Thursday 28 October 2010

Infected

Scott watched the city from what he laughingly called his Penthouse.

They were there as always, the shuffling infected, clogging the streets like a putrid cholesterol.

Safe behind his barricade Scott spooned beans into a battered pan.

Three hours till night fell, the crowds thinned out and he could make another supply run.

Later, crossing the plaza, Scott saw them.

One fed, gnawing at a girl's neck. Scott fired once, shearing away it's head, stepping forward he discharged again into the girl.

Hearing others approaching he ran, scattering his plunder like chaff. 

A muffled pounding shocked Scott awake; they had found him. 

He opened fire indiscriminately from his shielded embrasure into the screaming throng below.

Behind Scott a heavily armed rapid intervention team spilled through a splintering door, a cacophony of shouted commands.

Scott heard only moans as they approached.

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