Revision, again nothing set in stone
Chapter: ? "Guess It's Why I'm Here"
We flew through the door skidding slightly along the tile. I scrambled to the door , slamming it shut. There was vicious resistance on the other side, banging even scratching on the steel plated door. The door was thick, and heavy, thank god, at least it muffled their screams, the barks and growls those abominations made. I could finally catch my breath, my chest stung as I struggled to control my breath. I needed to breathe slowly, calmly.
The runt had his cheek pressed against the cold tile floor, panting uncontrollably, fighting to catch his breath. I wondered if he was just exhausted from the suicidal five block sprint, or if he'd been bitten. Maybe he lied, maybe the virus was just lagging through his young resilient immune system. I barely had to think about it, instinct told me that he was a potential threat. My rifle and side arms all needed reloading from that ordeal. but my good ol' reliable switch blade was always ready when i needed her.
I reached into my pocket studying his movements, my fingers laced around the knife handle. From his angle my blade, my movements, it was all concealed, i didn't want him to notice that I knew. If he turned I wanted him oblivious to the fact that I was armed and ready. The bastards were primal, not much thought coursing through their contaminated brains other than the constant message "BITE, RUN, CLAW, RUN FASTER, KILL, KILL, KILL,". But they did have some retained thought, some incredibly discrete degree of caution, and tactic.
I guess they've become animals, like a dog infected with rabies. They attack and attack and attack till they've killed or have lost. With that sentiment said, they do back down or at least take a moment to asses the situation when threat is large, here and there.
If I let him know that i was ready with a weapon he'd adjust himself. His head jerked up, shattering my train of thought. My hand gripped the knife firmly, I was ready. Like butter across a fresh piece of toast a smile spread across his face. I exhaled, those pieces of s**t don't smile. "God is on our side today man tooo fuucking daay," he shouted chasing his proud statement with a chuckle.
A sigh hissed through my teeth, he was fine, i didn't have to put down the runt. I couldn't miss a beat, I couldn't waist a moment. I tugged my sports bag onto my lap throwing my knife into it, my finger tips pried open a small box of nine millimeter rounds. With a flick of the finger the clip slipped from the butt of my Beretta. Like a machine i slid bullet after bullet into the clip, until the elongated clip fit all nineteen rounds.
I could see him out of the corner of my eye, he was studying me as if i were performing some taboo ritual. "You wasted all of your bullets into those things ?," he asked, a noticeable tone transition had occurred. I nodded , replenishing my weapons without pausing or slowing. His expression displayed concern, i didnt know what to make of it. "You know.. some of those things... couldn't have been too old before they turned.. I hesitated to pull the trigger on one of them that looked like a six year old.. and you plugged em'.. I watched his head pop.. ho.. how can you do that... ?," as the question left his mouth, it was all too obvious that he could not get rid of the mental picture. But then again, who could ?.
At first, I didn't know how to answer, what sane man could justify putting a bullet through a six year old's head. It was a monstrous act, I wont deny that.
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