Chapter 3:Sir,Hands Up!
391 Words
Andrew approached the door one measured step at a time, weight shifting heel to toe the way they'd drilled into him at the academy — silent, controlled. The linoleum floor betrayed nothing. He drew the Glock and raised it to a low ready position, muzzle angled toward the ground, finger resting alongside the trigger guard.
He reached out and pushed the door open with two fingers.
The smell hit him first.
Copper and rot and something older beneath it, something that had no business existing in a room this size. The storeroom was narrow, shelves of boxed inventory stacked on either side, and crouched at the far end beneath a single dying bulb was a man — or what had recently been one. Its clothes were a hospital gown, shredded and dark with staining. Its back was turned, shoulders rolling in that same rhythmic motion he'd heard from the aisle. On the floor beneath it was what remained of a*****e employee. Andrew didn't look too long.
"Sir." His voice came out steady. Trained. "Hands where I can see them. Now."
The thing stopped moving.
Then its head turned, far too slowly, in the way that no living neck actually rotates. The face that found his was grey-white and slack, jaw hanging loose, eyes clouded over like spoiled milk. A sound built in its chest — not a growl, not quite human — and then it screamed. A hollow, broken shriek that rattled the shelving units and punched straight through Andrew's composure.
It lunged.
Faster than the grey skin and dragging leg suggested it had any right to move. Shelving crashed to the floor as it closed the distance, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at nothing.
Andrew planted his feet and fired once.
The shot went wide, punching through drywall.
It was almost on him.
He adjusted, exhaled half a breath, and squeezed the trigger a second time.
The bullet entered just above the bridge of its nose.
The thing dropped like every string holding it up had been cut simultaneously, collapsing in a heap at Andrew's feet.
Silence flooded back into the storeroom.
Andrew stood over it, chest heaving, g*n still raised at a target that no longer needed one. His academy training had a protocol for nearly every situation he'd ever encountered on the job.
It had nothing for this.
- Writer
