The First Days (As the World Dies #1)(3)

"Hey."

The woman slowly turned her head and the driver saw that her eyes were glassy and distant.

Great, she was in shock.

"Hey, my name is Katie. I need your help, okay?"

"The man," the woman said in response.

Katie turned her gaze back to the road just in time to see a man trying to wave them down. He was drenched in blood and was sobbing violently. She started to slow the truck, but two small children suddenly leapt onto the man, their baby teeth ripping into his throat.

"Just go," the stranger next to her said in a dead voice. "Just go."

Katie drew in a shivering breath and nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

She drove on, leaving the man wailing as blood spurted into the air and the children rode him down to the ground. Katie swallowed hard and forced her gaze from the review mirror and concentrated on maneuvering through the suburbia hell she was caught in.

The woman next to her drew her pale pink bathrobe tighter around her trembling body and stared straight ahead. Her eyes were as dark as her black hair.

Katie slowed down just a tad to a quick, but more reasonable pace. The street they were on seemed peaceful and she needed to get her thoughts together. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. She had to keep calm. She knew that much.

"Listen, I need you to take my cell phone and call the first number in the speed-dial. 911 is not working right now, but hopefully we can get through to the police department. I can't pay attention to driving and call."

Just then she had to swerve again. This time it was to avoid a pack of rabid humans racing toward the truck from a side street. The chaos was spreading quickly throughout the neighborhood. It was getting worse by the second. The pack tried to pursue the truck for a few seconds, but was drawn off by another car tearing out of a garage in an attempt to escape.

The dark-haired woman nodded and took the phone from Katie. She flipped it open and stared at the tiny screen. On it was a picture of a lovely woman with short-cropped brown hair and amber eyes.

"She's pretty," the woman whispered.

Katie choked back a sob and fought the hot tears suddenly stinging her eyes. "Yes, she is." She brushed her mouth with her hand and tried her best not to cry. She couldn't think of Lydia right now. She just couldn't. She had to find her way out of this hellish neighborhood and to safety.

The woman worked her way easily through the menu and pressed dial.

Even Katie could hear the busy signal.

"Keep trying, okay?"

"Okay."

Katie drove on past a school bus. It was empty and the open door was smeared with blood. The rest of the block looked peaceful, but she knew it was not. Whatever was happening in the rest of the city was happening here.

They had to be very careful. Katie had seen too many horrors this morning to think they could be safe.

"I'm Jenni. With an "i", not a "y". I like it spelled that way," the woman said softly beside her.

Katie smiled despite everything. "Hi, Jenni with an "i". I'd say I'm happy to meet you, but under the circum-"

"The little boy, that was my son, Mikey. His Dad…he…my husband…Lloyd…did something to him. To him and Benji…"

Katie shuddered slightly as the harsh, brutal memory of seeing Jenni pursued to the truck by a ravaged little boy and his blood splattered father passed through her mind's eye.

"I'm sorry." It was all Katie could think of to say.

"It's still busy," Jenni answered changing the subject. She stared at the phone.

"Please, keep trying."

Jenni nodded and pushed the button again.

Katie spun the steering wheel and headed around a corner, barely avoiding two cars racing past her. She saw frightened families inside and whispered a silent prayer for them. She was hopelessly lost in suburbia and not sure where to go. She and Lydia lived ten miles from this new, modern cookie-cutter suburb. Their home was a custom built home Lydia had designed. It was tucked into a hillside overlooking the lake and the city. It should have been safe there. It should have been, but the terror of this morning had even reached there.

Her feet were aching in her high heels and she wished she had found better shoes in the truck. The old man's hunting coat was comforting and warm. It reminded her of her grandfather and smelled of fresh tobacco.

How had this happened? What did it mean? One minute she had been sitting in her brand new convertible, top down despite the cool morning, enjoying a cup of coffee and readying herself for a long day at her job as a prosecutor. The next she had been fighting off a man who had reached across the passenger seat, grabbed the jacket of her brand new Ann Taylor suit and tried to drag her out of the car. She had slipped out of her jacket, grabbed her briefcase and battered him with it. She struck him so hard she had heard his skull crack.

She had leapt from the car ready to fight when she saw that his throat was torn out and he trailed a long train of intestines behind him. But that did not stop him from trying to climb over the car to get to her.

To her growing horror, she had seen more mutilated people rushing straight for her through the early morning rush hour traffic that always snarled up the narrow road leading down into the city. She had turned and started to run blindly, past honking cars, vehicles with music so loud her teeth throbbed, and SUVs packed with children going to school. All of them seemed oblivious of the danger quickly running toward them.