Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Wrapping both hands around her mug, she inhaled the steam. Warmth nudged aside the chill in her hands and the peppermint tamed the tickle in her throat. She took another sip and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. Hopefully, the aspirin would kick in soon.

She continued scanning the responses. Sure enough. More people reported sore throats. A few had fevers and coughs. Chesshire8 and catsin99 had both responded in the negative; nymetsfan1K wanted to know where they lived.

“Like that makes a difference.” The stupid flu was floating down from the heavens. After one more sip, she set her mug down. Please let Aunt Mavis understand . Wiggling the mouse, she clicked on the dialogue box.

sunEBrIt: my name is Sunnie Wilson i am 19 years old. i caught the RedXn in Nov recovered in Dec. i no what it feels like

She entered the comment then continued typing.

sunEBrIt: 33 minutes ago i woke up with fever and cough the RedXn is back!!!!

Her finger hovered over the enter key for a second before hitting it. If the government came and took her away from Aunt Mavis, so be it. Maybe her aunt would be spared the disease. As for everyone else… People had a right to know.

If she had known, maybe she wouldn’t be sick right now.

Maybe she wouldn’t be dying.

Trent swam through the waves of pain, rising on the surges and struggling to avoid being sucked under by the ebbs. The rustle of fabric nearby brought him fully conscious. Had the gangbangers returned to finish him off? For a moment, his blood heated and the throbbing faded.

The moment quickly faded and the aches in his body swelled into his skull, until it felt like it would explode like a microwaved potato.

Rocks clattered together and something squeaked. A rat most likely. He felt the furry bastard scamper across his leg and his foot twitched. Fire consumed his privates like a bad outbreak of herpes. The one bitch was supposed to shoot off his dick.

Had she succeeded?

His muscles twitched with the need to check, but something held him back.

Someone was with him.

If the bastards returned to make sure he was dead, they’d find he wouldn’t be so cooperative this time. Trent opened his eyes to slits. Moonlight painted the highest leaves, branches and rocks with silver, but left the cracks and crevices an abyss of possibilities.

A den of threats.

His fingers dug into the chilly sand. He needed a rock, a stick, any weapon would do. Debris sifted through his hands—none of it useful.

None of it could kill.

A hard knot formed in his gut. Well, if he couldn’t find a weapon, he’d use his fingers, his fists, and his teeth. He’d rip the gangbanger’s limb from limb, crack their skulls open to splatter their brains across the river bottom, and stomp on their bones, until they resembled jelly.

Now he had to wait until they came close enough to strike.

And they were close.

He heard their footfalls and the swish of brush as they crept along. Two yards, maybe less. He’d wait until they bent down to check his pulse before attacking. They’d be off guard then. He’d grab their head and yank them down. They’d pitch forward and he’d pile drive them into the ground. The action played inside his skull like a favorite movie trailer.

Sometimes, they’d break their neck, leaving them aware while he took his revenge.

Other times, they were stunned. By the time they awoke, he had their hands and feet pinned down by boulders. The bones would break as he dropped more stones on their limbs. Sometimes, he’d cut open their bellies leaving their insides exposed for a rat feast. Other times, he’d finish them off quickly. Always, always, always, he cut off their genitals and shoved them into their mouths while they were awake to suffer through it.

No one messed with Trent Powers and got away with it.

Insects feasted on his exposed skin, leaving crumbs of pain behind. Near his ear, a fly buzzed then landed. It walked along the lobe. His muscles tensed, amplifying the aches in his body. What was taking them so long?

The bastard coughed—thick and watery, then something wet landed on his foot

Son of a bitch! The asshole was sick! On rubbery legs, Trent scrambled to his feet. Nausea threatened to drop him to his knees. Survival kept him upright and he lashed out against the lump near where his feet had been. His fist collided with it. The impact traveled up his arm and rattled out his teeth.

“Yip!” Pieces flew off the lump as it ducked.

Breathing hard, Trent kicked out. His foot collided with a soft crinkly belly. Overbalanced, he went down on one knee.

Arms flailing, the lump rolled backward. “I give. I give.”

He’d won. Now the bastard would pay. The blackness rimming his vision receded. Fist up, Trent eyed the thing struggling on the ground. Something didn’t seem right. “Stay still.”

The lump did not obey.

Elbows topped shadowy triangles. “Here. I took the lighter. That’s all.”

Moonlight glinted off the yellow plastic as it sailed through the air. When it landed, Trent stared at the lighter. Not his. Something that cheap would hurt the image he worked so hard to maintain. He bent and picked it up, then flipped it around and around his fingers. “This is not mine.”

“I got it from your buddy.” The lump gestured at the ground near Trent’s feet before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Fuck! He better not get him sick. Trent stepped back. His heel hit something cold and hard, stopping his retreat. He glanced down at the obstacle. In the harshness of the full moon, bugs crawled in and out of the corpse’s eye sockets. The skin was black and swollen, straining against the orange vest. Rats chewed on the gaping hole in his belly and gnawed on the fingertips, exposing the white bone underneath. Trent kicked a rat off his foot before scuttling to the side.

Grass rustled and the rat squealed as it landed.

“Thought you was dead, too.” Lump wheezed, slowly lumbering to his feet. Stirring the layers around him, the cool breeze carried the scent of urine and body odor. “I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise.”

So, not one of his attackers but a worthless loser. A scavenger. A bum. Trent stuck his hand down his trousers. He ignored the clammy, silk boxers rubbing his hand and focused on the important bits. One dick. He stroked the flaccid flesh for a moment, before venturing lower. Stubbly hair abraded the pads of his fingers before he found his nuts. One ball. He’d have to visit the salon before he went native. Shifting his weight, he found the other. Two balls.

So what had the bitch shot?

His hand crept lower. Fabric resisted his intrusion then something tugged against his thigh. Pain quickly followed. Ahh, the bullet had grazed his inner thigh. He could live with that.

But the bitch had to die.

And not just the one who pulled the trigger.

“If’n you don’t want the lighter, could I have it?” Lump hocked up a lougie before planting it on the ground.

Trent clutched the lighter in his fist. He didn’t want the piece of crap, but if the loser wanted the lighter, he might be able to profit from the situation. “What are you willing to do for it?”

“Do?” The lump scratched his head, then his bulky arms then his massive chest.

Trent rolled his eyes. Obviously, Lump was a loser and an idiot. “You get me safely where I want to go and you can have the lighter.”

He dangled it from his fingertips, swinging it back and forth to gauge the man’s attention.

Lump lunged for it.

“No.” Careful to avoid the dead body, Trent stumbled out of the way. He flashed the lighter once more, before tucking it into his empty pocket. “I get what I want, before you get what you want.”