The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse (9 page)

Metal on metal. Hinges maybe.

Mason swung his head around with the Glock raised and ready. The elevated beating of his heart thumped in his ears. He exhaled slow and deep to suppress the flood of chemicals in his system. Dangerous situations required a clarity of focus that a body soaked in adrenaline, cortisol, and norepinephrine made difficult to achieve. He blew out another calming breath and the racing tension in his chest slowed. Slowed but not stopped.
 

That was good.

The edge kept you sharp, helped you survive.
 

After listening another moment and hearing nothing, he continued through the pharmacy doorway.
 

“Turn your light on,” Mason said. “Look through everything. Shelves, file cabinets, drawers, the floor. Everything. Who knows what might turn up.”

“Okay,” Theresa whispered.

Theresa’s headlamp kicked on and added another glowing oval to their dark world. The shadows swallowed the light so quickly that the room remained bathed in darkness just a few feet beyond the reflected light of their focus.

Mason didn’t like it. Something didn’t feel right.

It made sense. Practically everything was potentially dangerous. Mankind, or at least his little neighborhood of it, had returned to wandering the savannah at night with no fire to protect and warm them.
 

Living to see another day no longer had the sense of inevitability that it had artificially acquired in modern culture. We’d conquered so many things that the notion of vulnerability seemed antiquated.

Of course, the certainty was always an illusion. People died every day in every imaginable way.

Still, over time, the averages had improved dramatically. So it was no surprise that humanity got too comfortable, too self-assured in our position standing apart (and above) the natural world.

But that brief period of impressive mastery had passed.

We’d climbed too high too fast.

And so we’d been cast back down into the web of life with the warming blanket of technology torn away.

In the darkest night, our ancestors reminded us of whence we came. Of the terrible weight shouldered by every beast that instinctively knew it would be hunted. Technology and training could blunt the terror, shape it even.

The Marines had done that for him and his men.

But it was always there, underneath the bravado and bloodlust.

“Dad, found something.”

Mason crept over and examined the nondescript, amber bottle filled with little capsules. He read the label.

Sildenafil citrate.

Take one thirty minutes to one hour before activity.

No idea. He stuffed it into his pack.

CREAK.

Mason turned, muzzle pointed at the open doorway to the main room of the store. Still nothing visible.
 

“What was that?” Theresa said in hissed whisper.

Mason touched his finger to his lips and kept the Glock on target.

Was it just an old building murmuring its age to whoever might listen? Was it just the odd sounds old structures made as they continuously settled and shifted in their slow motion slide toward entropy?

Maybe.

But that sound didn’t have the same hollow feeling, like it came from down in the bones. It came from the surface, from the skin, from the place where people and things interacted.

He approached the open doorway from the side, his right shoulder to the transparent wall, making sure to keep his exposure to the fatal funnel to a sliced angle.
 

CREAK.

This time louder. Closer.

“What was that?” Theresa said, an edge of panic rising in her voice.

It was something. Mason knew that much. He looked right and shone his light through the glass to scan the interior of the small store.
 

There. Over by where the cash register used to be. A little eddy of plastic wrappers settled to the ground.
 

What had caused the disturbance?

Mason leaned closer to get more of the headlamp focused through the glass, rather than reflecting back into his face.

His eyes inches from the surface, he methodically scanned back and forth. Then paused.

What the hell was it?

WHACK.

A disfigured face leapt out of the darkness and slammed into the clear barrier. Mason stumbled back and aimed his firearm at the attacker.

Theresa screamed.

The shrill edge in her voice curled his finger around the trigger and had it pulled halfway back before he could stop the involuntary reaction. He froze, a millimeter from where the trigger would break.

The thing outside the glass was a young man, probably in his mid-twenties. 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.

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 safety glass drew his attention and he swept his headlamp in that direction. What he saw swept a chill through his body. The surface was covered with frantic bodies clawing, biting, fighting to get through.

Ten or so of them. And more behind struggling to get closer.

Mason’s hasty fortification seemed to be holding, so he checked on Theresa. Her face was pale and lax. He gently took the pistol and recharged it with the last full magazine from his backpack. He secured it in her holster and then squeezed her hands. They were cold and sweaty.

“Hey,” he said.
 

He squinted as her headlamp tilted up and blinded him. He angled it up and caught her eyes.

“You did good,” he said. “Stay with me. It’s not over yet.”

She nodded in dull agreement. Her eyes seemed distant and disconnected. Shock. Not surprising for what just happened. But not a luxury they could afford either.

He squeezed her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Theresa, look at me. Look at me!”

Her eyes finally focused.

“You have to stay with me here. Okay? Can you do that?”

She nodded again.

“I want you to say it.”

She stammered out incomprehensible words.

“Focus your attention,” he said as he locked his eyes to hers.

“I… I can… I can do it.”

“I need you to cover the door while I look for another way out.” Mason glanced back at the mass of bodies shouting and screaming behind the glass. There were no discernible words. It would’ve been less terrifying if there were. Just sounds. Incomprehensible sounds of fury and frustration.

He pivoted to the side of her. He needed to know she was together enough to watch their back. “Draw your weapon and cover the door.”

Her motion was hesitant at first, but once her hand found the grip, it settled. She drew the pistol and aimed it at the closed door. Bodies intermittently slammed against it. The fault line around the frame inched forward with every impact.

How many more blows could it take?

Mason swept his light over the space. There were no other doors or windows. By design, the pharmacy was a secure area. Only it wasn’t designed to indefinitely keep out a mass of insane humans. One or two until the police arrived, maybe. But they weren’t facing one or two.
 

And the police weren’t going to rescue them.

He looked around at a loss. They weren’t going to be able to shoot their way out. They had insufficient firepower to gain superiority. If he had an M249 SAW, sure no problem. He’d mow them down like blades of grass. But a couple of handguns? And with the way Theresa looked, one of those handguns might not even make it into the fight.

No, that was the last resort. The long odds he didn’t want to take.

So what else?

He gritted his teeth in frustration while staring at the bodies pressed against the safety glass. Their eyes shone with a simple, primal madness. A burning rage that an incomprehensible obstacle only fanned brighter.

An idea flickered in his mind.

It was something, at least.

The door shuddered again and the upper right area around the door frame tore free. It wouldn’t hold much longer.

Mason rifled through his backpack and found the bottle of rubbing alcohol he’d found in the storeroom. He tore the lid off and splashed its contents on the safety glass. He dug out his lighter, lit a flame, and touched it to the vertical surface.
 

A sheet of blue and yellow flame ignited and cast the room in flickering light. A searing wave of heat sent Mason jumping backwards. The attackers on the other side fell back as well. Though not from the heat, as it couldn’t have made it through the safety glass so quickly. They stared at it, cringing in terror. The flame dripped down to the counter and pooled in an expanding ring of fire.

The assailants on the other side of the glass kept their distance, looking at one in another in confusion. None wanted to be the first to approach the conflagration. The wall of flame slowly diminished and began to wink out around the edges. The flame on the wall extinguished and only a small puddle on the counter remained.

It could work.

He yanked off his black hoodie and pulled his white t-shirt off as well. He cast about the area and found something that would work. A forgotten broom. He grabbed it and slammed the end on the counter. The plastic bristles snapped off the metal rod.

The door shuddered. The left side was nearly torn free from the wall. Arms reached around the door, waving and grabbing at air.

Only seconds before they got through.

He ripped the thin cotton shirt into strips and quickly tied each strip in knots around the end of the metal pole. That complete, he dumped half the bottle of rubbing alcohol on the lumpy ball of fabric. He tucked the bottle inside his belt.

SMASH.

The door shuddered again and the frame came free from the surrounding wall. It tumbled forward and slammed to the ground. Three of the animals fought to be first to get through the opening. A roar of excitement rippled through the others. They sensed the opportunity. That a shift had occurred in the chase, one that would soon bring victory. The attackers stumbled in, tripping over the fallen door and each other. More filled in behind them.