Free The Remaining: Fractured by D.J. Molles Page A

Carolina live. It wasn’t in the plan that Lee’s portion of the mission actually be successful. Lee was just a waste of resources. A rogue operative.
    A non-viable asset.
    “Motherfucker,” Lee mumbled under his breath. He looked at the dirty dishes surrounding him on the kitchen counter. For a brief moment he wanted to sling them across the room. Just to see something besides himself get broken.
    But he didn’t. He just looked at them, slowly shaking his head as the picture became clear. The whole, terrible picture. And he silently argued with himself, his own mind opposing himself like a madman:
    Everything east of the Appalachians has been written off. We’re in a dead zone. A no-man’s land. And then there’s everything west of the Appalachians. All the interior states, surrounded by mountains. A convenient buffer between them and all those over-populated coastal cities.
    So if I were to make a guess, I’d have to say Eddie Ramirez is heading west. West with my stolen GPS, to cross the Appalachians. Probably into Tennessee.
    So, great. You’ve really narrowed it down.
    Somewhere near the border of Tennessee and North Carolina.
    In the fucking mountains with a two-day head start.
    I’ll find him.
    There’s no fucking way you’re going to find him.
    I will. I have to.
    The sound of Deuce growling snapped him out of it.
    For a moment he stood confused, as though the growl required interpretation. Then abruptly he dropped to the ground. He fumbled with the knife in his hand. Felt his heart lodge firmly in his throat. He put his back to the cabinet doors. Leaned out just slightly, peering around the corner. From there he could see straight through the living room and to the front door. It still hung open from when Lee had kicked it in.
    It was open about a foot, and through that opening he could see a thin sliver of the world outside. Green-brown lawns. The charcoal strip of the street. A single mailbox. He waited there, not breathing, not moving, his whole body just a bundle of muscles and nerves locked down and ready to bolt at any minute.
    Beside him, Deuce stood stiffly. The hair along his spine risen and his head was lowered. He continued to growl, but it was low, subdued.
    Lee focused on the door again. He couldn’t see any movement outside, and Deuce was not barking yet. But his window of opportunity to get the hell out of the house was rapidly closing. He had to assume that whatever infected Deuce smelled were moving closer. And all Lee had was his knife. If he was still in the house when they got close enough to sniff him out, or hear him moving, it would be all over. He might take one. Maybe two. But after that they would overpower him.
    Lee reached out and poked the dog gently in the side of its neck.
    Deuce looked at him and grumbled.
    Lee put his finger in front of his lips. “Ssh.”
    He rose slowly from his crouched position, eyes still locked on the front door. When he was on his feet, he turned and faced the back door. There was a window in that door, and through it Lee could see the backyard and the strip of woods beyond. Then the next street over. More houses. Lee stared at them for a long moment but saw no movement.
    Deuce growled again, this time a little louder.
    “Alright,” Lee said. “We’re going. Just stay quiet.”
    He pulled the table out of the way as quietly as he could and opened the back door. It creaked loudly, the weather stripping cracking as it separated from the door. Lee grimaced at the noise and swore under his breath. With the door open, he leaned out and looked both ways.
    All clear.
    He stepped through the door, Deuce on his heels and then trotting past him, casting wary glances back behind them as they headed for the trees. He didn’t want to be in the house, but the woods weren’t much better. The last few days had been dry, and the leaves would be loud. He wasn’t sure how far away the infected were, but he always assumed that they were in earshot.
    He jogged