HAYWIRE: A Pandemic Thriller (The F.A.S.T. Series Book 2) (20 page)

Craigson felt his helmet strike the man’s face.

The impact stunned Craigson.

The crazy man in black stumbled back a few paces, shaking his head like a stubborn bull.

Craigson swung his rifle two-handed like a baseball bat.

CRACK!

He hit the man right in the forehead. This second blow sent the man reeling backward.

Craigson saw an opportunity.

He acted instantly.

He dashed forward and kicked the man in the stomach.

SMAAAASH!

The man crashed straight into the glass perfume cabinet. Craigson expected him to crash through the back of the cabinet, but that didn’t happen. The entire cabinet tipped backward like a giant coffin. Craigson watched it teeter with the man wedged inside and then...

...CRASH!

The falling cabinet struck the floor and disintegrated.

Any perfume bottles that survived the man’s initial impact didn’t survive the fall.

Neither did the man.

Everyone needs blood
, thought Craigson.
And that guy has lost gallons.

The eye-watering smell from hundreds of broken perfume bottles hit Craigson. He blinked away the burning sensation and checked his weapon.

The jam is gone. Hitting that guy with my rifle cleared the jam!

Craigson groped for a fresh magazine and looked across the shop.

Myers needed help.

Two crazies were attacking him.

A woman in a blue sweater rushed him from the front while a gray-haired man wearing tennis gear swung a flower vase at Myers’ head from behind.

Crash!

The flower vase smashed against Myers’ helmet.

Myers folded under the impact.

Before Myers even hit the floor, the elderly tennis player charged at Craigson.

Craigson was a good shot.

A hunter since childhood, he knew at this range he could take down both crazies in the next few seconds.

But which one first?

The woman scrambled over Myers’ prone body. She had another vase. The seventy-year-old tennis player still had to cross the store to reach Craigson.

Craigson’s choice proved easy.

He needed to save Myers.

I can still take them both down
, Craigson calculated.
I have time.

He lifted his weapon, stepped forward to aim and...

...his boot slipped out from under him.

Slippery day-old flower clippings had spilled all over the floor. Craigson’s boot heel had no traction.

He was aiming one moment, falling the next.

He clenched his hand, trying not to lose his rifle, and accidentally pulled the trigger.

Crack!

His rifle discharged.

The polymer slug fired completely off target.

On the service counter, red and white striped boxes were stacked into a neat pyramid. Craigson’s slug slammed into those boxes. The fragile boxes exploded.

As Craigson fell, everything in the store turned pink.

What the hell!

Butterflies filled the entire shop. Millions of them, fluttering everywhere, filling every space and corner.

They’re not butterflies
,
Craigson realized.
They’re rose petals. The boxes were full of rose petals.

W
ithout rising, Craigson swung his rifle back on target, aiming through the falling rose petals at the demented woman about to crack open Myers’ head.

Crack!

The slug struck the woman’s temple.

She toppled.

Craigson fired again instantly.

The tennis player took the slug squarely in the chest. The impact lifted the man off his tennis shoes and spun him backward. He landed so hard that Craigson felt the vibrations through the floor.

He’s not getting up from that
, thought Craigson.

Nevertheless, Craigson kept him covered as he scrambled over to Myers.

Myers was breathing, but disoriented.

Craigson sat him up.

‘What happened?’ groaned Myers.

‘Can you stand?’

Myers slowly stood up, but stared at the woman in the blue sweater. ‘Did one hit me from behind?’

Craigson nodded. ‘Can you walk?’

‘I’m okay. What’s that smell?’

‘About two hundred broken perfume bottles.’

Myers scanned the shop.

‘What is it?’ asked Craigson. ‘Are you dizzy?’

Myers counted the crazies out loud. ‘We took down six.’

Craigson nodded.

‘But I counted seven,’ insisted Myers. ‘Where’s the big one?’

Craigson waved his rifle toward the tall man in the smashed perfume cabinet.

‘You mean him?’

Myers’ eyes widened.

He pointed at the door.

‘No - I mean her!’

Craigson spun.

Is that one person or two?

She lumbered into the light.

It was one.

A very big one.

The largest person Craigson had ever seen who could still move by themselves. And she was tall. Taller than both Marines. But her girth shocked Craigson most.

She wore an orange floral dress that probably took a small village a month to sew together.

She lumbered toward them.

Craigson retreated behind the service counter. He shoved the counter to check it was securely attached to the floor.

‘Get back!’ Craigson warned Myers.

Myers lifted his XREP, preparing to drop the woman with an electro-bolt.

At that moment, the woman broke all the laws of physics that Craigson knew about. She launched herself at Myers like an Olympic sprinter thrusting off the blocks.

Her speed was stunning.

She accelerated like a high-octane vehicle.

Her intent was obvious. She planned to crush Myers against the counter.

 Myers spun and dove over the service counter head first.

As he hit the floor, the woman
slammed
into the service counter. The entire counter threatened to tear from the floor, but held.

We should have fired the moment we saw her
, thought Craigson.
Why didn’t we?

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

The woman staggered back.

Craigson fired a liquid rubber slug right into her chest. She staggered back another two steps.

She didn’t fall.

Holy crap,
thought Craigson.
She took it.

Myers stood, pumped his weapon and fired. The electro-bolt embedded in the woman’s stomach, releasing its incapacitating charge.

The woman braced herself as though she had a stomach cramp.

‘Holy crap,’ said Craigson. ‘Hit her again!’

Both Marines fired.

They both hit.

The woman collapsed back into the pool of perfume.

‘Jesus,’ said Myers. ‘I didn’t think she was going down.’

‘Me either,’ admitted Craigson. ‘Go check her.’

‘You check her!’ countered Myers. ‘She almost crushed me!’

Craigson knelt over the crewman they’d taken down. He unclipped the swipe card from the man’s belt.

We need this
.

He scanned the store’s rear wall, spotting a door with a swipe card reader.

‘Look. That’s how the staff move around.’

‘Look out!’ yelled Myers.

Craigson saw a giant hand plant itself on the service counter. The huge woman hauled herself back to her feet. They had shot her four times and she still wasn’t staying down.

‘Come on,’ yelled Myers. ‘Out the front!’

‘No,’ countered Craigson. ‘This way. I found a swipe card.’

Myers didn’t waste time arguing. He ran back as Craigson reached the swipe reader.

I hope this isn’t a storeroom
, thought Craigson.

The swipe reader had a red light.

Craigson swiped the card.

The red light flashed. Myers tried the door handle.

‘Try again,’ urged Myers. ‘Hurry!’

Craigson glanced back at the woman as he flipped the card over. She stared back at him. He swiped the card again.

Come on, come on.

Red light.

‘You’re doing it wrong,’ yelled Myers. ‘Give it to me!’

Myers snatched the card and rubbed it on his fatigues, cleaning the magnetic strip.

Craigson raised his weapon as the woman came around the counter. Perfume had soaked her dress.

She looked furious.

She lumbered toward them. Craigson knew she could launch herself at breath-taking speed any moment.

Myers swiped again.

Red light.

‘Shoot her,’ Myers yelled over his shoulder. ‘Shoot her again!’

‘Get it open!’ yelled Craigson.

‘It won’t open!’

Craigson remembered something. Whenever his card didn’t work at his local supermarket, the register operators had a special technique.

‘Swipe upwards!’ instructed Craigson.

‘What?’