough to start the process. He forced his clenched eyelids open. Tall grass surrounded him. Sean rolled to his left three times. The grass provided cover, but he knew the man who had shot at him would have seen where he went down. Another shot rang out. It hit the dirt a few feet away, sending a cloud of dust a foot into the air.

  Sean brought his elbows in and propped himself up a couple inches. His MP7 had shifted to the side. He brought it forward, ensured the safety was off, and switched to three-round bursts. He figured he was thirty yards or more from the house. In this situation, his M4 would have been a better option. He’d left it inside. Sean refused to let a little detail like that derail him. He could make the shot he needed from this distance.

  Sean crawled forward. The edge of the patch of wild grasses approached. Once there, he parted it to the side, brought the MP7 close to his face and aimed through the stock open sights. He had both telescopic and laser sights inside the bunker, but had not fixed either to the weapon. Another detail he couldn’t let get in his way.

  He scanned left-to-right and back again. On the second pass, he saw a rifle barrel sticking through a hole in the kitchen window. Target acquired. Sean took a deep breath, took out the slack in the trigger, and prepared to take his shot.

  Twenty-Five

  The last sliver of Kathy’s humanity realized that the area between the garage and kitchen used to be much brighter. She glanced up. A diffused glow hovered around the light. As she lowered her gaze, things returned to the intense black and white she’d experienced in the garage after killing the heavy man.

  The satiated feeling had not lasted long. She was prepared to attack again.

  Was that because her hunger would forever be insatiable, or was it because she knew there was more available?

  The noise that drew her out of the garage erupted again. She knew the sound, having heard it several times over the years. Still, it made little sense to her.

  Kathy reached out for the corner of the wall. Her fingertips brushed against the side of the stainless steel refrigerator. It felt dull and cool. She pressed her shoulder to the wall and inched forward.

  Three quick, quieter shots rang out, followed by another loud one.

  She leaned forward, letting her head ease past the invisible barrier between the kitchen and hallway. A man, much skinnier than the one in the garage, stood with his back to her. He had on a blue and black checkered flannel. The way it hung at his sides, she figured it was unbuttoned. He held a rifle in his hands. The barrel protruded through the window.

  My window.

  The thought flitted away as quickly as it had appeared.

  Though she dragged her wounded leg, she moved effortlessly through the kitchen toward the man. He didn’t seem to notice her. Whatever he shot at held his full attention. She stopped a foot away from the guy. His scent was not as strong as the other. That didn’t matter to Kathy. She wanted to kill even more than she wanted to eat at that moment.

  The man turned his head to the side and let out a thick, phlegmy cough. Kathy leaned to her right, attempting to stay out of his peripheral vision. Again, he did not take note of her. His right arm came up, elbow out. The barrel of his rifle rose. The guy cleared his throat.

  “Time to die, asshole,” the guy in the flannel said.

  Kathy reached up and wrapped her hand around his right bicep.

  “What the hell?” the guy said, looking over his shoulder. He jerked back. The rifle rose and shattered three more panes of glass.

  She whipped her left hand around his neck and pulled back with both arms.

  The guy screamed and discharged his weapon.

  Twenty-Six

  Sean ducked when he heard the shot. His mind registered that the weapon had been pointed at the sky.

  A scream sounded like it came from within the house.

  “Kathy,” he said.

  Sean rushed to his feet and began jogging toward his home. He glanced to the left and right of the house, at each window and over his shoulder, ensuring no one followed him.

  A man called for help.

  Sean extended his MP7 away from his chest. He had fired one shot, using three rounds. That left him with twenty-seven more bullets, or nine three-round bursts. He made a line for the back door, disregarding any sense of caution. He climbed the four steps to the back deck, and then threw his shoulder into the wall next to the door. Turning the handle, he found it locked. He peered through the paned glass and saw no one. Using one of his M9 pistols, he broke the pane nearest the handle, reached through, and unlocked the door.

  A man pleaded from further within the house.

  Sean lunged through the doorway. What he saw in the middle of the kitchen made him stop in his tracks. He’d seen plenty during his time as an Air Force PJ. There wasn’t a battle wound he hadn’t dealt with. But the sight of the man on the floor, his unbuttoned blue and black checkered flannel scrunched up under his shoulder blades, his head hanging on by a flap of skin, torso ripped open, guts spilled out to the side, almost made him vomit.

  It wasn’t that the wounds were gruesome.

  He knew who did it. And he didn’t want to face that.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Get off of him,” a man wearing a white t-shirt with cutoff sleeves said.

  Kathy lifted her head to see who spoke to her. Warm blood coated her cheeks, chin and jaw. She felt the fluid dripping down her neck, across her chest, and down her stomach as she rose.

  “Jesus Christ.” The guy tried to run backward. He tripped over his own feet and fell backward to the floor.

  Kathy started toward him. Now satiated, ending the guy’s life was her sole intention. The sight of his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water, as he pleaded for his life made her angrier.

  The guy used his elbows and heels to scoot backward. His shirt caught on something and tore on the side. Kathy didn’t rush. She matched his pace. Sooner or later, he’d run out of room. She no longer thought rationally about what she was doing. The fact that there was at least one more man somewhere in her home or on her property escaped her now.

  The man rolled over when he reached the stairs. Puffy black hair lined the back of his arms. He got to his hands and knees. He started to ascend the staircase, climbing up like a young toddler. Kathy stepped up with her left, then dragged her right foot up. She repeated the process, step-by-step. The guy managed to distance himself from her. At the top of the stairs, he stood. She saw him from the waist up. His shirt ha
d some blood on it. She continued to climb as he looked around. He ran toward the rear wall, then returned with the computer printer. The cord dangled as he hoisted the machine over his head. With a yell, he tossed it in her direction. It headed straight for her. She gripped the banister with one hand and held the other in front of her face. Though she leaned back, the printer connected with her forearm, breaking her ulna. She yelled out in pain.

  The guy turned and ran to the rear of the room again.

  Kathy picked up her pace, disregarding the dull ache in her arm. She reached the top of the stairs and came face to face with the guy. Sweat poured down his face. The collar area of his white t-shirt was soaked in sweat. He brandished a fire poker at her. She groaned. He swung it side to side in front of her. She didn’t react. He’d strike soon enough. It played out in pictures in her mind. She saw the attack, and saw her defense.

  Soon she would have her opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

  “Come on, bitch,” the guy in the sweat and blood soaked t-shirt yelled. “Attack me now, you freak.”

  She felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

  The guy drew his right leg back and lifted the fire poker up and over his head. His body twisted away from her. He let out a yell. The weapon started on a trajectory over his shoulder and toward her. She flung her broken right arm up in an effort to intercept the blow. The metal rod came down hard on her arm. A loud snap indicated that the second bone in her forearm had snapped. She felt a sharp pain, which instantly dulled. Her eyes went to the spot of the wound. The skin on her forearm had ruptured. Four ragged ends of bone stuck out. Blood squirted straight up in the air.

  The man drew in a quick, shallow breath.

  She shifted her gaze toward him. He focused on the gruesome sight of her arm. Again, the corners of her mouth twitched.