Free The Dark Trinity (Book 1): Shuffle by Steven Till Page B

a fit of
coughing which sprayed more red flecks of fluid onto the whiskey bottle. After
a minute, the coughing subsided and the vet was finally able to catch his breath.
    “I don’t have much longer, son. Better get this over with
quick,” he said as he straightened himself in the chair. “You see that switch
on the side there by the trigger? That’s the safety. Right now it’s engaged, so
you need to flip it up.”
    Nathan disengaged the safety and stood square in front of the
table, lifting the gun up and taking aim at Kapinsky’s chest.
    “Okay, I think I’m ready. Are you sure about this?” Nathan
asked.
    A look of seriousness washed over the soldier’s face. “Son,
I’ve seen women tortured and raped for days at a time. I watched napalm melt
the flesh off of screaming babies. I have never been more goddamn sure about
anything in my fucked-up life.”
    There was no tough-guy posturing. No facade. The man spoke
like a man ready to let go. To absolve himself of the horrors that he had seen
and done. Nathan took aim down the barrel of the gun, his pulse was racing at a
furious pace and his breathing was bordering on panting. He took a moment and
closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He wouldn’t be doing this guy
any favors if his nervousness caused him to miss. He regained some of his
composure and opened his eyes.
    The vet stared back at him with blood-red eyes, his skin had
gone three shades paler. A maniacal grin spread across his face and just as
Nathan was about to pull the trigger, Sarge uttered his last profound words; a
quote from his favorite war movie.
    “NOTHIN’ LIKE THE SMELL OF NAPALM IN THE MORNING!”
    Nathan squeezed. The boom stick thundered in the confined
space and kicked him back. Instantly, the man’s head liquefied into a fine mist
of blood, brains, and bone. The velocity of the shotgun blast painted the floor
and back wall with fine bits of gore. Nathan lowered the gun, feeling the ache
in his shoulder from the recoil. He stood there for a moment looking at the
remains of Master Sergeant Michael Kapinsky. A moment later, he reached for the
whiskey, poured himself a glass, and drank. After two more shots, he turned and
walked out the door, grabbing the backpack and large duffel bag on the way.
    He stopped in front of the checkout counter and eyed the
phone sitting by the register. He reached over, picked up the receiver and
dialed Evelyn’s cell number again. Just like before, he couldn’t get through.
This time, the automated message responded with “All circuits are currently
busy…” In a last-ditch effort, he hung up and then dialed Julie’s landline. If
things were getting bad at the old homestead, then she would have most likely
taken Boomer over to Julie’s place. No answer.  Now Nathan feared the
worst.
    He tossed the phone over the counter and strode out the shop
door. He had to find a way out of the city and he had to find it fast. The
subway seemed to be his only hope. He turned left and continued down Liberty
Avenue, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. The streets were a
mess. Crowds of people had abandoned their cars and were now moving through the
streets as one terrified mass around the gridlocked cars. Mixed among the crowd
were those infected by this unknown illness in varying degrees. Some were
recently bitten, while others stood hunched over spewing vile jelly from their
mouths.
    While he walked, he noticed more and more people had turned;
snaking out their forked tongue and gnashing their clawed fingers as they
staggered down the road. What struck him as odd, was the fact that not all the
afflicted were attacking the healthy people. Bloody tears streaked their faces
as they walked, pushing those who came too close away from them.
    Keeping a brisk pace as close to the buildings as possible,
he reached into the weapons bag and pulled out a Smith & Wesson M&P9
9mm pistol. He paused underneath a store awning and dug out a box of