Free Affliction Z (Book 3): Descended in Blood by L.T. Ryan Page A

survivors might band together. How would they take to a guest?
    Turk had other concerns. The island was a point of no return. Go past and he risked getting swept into a strong current that could bury him under tons of water and carry his body out to sea. On the right, it was a short swim to Folly Island. But on the north side, it looked to be about a mile across the mouth of the harbor from the fort to Sullivan’s island. He’d have to backtrack to where he treaded water now in order to safely reach shore.
    What if they’ve got supplies? What if they’ve got a boat? What if one afflicted made it there and turned the fort into a raving mad community? And then, again, w hat if they’ve got a boat?
    What if. The great killer of minds and men.
    With the base so close, Turk had to try.
    Half of the island was grass ringed by a sandy spit of beach. The other half housed the skeletal remains of the old fort. Hundreds of thousands of red bricks stacked one on the other. Cannons ready to blast through bricked-in windows. Turk had visited the fort once, four or five years ago, but recalled little about the trip. Wasn’t all that much to see.
    A pier stretched from the gates of the fort into the harbor. Turk ducked under the water and swam straight for two minutes, surfacing twice to reset his bearings. He reached a pylon. Barnacles felt like tiny razors against his palms. He floated to the surface and refilled his lungs.
    Looking left, Sullivan’s Island didn’t seem as far off as it had from the middle of the harbor. He could risk a straight swim as long as the tide headed in.
    A voice in his head told him to go now. Leave the fort. It, like the nautical graveyard formerly known as the Charleston Harbor, had been picked dry.
    Unless it hadn’t.
    And that’s the thought that won out. Turk swam under the cover of the pier, in between the two rows of pylons. Under ideal circumstances he’d wait under there until dark. Hell, his body could use the rest after the day he’d had. That option did not exist. He couldn’t stop. There’d be no rest. His family was waiting for him. Every minute they were alone put them that much closer to something happening without Turk there to defend his wife and child.
    Something.
    There were too many possibilities to put into thought.
    The water lapped gently against the packed mud shoreline beneath the pier. The smell of gasoline and sewage wasn’t as strong here.
    Turk collapsed onto his back in a couple inches of water. His hands and feet floated freely, rising and falling with the gentle swell. He felt as though he’d drift off if he closed his eyes. Tempting. Wouldn’t be the first time he slept half submerged. Only this time, there’d be no pay for doing so.
    He followed ten minutes of rest with another fifteen of active listening. The wind howled across the island. The faint sounds of a dog barking rose and fell. The animal yelped a couple times and went silent. The pier creaked against the heavier gusts that blew through. Without maintenance, how long would the structure stand? The base would be there long after the pier had fallen.
    Turk recalled that the fort entrance stood a few feet from the pier. If the place had been occupied by an organized group of survivors, they’d have someone posted there. Maybe even someone armed.
    He rolled over and inched forward until he reached a spot where headroom had shrunk too much. He had hoped there would be enough of a gap between the last wooden plank and the ground for him to see through. Didn’t work that way. No light seeped through. Mud and wood faded to shadows. The only option was to leave the relative safety of the pier to check the entrance. Doing so on land carried too much risk, so Turk crawled in retreat until the harbor hid his body once again.
    He reached down and scooped up the silty mix and piled it on his head, covering himself from his eyebrows up and around his stubbled head. The mud would provide him camouflage from a