Psychosis (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 3) Read Free Page B

f lushed as she uttered the word, yet the scornful smirks she half-expected did not appear.
    Michael’s brow knitted. He thought of Victor, the maniac that had imprisoned them in St. Davids. Of the way the man had hinted at being part of some organisation or group that had manufactured the disaster, of the lunatic’s constant references to film. “This is not a movie.”
    He caught her dubious expression.
    “We’re all thinking it, Rachel, and I think it is right, sort of,” Michael said. “But not quite. It’s an infection, they transmit it with their bite, and when you’re infected you’re nothing more than a killing machine.”
    Michael’s eyes clouded over a little as he remembered that crazy scooter ride, a demented journey into the hellish centre of St. Davids, the t inny whine of the little engine; the horrific landscape of bodies torn to shreds passing under the thin wheels.
    “So far, so Night of the Living Dead, but this isn’t the undead ,” he said, his voice thick. “Their bodies are still completely human, vulnerable, just like us. It’s like it’s their minds that have been corrupted, like their humanity has been erased, or something. I don’t know.”
    “They die, just like we die.” Jason’s low, rumbling monotone cut through the night.
    Michael stared at the big man’s unfocused eyes in the gloom, searching for some reassurance, finding nothing but that vacant not-quite-there look. Without even looking, he could feel Rachel’s gaze drilling into him. He settled back, rested his head on a rolled up t-shirt, and had time to think that he had never seen the stars looking so vibrant and clear before sleep took him.
     
    *
     
    Rachel watched as Michael’s eyes closed, and his breathing became deep and regular. Exhaustion and anxiety battled for her attention, and the latter was winning.
    Throughout most of her life, the correct path had always seemed obvious to Rachel, and her mind, once made up, usually wasn’t for swaying. School, university, employment: she chose the sensible path and only a low tolerance for the idiocy of people around her, and subsequent ill tempers ever led her astray.
    The sudden and apparently total collapse of the world, following hard on the heels of the collapse of her attempt at a life in London, left her feeling rudderless. Yet she had a nagging sense that following a recently-crippled man on a quest to find his almost-certainly dead daughter did not represent the sensible choice.
    She stood a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. She remembered the attraction she had felt for Michael days earlier. Before Victor. Remembered too how she and Jason had turned to him for protection, and felt shame. Now though, in a world of constant terror, how would they manage travelling with a man who could not walk?
    Rachel stared into the darkness beyond the trees, and found no guidance there. She couldn’t see how they could survive what seemed like a suicide mission, couldn’t see how to proceed for the best.
    Couldn’t see the pair of eyes staring back at her intently.
     

     
2
     
    Lying on the dew-wet grass, blinking up into the light creeping slowly across the sky, the huge, deformed man tried to piece together the snapshots of blood and chaos that made up the days before he had fallen unconscious, only to wake covered in blood in the middle of nowhere.
    He had no idea how much time had passed, and jumbled, confused memories jostled in his mind, some his; some not. Time itself had become something of a conundrum. It seemed no longer willing to abide by its own rules.
    The chaos had begun - however many days earlier - when the deformed creature had just been a shadow in a dark corner of another man’s mind. A man sitting in a carefully sculpted doctor’s office that followed textbook instructions on creating a relaxed atmosphere to the letter.
    Soft music, copious amounts of indoor vegetation. Framed pictures depicting soothing landscapes, rolling hills and