Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
If push came to shove, is there a way to reason with them?
Or would that be our final, fatal mistake?
Red’s breathing changes suddenly, growing faster, more shallow. His eyes, when they open, are unfocused, darting around the room as if tracking movement that isn’t there.
I rush over to him. “Something’s wrong,” I say, pressing my fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Racing, erratic. “His fever’s spiking.”
Before anyone can react, Red’s yelps “God save us all!” and his body goes rigid, back arching off the table in a violent seizure. His legs kick out, nearly catching Jensen in the chest. His arms flail, the wounded one striking the lantern and sending it crashing to the floor. Eli manages to catch it before the kerosene spills, but the hut is plunged into semi-darkness, the only light coming from the dying embers in the stove.
“Hold him down!” I order, grabbing for Red’s thrashing arms. “Don’t let him hurt himself!”
Jensen and Cole move quickly, pinning Red’s legs while Eli grabs his good arm. I manage to secure the wounded one, avoiding the bite area as best I can. Red’s strength is shocking, far beyond what a man in his condition should possess. It takes all four of us to keep him from convulsing right off the table.
The seizure seems to go on forever, though it’s probably only a minute or two. When it finally subsides, Red goes completely still, so abruptly, that for a moment I fear he’s died. I press my fingers to his neck again, feeling for a pulse.
There—weak but present.
“What the hell was that?” Cole demands.
“Seizure,” I say, though it didn’t look like any seizure I’ve seen before. “Probably from the fever. The wound, it’s infected and spreading.”
Eli retrieves the lantern and relights it, illuminating Red’s face in its golden glow. His skin has a waxy, gray pallor now, cheeks sunken as if he’s lost weight in the past hour. Dark veins stand out against his neck, tracing ominous patterns beneath the surface.
It’s happening fast.
Too fast.
One minute he was joking about being zombie chow and the next he looks nearly inhuman.
“Is he…” Jensen begins, then stops, as if unwilling to voice the question.
Before I can answer, Red’s eyes snap open.
I scream.
They’re blue.
Pale, searing, glacial blue.
“Everybody back!” Jensen orders, reaching for his rifle.
We’re barely clear of the table when Red moves—not the slow, pained movements of a severely injured man, but a sudden, violent lunge that takes him off the table and onto his feet in one fluid motion. The bandage on his arm begins to unravel, revealing the wound beneath.
It’s no longer bleeding. The ragged edges have begun to knit together, the blackened skin receding to reveal something smooth and pale beneath.
He’s healing.
No. Transforming.
“Red?” Cole says, voice shaking slightly. “You with us, buddy?”
Red’s head swivels toward Cole, movements jerky, unnatural. His lips pull back in what might be a smile, revealing teeth that seem too sharp, too numerous. When he speaks, his voice is a raspy approximation of his normal drawl.
“So hungry,” he says simply.
Then he lunges.
Cole barely has time to raise his arm in defense before Red is on him, movements blindingly fast. They crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Red’s teeth snapping at Cole‘s throat like a piranha, held back only by Cole’s forearm braced against his chest.
“Get him off me!” Cole screams.
Jensen and Eli move simultaneously, grabbing Red’s arms and trying to pull him away. But Red’s strength has multiplied exponentially, his transformed muscles resisting their combined efforts. It’s like trying to move a boulder, his body locked in place by inhuman determination.
I grab the rifle and, with as much power as I can muster, bring it down on the back of Red’s head. The blow stuns him just long enough for Jensen and Eli to haul him off Cole, throwing him back against the table. Red snarls, the sound more animal than human, and prepares to lunge again.
“The rope!” Jensen yells to Eli, who is already moving toward our packs. “We need to restrain him!”
Cole scrambles backward, putting distance between himself and Red. Blood trickles from a scratch on his neck where Red’s nails—now elongated into something like claws—raked him. He pulls his knife from its sheath, holding it out defensively.
“I don’t want to fucking hurt you,” Cole says to his friend. “Don’t make me do it, old boy.”
Eli runs back with coils of rope, and he and Jensen approach Red cautiously, one from each side. Red’s head swivels between them, tracking their movements with predatory focus. His breathing has changed, becoming more labored, each exhale accompanied by a low growl that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
“On three,” Jensen says quietly to Eli. “One…two…”
They move, Jensen grabbing Red’s arms while Eli loops the rope around his chest. Red howls, the sound piercing, and thrashes violently against their hold. But then Cole jumps into the fray and within moments they have him secured to one of the support beams, multiple loops of rope binding his arms to his sides.