A World Reborn (Novella): The Harrowsfield Outbreak Read online

  There hadn’t been any gunshots for a few seconds, so Tara stood up, dragging Micky with her and they started to move again. They’d been forced to waste precious time, and there would be infected on them in less than thirty seconds at their current rate of speed. So Tara moved as fast as she could, with Micky hanging on to her as she supported him. In one of his scuffles, she looked down and saw that he’d somehow lost his knife, meaning the only weapons they had were the baton in her hand and the gun with two bullets remaining. If the gunman, and his potential allies, were close enough to observe them and slow down their progress with gunfire, silenced gunfire so that the infected wouldn’t be drawn away, then Tara began to concede to herself that the best use of the last two bullets might be on themselves.

  They reached the first broken window and stepped through, the glass fragments crunching and breaking further under their boots. There were no lights on inside, but even with just the illumination coming in from outside, Tara could see there were a few high-end looking cars in the slick foyer. On the right was a wide reception desk, with sprays of dark blood against the white walls bearing the company name and logo behind it. There was also a metallic staircase on the right side of the room leading up to an office with glass walls overlooking the lower part of the business; presumably it was the manager's office. Going up there seemed to be a bad idea as there would be no way out. There was a short passageway leading back somewhere on the left, but Tara didn’t know if that would lead to any place of safety. Across from the window where they’d gained entry, were another series of windows, leading out and onto the streets that led roughly in the direction of the fairground; where the nightmare had begun for Tara.

  “Come on.” Tara said softly, starting to move across the space to the other windows. It seemed as though their best bet for survival was to continue moving, to try and stay ahead of both the infected horde and the gunman… or gunmen. How long they could do that she didn’t know, but her mind drove her on.

  Halfway across the space one of the undamaged glass doors suddenly shattered; Tara quickly changed their direction to one of the show cars and they hunkered down as the sound of glass breaking filled the chamber, joining the echoing baying of the infected that were closing in on the first of the glass windows. The shots were definitely coming from some distance away as Tara hadn’t seen anyone through the windows. Whether he or she was on a rooftop or in one of the buildings she couldn’t be certain, but it was clear that it was a second shooter. Bullets made impact sounds in the tiled floor as they ricocheted into the room, or as they slammed into the vehicle they were taking cover behind. The remaining windows were being broken, and this further delay only shortened the gap between them and the infected. Looking around the corner of the car as carefully as she could, Tara saw a pair of infected shuffling in through the broken window, the glass skittering away as they failed to raise their feet high enough to clear it. The infected were homing in on them, the trail of blood Micky was leaving allowing them to have little or no trouble keeping track of where they were hiding. Tara swore and moved back around the car.

  “Tara.” Micky said weakly, his hand back over his bleeding leg. “Listen, you gotta go. You can’t keep lugging me around. If you go on by yourself there’s a real chance for you to make it out of this.”

  “I’m not going to leave you.” Tara hissed.

  “It’s what’s best. I’m going to slow you down and they’re going to get us. I’ve seen what they do to people, and I don’t want it to happen to either of us.”

  “It won’t, we just have to get up and keep moving.” Tara tried to stand, and to his credit, so did Micky, but he was weakened, and with a pained scream, he fell back down.

  “I can’t.” He mumbled, his tone full of defeat.

  “You can! You’ve just got to be strong and keep going. I can’t carry you, I wish I could.”

  More bullets hit the car and then ceased. The infected were closing in; they had only seconds to escape. Tara began to stand, but as she did Micky allowed his arm to slip from her shoulder. He sat looking up at her, a weak but brave smile on his face while blood pooled beneath him.

  “I’m sorry Tara. I kind of wish we’d had a chance to meet under better circumstances. I think we could’ve been friends.” Micky told her. Pain was etched on his features but nevertheless, his smile broadened, briefly lighting up his pale face.

  “Micky, we don’t have—” Tara started, but faster than she could have expected Micky reached up, took the gun from her belt, brought it to his temple and squeezed the trigger. Tara watched in frozen horror as his blood sprayed out, and his body slumped to one side; the gun dropped from his hand to the floor. Tara’s heart was racing. At first she couldn’t comprehend what had happened, and when she did, she didn’t want to comprehend it.

  Chapter Three

  Micky was dead. His eyes were blank and his brains sprayed across the floor. The large exit wound on the other side of his head was causing an even more expanded pool of blood beneath him. He had asked her to make sure the infected didn’t take him. Perhaps that was why he did it; he didn’t think he could keep moving forward, and so he’d decided to go out on his own terms. Or perhaps he had not wanted to endanger Tara any further by forcing her to carry a dying man. He’d lost a lot of blood between here and the market in a short space of time, perhaps this was a kindness in disguise, Tara considered.

  A snarl jarred Tara back to alertness. The infected were coming closer, drawn by the blood, the gunshot and her presence. Promising not to squander the chance that Micky had bought her with his life, she grabbed the gun and shoved it securely into her pants as she stood up and started to run. Free of the need to carry Micky’s weight, Tara was able to sprint to the next broken window and head out onto the next street. Briefly, she considered her options; there was a T-junction ahead, left led to more stores and then into a residential area where her home was. Right went roughly back towards the motel, but that way she’d end up looping back into the horde, and that would be suicidal. Directly ahead, the road led straight to the fairground. The residential area had more cover, but yesterday there had been a lot of infected there. As if to prove the point, as she turned her head in that direction, she could see the infected shuffling excitedly towards her. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she was covered all down her left side in Micky’s blood, so, not only were they being drawn to her visually, but the by the blood she was soaked in. Tara made a quick decision. She started sprinting towards the fairground. She knew her car had been left there, abandoned, when the outbreak began and hoped it was still there. She figured if the snipers had moved in to shoot at her and Micky at the market, the roads might be open. Perhaps, she could escape, Tara dared to hope. She could feel the first sensations of exhaustion creeping into her limbs, and while she wanted to move as quickly as possible, to put as much distance between her and the infected as she could, and between her and the gunmen pursuing her, she feared over exertion. There were cars strewn across the road the further she advanced; the ones closest had crashed - some had overturned and others had slammed into lamp posts or store fronts - while those further back had come to a stop as their drivers has been unable to make their way further down the road, so had simply abandoned them. On the right, the stores eventually gave way to a fenced off area, while buildings continued to run along on the left. If there were any gunmen on the roof, the only cover she had were the cars, or keeping as close to the buildings as she could. The latter wasn’t much of an option, as there was considerable debris littering the sidewalk - vehicles, dumpsters and, sadly, skeletal remains - which would force her to stray back into the street anyway. So she stayed on the road, kept moving and trying to tuck in beside the abandoned vehicles for cover just in case she was in one of her pursuers crosshairs.

  She was only halfway to the fairground but Tara was becoming winded. Her limbs, which had already ached from yesterday’s exertion, burned freshly and she could feel her heart hammering in
her chest. She looked back the way she’d come and saw that the infected were some distance from her, although they were still in pursuit. It wasn’t without risk, but Tara needed to slow down. She didn’t want to burn all her strength and then have nothing left should she need to run, so she slowed to a jog. As she closed in on the fairground she peered through the metallic fencing to the right, and could see parts of the large grassy area that made up the bulk of the fairground. The stadium lights were on, providing good illumination of the main area, as were the main stage lights where the mayor had been giving his address on the outbreak situation. At the entrance to the fairground there would be another T-junction: the way Tara had travelled to get there, the way in and also a road that would lead Tara to both the east and south exits of the town, depending on the road she took further along. The only problem might be if the road she chose was as blocked as the one she’d just jogged down. However, she couldn’t be overly concerned about that right now. Her plan was to keep moving, and go one step at a time. Tara reached the entrance to the fairground and ran in through the open gates. There was a small road that led to the parking spaces, where Tara thought she might have trouble finding her vehicle as they were amongst the first to arrive. A flash of panic gripped her as she wondered where her keys were; she hurriedly checked the pockets in her jeans and found them nestled in her left pocket where she usually carried them. Sighing with relief, Tara began to hunt for her car. There were more than a few that had been abandoned there but unsurprisingly, the majority of the spaces were empty; those vehicles no doubt littering the roads behind her. As she searched, she remembered the decision to take Emily’s vehicle out of the fairground because it was bigger and heavier than Tara’s car. But hers had its own advantages, which might prove life saving as opposed to simply economical now; if she needed to stop less often for fuel, she exposed herself to fewer opportunities to be attacked.

  As she jogged through the lot in the direction she remembered her vehicle being parked, Tara began to hear an unfamiliar sound. It was a mechanical humming. As she listened, it was getting louder, with a faint thumping overlaying it. Tara recognized it as the sound of a helicopter and conflicting emotions washed over as she found her car. At first, she thought it could be some sort of rescue; the military or maybe the state police. She thought that perhaps she could flag them down and be saved; after all, the fairground was large enough for a helicopter to land in. But then a counter thought hit her as she stood by her vehicle: what if it were them - the Reborn. If it was coming to pick up the Reborn then all she needed to do was hide and then her pursuers would be gone and she could safely drive away. There were too many possibilities, too many considerations that meant she didn’t know what to do.

  Suddenly, one of the windows in her vehicle shattered, and she ducked down behind the driver’s side door. She switched the baton into her left hand and drew the gun into her right, before slinking towards the back end of her car to peek out. There was no one she could see, and so she strained further out, trying to look towards the rooftop of the closest buildings to see if she could make out anyone up there. But she couldn’t. Another bullet slammed into the chassis of her vehicle accompanied by a loud thump. Tara ducked back into cover and cursed. She felt trapped, and exasperation, exhaustion and stress caused her to sob for a moment. Tears ran down her face. Her arms felt heavy and her legs felt weak, so she sagged down onto her rear. A third bullet slammed into the car; the shots, she decided, were almost random, as though they were more of a reminder that she was being targeted as opposed to trying to wound or kill her. Tara’s hot, wet tears began to flow more freely. She sniffled, feeling truly sorry for herself… and for all the people who had died along the way. She thought of what had happened here only a day ago, though it might have been an eternity. She thought about how, in the days before the meeting, she’d asked Tobias to come with her to her mother’s ranch in Texas. It was isolated and well stocked, a good place to hide, her mother had told her, until everything blew over. All they needed to do was make the drive. Tobias had told her it was a bad idea, that the roads would be chaos and they were just as safe in Harrowsfield as anywhere else. He also said he couldn’t stand the idea of being in an enclosed space with her mother, as she’d never quite forgiven him for his indiscretion with a co-worker. Tara had forgiven him, believed him when he promised her it had only been a onetime thing, just as she believed him when he promised he would protect her, no matter what happened. His promises, she thought as a fourth shot slammed into ground near her vehicle, were as worthless as he had been in the end, fleeing to save his own life, pushing her into harm's way and then leaving her to die. This thought ignited something in Tara; she suddenly realized she had survived when she fled the hardware store because of her own strength. She had been bought more time by Micky sacrificing himself, because he believed in her ability to survive. Tara realized that she could do it; she could survive. She was going to do it to honour Micky, she was going to do it to prove Tobias wrong, and most of all she was going to do it because she wanted to live.

  The tears ceased. Tara sniffed and took a few deep breaths to clear her head. She gripped the gun tightly in her hand with renewed energy and vigour. The gunman was keeping her in her current position for a reason. The helicopter was closing in; close enough that when she looked up into the night sky, she could see its lights coming closer, the sound getting louder and louder. Clearly, the helicopter was coming her way. She hoped it was friendly, but was aware that it more than likely wasn’t. She wiped her forearm across her face, cleaning up her tears and prepared herself. She was going to try and get into her car, stay low down and see if she could ease the vehicle out. If she could do that, then perhaps she could get the car going and drive away, staying low enough to avoid getting shot. Tara felt confidence building inside her.

  “Don’t cower, child.” The gunman’s voice boomed out from round the other side of her vehicle. She realized that the whole point of the sniper’s gunfire was to keep her pinned down while his companion made his approach, and now, as she scrambled away and looked back, she saw him; big, armoured and with his assault rifle held casually in his hands.

  She didn’t waste any time. Tara got to her feet and turned, levelling the gun straight at him. She thought about trying her luck for a headshot, but thought better of it, doubting her ability to make it and knowing she only had one bullet left. She lowered the gun and aimed it towards his left shoulder and fired. The bullet slammed into him, drawing forth an angry grunt. Discarding the firearm, Tara switched the baton to her right hand and gripped it tightly charging at him as he recovered. She saw no blood, and imagined it had harmlessly hit his body armour, but she was certain it had hurt, and in these few moments, she had the opportunity to do some damage. Not aiming for him directly, she swung the baton down slamming it into his rifle and knocking it from his unsteady grip. He moved to hit her, but Tara managed to scramble back a couple of steps, nearly losing her footing as she did so, before lunging back in and attacking his left arm; she swung the baton side on and struck him on the wrist. He hissed in pain and moved in on her, using his bulk and strength to pressure Tara. One powerful, swiping punch followed another, forcing Tara to retreat for fear of being struck. She waited for an opportunity and then tried to counterattack, swiping at his right arm; he brought it up in a blocking gesture, but the steel struck him squarely and she heard a sound of pain escaping his lips. However, this created an opening for her attack to be exploited. He seemed to absorb the blow on his right arm and thrust his left hand forward, grabbing Tara around the throat. She was surprised and tried to strike him in the face with her weapon, only for him to grab her wrist with his other hand and twist it. Pain shot through her arm and she let go of the baton as she felt a choking, burning pain in her throat. She tried to breath, but she couldn’t; his powerful grip had closed her windpipe and any attempt to draw breath only increased her panic. She tried to undo his grip with her free hand, but it was too tight and he wa
s too strong. She reached out to claw at his face, but he simply pulled his head back and out of reach. She raked her hand across his powerful, muscular arm, but couldn’t gather anywhere near enough purchase to wrench his arm away.

  With panic setting in and her desperate attempts to breathe being denied, Tara lashed out with her leg with every bit of force behind it she could muster, hoping she could kick him somewhere that would hurt him enough to make him let her go. Her leg passed up between his legs and the flat of her foot made violent contact with his groin. He let go of both her neck and her arm and dropped to one knee, with an angry, loud growl and a stream of what she assumed were obscenities in Spanish. Tara drew in several desperately needed, painful breaths but continued her assault. She grabbed the baton up from where it had fallen and then swung it forward, smacking him hard in the side of the face. Still suffering pain in his groin, he was caught off guard and dropped to the ground. He groaned and stirred. Tara wondered if she should continue the assault, see if she could retrieve his weapon or run towards the stage; as she knew there were a couple of deputies who had been there during the outbreak and thought one of their weapons might be there. It seemed like the better of her choices, so she turned and began to run flat out, her near choking making it hard to run at maximum speed but knowing she would surely die if she didn’t.