The Phoenix Curse: After - Part One

by D.R. Johnson

  My heart thundered in my chest, racing so fast I thought it might explode. I gasped for breath to quench my aching lungs as they burned for air, the deprivation a result of panicked flight.

  How did they get in?

  My limbs felt numb and disjointed, like I was trying to control hands that weren't mine.

  "Go!" I yelled. Tears ran unheeded down my cheeks. My father was standing there in the dark hallway, a forlorn look on his face, refusing to leave with the rest of the group. "Get them safe!"

  Nowhere is safe.

  He yelled something back, but I couldn't make it out over the growls and screams of the diseased. Smoke and steam obscured my vision, and by the time it cleared, he was gone.

  I wiped the tears and sweat from my face as I pulled out what was left of my bullets.

  Thirteen.

  The last time I was able to get a good visual, there were easily twenty of those things out there. That number could have grown since then.

  "You're mine," I said solemnly as I pulled one bullet out and dropped it in my pocket.

  I loaded my father's revolver, a beautiful piece of workmanship that would soon be entombed with me. I sniffed, but held back my sobs. I had a job to keep me focused, and damn me if I didn't give them enough time to get away.

  Dodging another burst of steam from the broken water pipe, I ran to the door my father had been standing at. The hallway on the other side was empty.

  Good.

  I closed the door and pushed the old oak desk in front of it. It was heavy and took longer than I would have liked, but I could feel my strength dwindling. Already, the sweat was drying on me as the fever set in.

  Turning to the door on the other side of the small room, I could see the barricade was holding... barely.

  The door rattled and shook and the wood started to splinter at the handle.

  I could see them through the glass panel that ran halfway down the side of the door. By some miracle, the glass was holding, but I was about to change that.

  The balding freak at the front was getting crushed by those behind him, but that didn't stop him from hissing and clawing at the glass. It looked like his nose had been busted up pretty bad judging by the amount of blood that gushed from it. It splattered everywhere, and through the red smears, his eyes fixed on me as I moved in front of the window.

  He raged and screamed, clawing at the glass to get to me. He hated me, and nothing short of death would stop him.

  I leveled the revolver between his unnatural red eyes and ended his frenzy.

  The glass shattered in a rain of shards, and the freak's body was pushed forward by the press behind him. I didn't think it would fit through the window frame, but I heard bones cracking as they gave way. I watched the macabre scene as the torso flopped lifelessly into my half of the room, dangling at an awkward angle as the bottom half remained trapped on the other side.

  Now that the glass barrier was gone, their bloodlust renewed. I cringed as their screams of rage assaulted me, no longer buffeted by the glass.

  Stepping closer, my boots crunched on the broken glass, and I took aim again. Two fell in quick succession.

  I had to wait for the rest to push the bodies out of the way and find their way to the window. It wasn't worth risking a bullet if I wasn't positive it would be a kill shot. I didn’t have to wait long.

  I emptied the gun, and found my hands shaking terribly when I reloaded. Frowning at the wound on my arm, I saw the red welts had spread considerably. The bite was getting worse very quickly. I wasn’t sure how much time I had left, but I had the feeling it wasn’t much. My fingers felt numb and fuzzy. Two bullets fell and rolled across the floor, only to fall down the drain in the middle of the room.

  "Dammit!"

  I ground my teeth together as I took aim again, the last four shots going fast. The deadbolt no longer held the door closed against the pressure behind it. The only thing holding the door was a hastily made barricade. There was a groan as the metal locker started to give way, and I knew it wouldn't be long.

  I retreated to the supply closet, pulling the door closed behind me. The darkness made me shiver. They would never be able to figure out how to open the door, but they'd never leave either. Given enough time, they'd eventually break through.

  No way out.

  Didn't matter, I was dead already. I pulled out the last bullet and clenched it tightly in my palm.

  One way out.

  From beyond the closet door, there was a loud crack, followed by a crash as the barricade gave way. Despite knowing it would happen, I couldn't suppress the scream I let out as beating hands fell against the door, scratching and clawing at it to get to me.

  I broke down, unable to hold onto my composure any longer. The fever dragged my weakened body to the floor. The sound only seemed to incite them more, but at least it was keeping them here instead of going after my father and the others.

  There was a small stream of light coming in from the bottom of the door. It was just enough to see by so I could finish my last task.

  I sat up, and fought a huge wave of dizziness. Leaning against the metal shelving, I waited for it to pass, but my strength didn’t return. It was never going too. I pulled the revolver into my lap.

  It’s so heavy now.

  My fingers were useless as I tried to dump the empty casings, and everything clattered to the floor. Even over the cacophony of moans on the other side of the door, I heard the cylinder land and roll away into the darkness.

  I groaned, laying down against the concrete floor and reached into the void to find the lost cylinder, the other hand still clutching the last bullet.

  The void swallowed me.