Extinction Game Read Free

back the way we had come. I knew from experience how dangerous even a moment’s hesitation could be, but
a succession of days that were identical to each other had made me slow.
    I pulled my shotgun from my shoulder and patted the pocket of my jacket where I always kept spare ammunition. ‘We’re not turning back,’ I said. ‘I’ve dealt with
worse before. Now come
on
.’
    One of the things I remember the most from those first months alone in the world is the sound of dogs crying out day and night. Most of them were still locked in their homes
with their dead owners – unlucky for them, lucky for me. As for the rest, they wandered the streets in search of food and – once they ran out of corpses to feast on – prey.
    I started to move again, ignoring the pain in my lungs and chest. I was close enough now to the houses of Wembury to see their empty windows and the cars scattered across the road. The church
spire rose above the rooftops, like a beacon drawing me towards my cache of supplies.
    I heard barking from somewhere behind me and knew the dogs were on my trail. I tightened my grip on the shotgun, despite the sudden dampness of my palms, and turned to see a heavyset canine that
looked as if its mother had mated with a bear come barrelling towards me, low and squat with legs pumping furiously. Its jaws gaped wide, its eyes white around their edges. I came to a stop and had
to fire twice before the dog finally tumbled to the ground and lay still.
    I cracked the shotgun open and hurriedly fumbled two more cartridges into the barrel before snapping it shut again. There was no point in running any more; even if I tried, the rest of the pack
would catch me long before I reached the nearest of the houses. The best I could do was take a stand and hope for the best.
    My heart grew cold when the rest of the pack caught up with their fallen leader. There were half a dozen of them: big, mean-looking sons of bitches with murder in their eyes, flesh clinging to
thin ribs. They surrounded me in a half-circle, snarling and growling.
    I had, I realized, doomed myself. I had let myself panic, when under any other circumstances I would never have taken such drastic risks. I brought my shotgun to bear on the nearest of them,
determined not to let them take me easily. At least Alice would have a chance to get away.
    In the next moment, I heard the roar of an engine. I whirled around, thinking perhaps Alice had managed to run back to the house and get our truck. Instead, I saw an armoured van come crashing
off the road leading into Wembury and onto the grass, before accelerating straight towards me. It braked to a hard stop and a figure leaned out of the passenger-side window, brandishing a rifle and
shouting something at me. It sounded like,
Get down
.
    I didn’t need any further encouragement. I dropped flat to the ground, shots echoing overhead, thunderous in the still winter air. The dog nearest me seemed to rear back on its hind legs
as the back of its skull exploded. Three more of its compatriots rapidly followed, before those remaining took the hint and fled howling into the underbrush.
    I lay there trembling in the dirt and snow, watching as the rear legs of the nearest dog twitched momentarily before becoming forever still. My rescuer jumped down from the van and I saw he was
dressed in a hazmat suit with a visored hood. Behind the hood I saw the face of an Asian man, with a thick handlebar moustache.
    ‘Run, you furry bastards!’ the man yelled towards the trees, firing one more shot into the air by way of punctuation. His voice was muffled slightly by his hazmat suit.
    I didn’t allow myself time to think. I pushed myself upright and sprinted past him and towards the road, catching sight of his startled expression as I fled. I heard shouted curses and
another van door slamming open, followed by the sound of boots crunching on snow. I felt an awful terror at the thought that Red Harvest might get hold of