Affliction Z Series Books 1-3

by L. T. Ryan

  At the edge of the woods he stopped to take in his new surroundings. On the other side of the road the world opened up. To his left stood the remains of a neighborhood. To the right the scepter of a shopping center. According to his GPS, the clinic was on the other side of the strip mall.

  Sean skirted the tree line until it ended at an intersection.

  Several cars were piled up on the other side of the road. He saw bodies smashed up against steering wheels. Blood coated and cracked windshields. Discolored limbs on the roadway.

  He dreaded stepping into the open, but the cars offered a place for cover.

  For anyone.

  And for that reason he waited before making his approach. Sean strained his eyes and watched for signs of movement. Five minutes passed and he didn’t see any, so he stepped out from the woods and made his way through the intersection.

  The burned-out traffic lights stood as a reminder that civilization no longer existed. He stared at the hollow lights, waiting for one to come to life. Perhaps deep down he hoped one would. That the world would go back to the way it was before he entered that hellhole in Nigeria where he first encountered the afflicted.

  On the other side of the stoplights, Sean halted next to a blue minivan. He peered through the driver’s side window. A woman slumped in her seat, her short hair flat and matted. Dried blood coated her face. But it wasn’t a gash or cut that the blood originated from. It hadn’t been caused by an accident or an afflicted.

  Someone had shot the woman at close range.

  As well as the two kids in the backseat.

  Sean decided against lingering in the street. There was little to gain by doing so. Who knew what waited in one of the cars, or stuck around in one of the nearby buildings watching and waiting.

  He jogged across the street, past the sidewalk, and through the parking lot. The sounds of his soles hitting the pavement echoed like gunfire.

  Sean took cover against the side of a convenience store and stole a glance at the GPS. To reach the clinic, he had to travel across the parking lot and slip behind the shopping center. There appeared to be an alley that ran behind the strip mall, but he could not tell if it accessed the main road.

  The storefronts provided cover or delivered a death sentence. From where Sean stood, he saw that several of the windows had been smashed out, allowing anyone to take up refuge. He decided the best option was to cross in the open where he could see any and all aggressors coming his way.

  Another shriek tore through the silence.

  Sean spun around to face the sound. It originated deep within the woods, toward where he had left the ATV.

  And beyond that, where he’d left his daughter.

  “Gotta move,” he muttered under a deep exhalation.

  The final fifty feet between Sean and the corner of the shopping center felt as though it took an eternity to walk across. A high wooden fence covered in graffiti separated the far side of the building from a row of run down townhouses.

  He scanned the area, rifle following his gaze, ready to drop the GPS and fire on the first target.

  Since the outbreak, Sean had not ventured into a non-rural setting. He wasn’t sure what to expect. From what he recalled, there would be no more sick roaming around by this point in the outbreak. Those who contracted the virus and didn’t morph into afflicted should be dead. That left survivors and the afflicted.

  As far as Sean was concerned, little difference existed between either group.

  He butted up against the building as he traveled down the narrow side road. He stopped at the back corner of the building.

  Sean kept his head on a swivel, rotating it side to side, scanning the area while listening for sounds that indicated another’s presence. Something scurried across the asphalt out of his field of view. It sounded too light to be anything menacing. A rat or a squirrel, he figured.

  Sean eased around the corner of the building and scanned the back alley. It stretched a couple hundred yards.

  Empty.

  He turned his attention to the clinic, which stood fifty feet away.

  “It’s too easy,” he muttered.

  He hurried across the alley and stopped in front of the back door. His sweaty palm failed to grasp the knob at first. He tightened his grip and turned it.

  Unlocked.

  The door glided open. Sean waited outside, staring into the darkness in an attempt to make out shapes.

  He gagged at the unpleasant smell filtering out. Wasn’t the worst he’d ever encountered, though. There might be a body or two inside. He composed himself as his worst fear was put to rest. For a few seconds, at least. Absent the distinct putrid smell, chances were slim that an afflicted resided within the clinic walls.

  But another fear surfaced. He had found the door unlocked, which meant anyone could have gained access. And if someone had, they would have cleaned the clinic out of supplies. Sean would then need to travel further into the city.

  He stepped inside and set the GPS on the floor against the wall, then eased the door shut. The moan of the hinges echoed in the dark room. A single finger of light stretched across the floor.

  Sean retrieved the small flashlight from his pocket, switched it on, and fixed it to the M4. He panned the light along the wall. Cabinet doors stood open, revealing barren shelves.

  "Shit."

  The room flowed into a wide hallway with four doors on either side. Patient rooms, labeled alphabetically. He stopped in front of the first door on his right, room H. It was unlocked. He eased it open and performed a quick check of the small square room. The blue vinyl covered mattress had been torn to shreds. Bloodstained Styrofoam littered the floor. Dark crimson splatters covered the wall. He saw no remains.

  Sean stepped in and checked the drawers. He found scissors, a scalpel, and surgical sutures. Nothing else.

  He exited the room and stepped across the hall, placed his ear against the door and listened for a second before checking the knob. The door swung a foot and collided with an unseen object. Sean shone the light on the floor and saw blood and two severed fingers, one of which was adorned with a hefty diamond. He leaned in for a view of the rest of the room but saw nothing within his limited view. Using his shoulder, Sean forced the door open.

  The dark-haired woman on the floor was clad in pink scrubs. At least, partially. She had several wounds to her face, neck, and abdomen. Her left arm ended at the elbow. Something had fed on her right thigh, leaving the femur exposed. Her lips curled back in a snarl. Lifeless eyes stared up at him.

  Can’t do anything for her. Keep moving.

  He felt cold and calloused for thinking that way.

  But he had no choice. She was beyond saving, and he had someone a few miles away who needed his help. Sean turned his attention to the cabinets and drawers, disregarding the gore that coated them.

  He found more supplies. Gauze and bandages. Samples of antibiotics. Even a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

  Why did the room contain so much? Perhaps the body on the floor had driven scavenging survivors away.

  He had gathered the supplies he’d come for, but wondered what else the clinic contained. Two more rooms. That was all he would check.

  Sean stepped over the corpse, half expecting the woman to reach up and grab his leg. He stepped into the hall and swept his flashlight from right to left. Wavy crimson trails stretched the length of the hallway as though something had dragged through the pools of blood. He tried to avoid stepping in it, but the blood was everywhere.

  He found the next door locked, and the one opposite it as well. Why? Had people taken refuge in the rooms? He debated whether to break one of the doors down. They had to be locked for a reason. Perhaps they contained additional supplies. Delivering a kick with a prosthetic leg was never an easy task. And Sean found no way to brace himself in the wide hall.

  He considered removing his titanium leg and smashing the handle with it. Stupid, he told himself. The moment he handicapped himself everything
would go wrong.

  Sean decided to continue down the hall. There had to be a key somewhere. Maybe it'd been stolen, or was with someone who had died or had fled. Or maybe it had been placed in another room.

  Sean found the next door unlocked. The condition of the room was similar to the others in that a struggle had occurred. A search of the room yielded no supplies. He went across the hall and found more of the same.

  Sean expected similar results in the final two rooms but investigated them anyway. While the search turned up no additional supplies, Sean found a canvas messenger bag. He dumped the contents onto the bed and sorted through them. He kept anything paper to help in the event he needed to start a fire. There was a twenty-four ounce empty bottle, which he kept as well. The bag contained nothing else worth carrying. He stuffed the supplies he had gathered into the container and then lifted the strap over his head as he swung the bag around his back.

  He exited and stood in the hall for a moment, debating whether to continue into the waiting room. Would there be anything there worth taking? Chairs. Maybe a computer or two. More bodies.

  He had found the supplies he had come for. Every minute from this point on, he considered critical. There was no more time to waste.

  Sean locked the door between the waiting room and the hall. He turned into a hot, foul breeze. The door at the rear end of the hallway swung back and forth a few inches. An expanding and contracting splash of light coated the floor. Sean moved to the right side of the hallway and proceeded forward, letting his elbow graze against the wall. He focused his attention on the door.

  He struggled to remember whether he had closed the back door all the way. He recalled leaving it a hair open. A gust of wind could have pushed it further.

  As he continued on, he thought about the two locked doors and wondered what they hid. Nothing worth the risk of getting into the room, he told himself. But the lure was strong. How tough could the locks be? The doors themselves felt hollow.

  He lifted the M4 up and slammed the butt stock down on the knob. It gave an inch. He struck it two more times and then slammed into the door with his shoulder. It gave way.

  He gagged at the odor of death, stronger here than anywhere else. Sean panned the light across the floor. Several bodies were piled in the room. A stack six corpses high, with five across the bottom. Those who had succumbed to the virus? Afflicted who’d been killed? Their victims?

  Decomposition made it impossible to tell. And the smell ensured Sean wouldn’t stay in there long enough to find out.

  As he stepped back, the flashlight’s beam glinted off an object tucked behind a couple arms and a leg. Sean focused the light.

  “No fucking way.”

  He stepped into the room. As bad as the smell had been from the entryway, in the room it squeezed the air from his lungs. But there was no stopping.

  Sean reached around the limbs and retrieved the stainless steel pistol. The Beretta looked like the M9 he had carried in the service with the exception of the finish. He checked and found the magazine full, then tucked the pistol in his waistband, silently thanking whoever had left it behind.

  He backed into the hall and pulled the door shut. The busted knob prevented it from closing. Didn’t matter. Sean moved toward the back of the clinic.

  The light he saw a few minutes ago was gone.

  It took a few seconds to get the flashlight in position. But even before he did, he knew trouble waited for him.

  Two glowing eyes blocked his path.

  Fourteen

  The room smelled like a stagnant pond. Hot and humid, the air felt more oppressive than outside. Turk took a few moments to adjust before sliding the glass door shut. The windows were cracked open an inch or two. Not enough for an effective breeze. The blinds were opened enough to allow a fraction of the light in. Kept the room dark enough to prevent outsiders from seeing in.

  The hardwoods looked as though they’d been in need of refinishing for a decade or two. Wicker furniture with worn pastel cushions filled the space in a disorganized fashion. Far too many pieces for the room. Their tactic, Turk supposed, for slowing down invaders.

  All gazes fell on Turk. Rob introduced him to the other survivors before leading him to a back room. Rose and a man Turk hadn’t met yet greeted him. Recognition flashed when Rob parted the drapes to allow light into the room. Turk saw the same reaction in the other man.

  “Holy shit,” the guy said. “Never thought I’d see you again, man. What was it? Turtle? Tortoise? Tiberius?”

  “I hope you’re just fucking with me, Newkirk.”

  “Course I am, Turk.” Newkirk extended his hand, and Turk welcomed the gesture.

  He felt relieved to see someone he knew. A potential teammate who had similar training if he could persuade the man to leave with him.

  “Take it you two know each other?” Rose said.

  Newkirk nodded. “Was attached to this crazy son of a bitch’s squad on more than one occasion. ‘I’m just a combat weatherman’ wasn’t a valid excuse with him. He expected me to do everything his guys did.”

  “You wanna call yourself Spec Ops, you better be willing to get dirty, my friend.”

  “My days of getting dirty are done,” Newkirk said, his smile fading. He walked toward the window with a limp. There was a gait to his stance. Both legs bowed at the knees.

  “What happened?” Turk asked.

  Newkirk looked back. His eyes glossed over and his lips pressed thin and tight.

  Rob said, “He stepped on a mine. Lost both legs above the knee.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Turk said. Newkirk wasn’t the first man Turk had known to suffer such a fate. He absorbed their pain and felt it at that moment.

  “You had nothing to do with it,” Newkirk said through clenched teeth.

  “How do you know each other?” Turk asked.

  “We’re cousins,” Rob said. “He came to live with me after his wife abandoned him. And fortunately he came along on this vacation. Took some prodding. He usually don’t want to leave the house.”

  “Understandable.” Turk looked past Newkirk and spotted a pack of afflicted staggering past the house. They moved without purpose, their gazes fixed upward. What drove them forward? Was it a mindless action? Were they in search of prey? Or hoped to happen upon it? Hell, did they even have hope anymore?

  "Enough of that depressing shit," Rose said. "We need to talk about Rhea."

  "Who's Rhea?" Turk asked.

  "Our sister," Rose said. "She was taken at gunpoint from the beach. I saw it from the window, but couldn't get to her fast enough. They had a boat maybe twenty feet off the beach. It looks like something I'd seen in a movie once. Black, made of hard rubber or something like that. Two men dragged her through the surf while the third aimed a rifle at her head."

  Turk recalled the boats he'd seen at the fort. None matched Rhea’s description. But he knew she was talking about a four- or five-man version of the rigid boats he'd used as a SEAL. It made sense that the fort’s inhabitants would keep the vessel hidden if it belonged to them.

  "What was she doing out there?" Turk asked.

  Rob said, "Fishing and scavenging."

  "Why was she out there alone?"

  "She went out early," Rose said. "Didn’t tell anyone. I happened to wake up and see her bed empty."

  “Was that usual behavior for her?” Turk asked.

  Rob and Rose shared a glance. After a couple moments they shook their heads.

  "And the men that took her?" Turk said.

  Rose walked to the south end of the room and stood in front of the open blinds. Her shadow extended past Turk’s feet. After several seconds staring out the window, Rose turned around.

  "I chased as far as I could down the shore," she said. "But by the time I reached the end of the island they were already rounding the tip of the fort."

  "And you're sure that's where they went? That was their final destination?" Turk said.

  Rob stepped forward, ex
tending his clenched right hand. "We weren't at first. The little boat could've gone anywhere. But I went out there, and I saw them."

  "You? Swimming in the harbor?"

  Rob shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. His gaze shifted to his sister.

  "Don't," she said.

  Turk glanced from Rose to Rob to Newkirk. Only Rose looked at him. The two men stared at the floor. The feeling in the room changed from despair over concern of their sister's predicament to distrust of the new guy.

  "Look," Turk said. "Y'all brought me here. Now if you got something to say that can help the situation, I think it's best to spit it out instead of avoiding it."

  "A boat," Rose whispered.

  "What?" Turk said.

  Rose cleared her throat as she shut the blinds. The room darkened and their shadows faded. "Rob was in a boat. He wasn't swimming in the harbor."

  "Where is it now?"

  Rose and Rob exchanged a look.

  Turk said, "I see what's going on here. Rob finds out I'm a SEAL. He tells you, and together you guys decide I can help you with your sister. On top of that you got Newkirk here, and you know he's got a background in the community. He can feel me out. Ask me questions. Determine if I'm bullshitting. Stroke of luck for you guys, he knows me. Knows my history. That’s not enough, though. Is it? Let me make this clear. If you want my help, and you got a boat, then I think you better tell me where it's located."

  "We can't," Rose said. "I mean, not yet. If I tell you then what's to stop you from just leaving? We won't have our sister and will be out a boat."

  Turk approach the woman, stopped, and studied her. The anguish on her face appeared genuine. Real tears glided down her cheeks. She feared loss. True loss of a loved one. Turk had felt that only a few days before when he saw his wife and daughter at the end of the tunnel in a space he knew fire had sucked the oxygen out of. Those twenty seconds lasted a lifetime for him. The image alone speared his gut with a hollow arrow.

  "She look like you?" Turk asked Rose.