No Such Thing As Werewolves (56 page)

“Out of sight, out of mind. I’m ready to head down to that car you were talking about,” Sheila suggested, a pleading note creeping into her tone.
 

“You aren’t getting an argument from me,” Trevor agreed. No sense in drawing this Mother’s attention. He picked up his Barrett, offering his free hand to Sheila. He doubted she’d be able to make the walk by herself, especially in the dark. “Here, take my arm. I’ll guide you. It’s not very far, just a few hundred yards. We’ll be there in no time.”

Sheila nodded gratefully but saved her breath for walking. Picking their way down the mountainside in the dark was agonizingly slow, but it was still better than the alternative. Long minutes later they finally reached the little dirt track Liz had jokingly called a road. The battered pair of pickup trucks waited in the moonlight. Despite how tiny the vehicles were, compared with their testosterone-fueled American equivalents, they were almost as wide as the path.

“There you go,” Trevor said, helping Sheila into the passenger seat of the closest truck. She gave a relieved sigh as she settled into the torn seat. Maybe it was the light coming from the cab of the truck, but she looked whiter than any sheet.

“Thank you, Trevor. I couldn’t have done that on my own on a good day, and this is not my best day ever,” she said, panting rapidly. He felt the altitude himself, but he was in pretty good shape.
 

“Wait, do you see that?” Her attention had turned to the southern horizon. Her eyes widened.
 

Trevor spun to see what she was looking at. “My God. It’s started.”

Yellow and scarlet ribbons of fire veined across the sky, spiderwebbing their way closer with incredible speed. It was like the Aurora Borealis on an indescribably massive scale but much, much more dangerous. They were nowhere near the poles, so they would miss the brunt of the radiation, but electronics the world over were about to be destroyed.
 

Sheila began to thrash and shake. It looked like some sort of epileptic seizure. Crap. She might bite off her own tongue and bleed out if he didn’t get something between her teeth. He glanced around until he spotted a dead branch from a scrubby bush. That should work. He picked it up, breaking off both sides until he held an eight-inch length.

He leaned on Sheila’s lap, pinning her as best he could while he tried to force the stick into her mouth. She thrashed wildly, making the task incredibly difficult. “Come on, Sheila, don’t fight me. This is for your own good.”

Sheila began coughing. White goop oozed from her mouth. What the hell was that? A gob landed on his arm, and he gagged in disgust.
 

Then Sheila struck like a snake, seizing his hand in her mouth. She bit down hard, ripping off a hunk of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He jerked away from her, pulling a length of gauze from his cargo pants. The sky bathed them in a hellish undulating glow, brighter than full noon, though the color was off. Everything was too white.

“What the goddamned fuck, Sheila?” Trevor growled. His hand was on fire.
 

Sheila staggered jerkily to her feet, lumbering in his direction. Her eyes were milky white, arms outstretched. She looked just like a…
fucking
zombie
. Trevor acted with reflexes honed in preparation for just this occasion. He ripped his combat knife from its sheath around his calf, dancing on the balls of his feet as Sheila closed.

As soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him. She tripped, falling heavily to the ground. Then he was on her, jabbing the knife into her skull. He twisted it, jerking the blade free and staggering back. She flopped to the ground and twitched once before she lay still.

He punched the hood of the pickup. Sudden rage flooded him. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, of all people. He’d spent years preparing for something like this. “Are you fucking serious?” he shouted to the universe. “The zombie apocalypse starts, and I get bitten in the
first thirty seconds
? Really?”

Trevor’s hand began to tremble. He held it up near the light inside the truck’s cab. Black veins had already begun crawling up his wrist.
 

Wow, that was a pretty messed up cliff hanger. Trust me, I didn’t want to leave it there but the novel is already 130,000 words and my editor threatened to hurt me if I didn’t cut it here.
 

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