Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay by Jason Borrego Page B

life in a darker light. “Hurry—back to the Blazer.” He looked down the hall and saw the shadows of lengthy men on the prowl. “Where’s Jeffery?”
    Emme scanned the shoddy room and then shrugged. “He was sleeping on the floor. I don’t know where he went.” She slid into shoulder straps of the little black backpack and stomped into her boots. “We can’t leave without him.”
    “Or Sam,” Hunter added.
    Abraham reached for his pistol and took aim. Out of the stairwell two men holding bats stepped forward. “Abraham, get your ass over here,” one of them shouted. “What you did to the boss is minor compared to what we’re going to do to your family.”
    Without a second thought, Abraham fired. No one would harm his grandchildren. The bullets tore into the clumsy men. He was a tangle of rage and passion as several sprays of blood were followed by the foolish men falling to the floor. They weren’t dead yet. Standing over them, Abraham fired a shot between each of the wailing men’s eyes. He had to make sure they were dead for good.
    He heard Emme crying behind him. But he didn’t have time to comfort her. “This way,” he called back, running down the stairwell. He saw the set of blood-spattered footprints leading up and wondered if it was his boots or the men he just killed. It didn’t matter.
    Back down in the garage, he could smell a heavy odor of alcohol. He prayed the mechanics were all drunk and numb. It would make his escape that much easier. He saw a smear of blood where Bob had passed out, but his body was missing. He was certain one of the mechanics must have helped him escape through the wide open roll down door. Two sets of footprints were stamped in the pools of blood.
    Staring out the open garage door, all he could think about was the metal mouth of a monster. Outside in the safe block of town, he could hear the shouts of men assembling for an all-out war. Shit!
    “Jeffery,” Emme cried out.
    Abraham spotted the odd boy at the base of the garage door. The wild boy ran to his granddaughter’s voice on all fours, trudging through the smears of blood. Sometimes Jeffery walked on two legs, sometimes on all four limbs. It was strange.
    “Dr. John!” he shrieked.
    At once, Abraham’s eyes bulged, taking in the spattered blood painted across the humid garage. What have I done?
    “We have to go back,” Emme said. “The infected are coming through that way.” She pointed out the door the way they had entered the compound.
    Abraham couldn’t hear the infected freaks, but he imagined a sounded like an army of horses beating the ground.
    “There are twice as many as we faced at the farm. We have to run.” The awful sound must have grown louder. She cupped her right ear and bawled. Whatever was buzzing in cosmic bursts brought a terrible scrunch to her face.
    “Can you really hear them?” Abraham asked, placing a hand against the wall. Swallowing, he prayed the lightheadedness would pass. He remembered how Emme heard the dead at the overturned bus and then again at the infested building. Can it be?
    The thought was ripped out of his mind as a spray of bullets echoed outside. Desperate to protect his grandchildren, Abraham nudged out sideways and pulled the chain to close the metal garage door. He heaved until the bottom clashed against the cement. The pings of ricochets rattled the tin every few seconds. He turned back to Emme and spat. “Can you really hear the dead?”
    “Yes, we have to hurry.” Emme backed up and sprinted up the stairwell with the wild boy at her feet. Jeffery was howling every few seconds. However, his voice was silent compared to the buzzing cries of the dead as they finally reached Abraham’s old ears. Whatever was coming sounded like the gates of hell were blown open and its abysmal demons running out like inmates during a prison break.
    Running up the stairs, Abraham sorted through his options. He wasn’t planning on staying, but how would he manage to