The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse by William Oday

Their eyes didn’t connect. His were feral and inhuman. His broad chest was bare and riddled with long scrapes and gouges. He wore no clothes at all. No pants. No shorts. No underwear.
    His manhood swung freely as he slammed his fists into the barrier that separated them. His face twisted up as he growled at Mason.
    He was human, but not human.
    Blood from a busted lip smeared across the glass as he tried to bite into the smooth surface. He looked back into the darkness and howled.
    A flood of movement swept in from the surrounding darkness and smashed into the safety glass like a wave crashing on the shore. The glass shook with the impact but held.
    Mason lunged for the security door and got a trio of shots off as three bodies jumped through it and bowled him over. The first one absorbed the rounds and landed inertly on top of him. He rolled to the side and shoved it away.
    One of the two remaining bit his leg and only the thick canvas pants kept the teeth from puncturing the skin. The other one jumped onto his chest and lunged for his throat with its mouth wide.
    Mason fired two rounds into its mouth and through the back of its skull. Its head snapped back and it collapsed to the side. A jab of pain stabbed his inner ears as a high-pitched keen drowned out the howling shriek of the remaining attacker.
    Another body landed on his chest knocking the wind out of him. It smashed a fist into his arm sending it arcing down to the side. His hand cracked into the concrete and the Glock skittered away. The flurry of movement with the light bouncing around erratically was almost hypnotic.
    Almost.
    Mason scrambled for the knife clipped to his belt. It was wedged under him a little and, before he could get it free, another frenzied body landed on top of him.  
    Time slowed.  
    Or maybe his perception of it sped up.
    He thought of Theresa, somewhere near him. Who would save her when he was gone? How had it come to this?
    He strained until his joints popped to shake free.  
    “Fuck you!” he spat out as he struggled.
    Rage burned in his gut, fueled his limbs into action, but the onslaught was too much. Too fast. Too violent.
    They weren’t people.
    They were animals.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    His body pinned down and battered, he yet fought to break free. The terrible finality of the situation struck him.
    And Theresa would be next.  
    BANG. BANG.
    The sharp report of a Glock firing.
    The attacker beating on his chest jerked to the side and then tumbled over.
    BANG. BANG.
    BANG. BANG.
    He glanced over and, in a funnel of light, saw Theresa’s shaking hands holding her Glock 26. The smoking barrel jumped as a flower of flame shot out.
    The force subduing Mason’s body ebbed as Theresa fired at another attacker. He broke free and recovered his weapon as their attackers paused, apparently unsure after a few of their number fell so quickly. Mason didn’t waste the pause. He lunged forward and drove his shoulder into the chest of a man standing in the doorway. The man fell backwards into the press of bodies behind.
      Now clear, Mason slammed the security door shut. He threw the bolt just as they resumed the attack. The door shuddered. The frame showed cracks where it had separated from the surrounding wall.  
    Another impact and the cracks grew a few inches. It wouldn’t keep them out much longer.
    He looked back at Theresa who stood frozen with the Glock’s slide locked back. He’d deal with her in a second. They needed something to barricade the door shut. He surveyed the interior of the pharmacy and saw nothing that looked like it would hold for more than a few minutes.
    But a few minutes might make all the difference. He grabbed an overturned office chair and jammed it up under the door handle. The bodies outside smashed into the door again. It shivered and the metal chair groaned as it absorbed some of the blow. The cracks around the frame continued to grow.  
    They’d be lucky for a few extra minutes.
    Pounding on the