Road to the North

"The northern outpost is twelve miles up this ridge. The terrain is rough, but the infected won't be able to move fast up here in the open wind."

"What about the other sectors?" I asked, looking back at the collapsing sanctuary entrance behind us. "Are we the only ones who made it out?"

"From our unit? Yes," he replied coldly. "The southern bunker might still be online, but they don't have our coordinates. If anyone else survived, they are on their own."

A sudden sound from the back seat made both of us freeze.

It was a soft, wet cough.

Garrison’s hand went instantly to the sidearm holstered on his chest. He flicked on the interior dome light with his left hand, illuminating the rear storage cabin.

Huddled between the cargo crates, her face covered in dirt and her expensive silk dress completely ruined, was Cynthia.

She had crawled through the rear cargo hatch before we cleared the garage bay. She was shivering violently, her eyes wide with a frantic, unhinged terror. But what made me hesitate wasn't the dirt on her face.

It was the faint, dark vein pulsing right along her collarbone.

"Garrison," I whispered, my medical training overriding my shock. "Look at her neck."

Garrison pulled the vehicle to a sudden stop on the edge of the cliff road. He kept the engine idling, shifted into park, and turned his entire body around in the driver’s seat.

He drew his pistol, aiming it directly between Cynthia’s eyes.

"Get out," Garrison said, his voice flat and deadly.

"No! Please!" Cynthia screamed, pressing her back against the metal crates. She covered her neck with her hands, sobbing hysterically. "I am not sick! I just inhaled a little bit of the smoke when the door buckled! Valerie, tell him! You are a doctor! Tell him it’s just a normal cough!"

"It isn't a normal cough, Cynthia," I said, my heart sinking into my stomach. "The vascular necrosis is already starting under your skin. The red fog alters the cellular structure within minutes. You know what happens next."

"You are lying!" she shrieked, her voice cracking into a terrifying, unnatural register that didn't sound like my sister at all. "You just want him to shoot me! You want me dead so you can have everything!"

"She didn't choose this for you, Cynthia. You did," Garrison said, his finger tightening on the trigger. "I gave you a choice in the tunnel. You chose to try and take her down with you. Now, get out of my vehicle before I put a bullet in your head."

Cynthia looked at me, her eyes suddenly shifting from terror to a deep, venomous malice. The veins on her neck grew darker, expanding like black spiderwebs across her pale skin.

"If I am going to turn into one of them, Valerie," Cynthia whispered, her teeth clicking together in a horrific, rhythmic pattern, "I am taking your precious commander with me."

She lunged forward from the back seat, her fingers clawing toward Garrison’s face.

Her nails scraped against Garrison’s vest.

A deafening blast shattered the cramped cabin. The muzzle flash lit up the dark vehicle for a fraction of a second. Garrison did not hesitate. His bullet struck Cynthia directly in the chest, the force throwing her back against the cargo crates.

She slumped sideways, her dark red eyes wide and empty. The black veins on her neck stopped pulsing, turning a dull, cold gray.

The silence inside the utility vehicle returned, heavy and thick. Only the hum of the engine and the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers broke the quiet.

"She was already gone, Valerie," Garrison said, his voice flat as he lowered his weapon. He didn't look at the body in the back seat. He looked straight at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign of breaking. "The moment the necrosis hits the throat, the mind is hollow. You know the science."

"I know," I whispered, staring down at my hands. They were shaking. "I just didn't think it would end like this. In the back of a truck, on a mountain road."

"It ended the way she chose it," Garrison said, shifting the vehicle back into gear. He hit the accelerator, and the tires gripped the mud, pulling us further up the ridge.

"We have two miles left before the outpost entry point. We need to move before the scent of blood draws the rest of the mountain pack."

"The pack?" I turned my head to look at him. "There are more up here?"

"The miners," Garrison replied, keeping his gaze locked on the treacherous road ahead. "When the first alerts went out, the mining colony at the summit refused to seal their shafts. They thought the government was lying to seize their assets. By now, the entire ridge is a feeding ground."

"Then the northern outpost isn't safe," I said, my fingers tightening around the strap of my backpack.

"It's safer than the valley," he said.

He reached across the console, his large, warm hand covering my trembling fingers.

"I have the manual override key. The bunker has its own independent water table and six years of medical rations. We just have to get past the gate."

Suddenly, a massive shape slammed into the front bumper.