Free The Junkie Quatrain by Peter Clines

was to throttle itself on her arm. One hand grabbed her shoulder and shirt and bra strap, tangling it up in one knotted mess. The other one grabbed at her cheek and she felt its thumb catch on her ear.
    Charlie skidded to a stop and let his bike clatter to the pavement. Barney swung his around and brought up the big shotgun. Chit swung her leg off her bike and was charging forward.
    Monica drove her other fist up. With the junkie on top of her, she couldn’t grab the P90 strapped to her chest or her pistol. Drool splattered on her face. She pressed her lips together and clenched her eyes shut.
    Charlie slammed the stock of his rifle into the junkie’s skull. The infected man turned to growl at him and caught the second blow in the face. His nose ruptured with a sound like an egg breaking and gushed blood onto Monica’s shirt. He staggered back and Charlie swung the rifle again. It knocked the junkie off her and sent it rolling back.
    The junkie twisted back to his feet as soon as he shook off the strike. He charged forward again. This time the man howled and gnashed his teeth. He bit his own tongue and blood frothed on his lips.
    Charlie shot him in the chest. The M4 barked once, then again when the junkie took another two steps forward. The infected man dropped to the ground, his chest a mess of blood. He flailed on the ground for a minute, and his hands stretched out to grab at Charlie’s boots.
    An orchestra of hoots and cries came from down the street. ‘Hell,’ said Barney. ‘I wish you hadn’t shot him.’
    Charlie took a breath and let it whistle out. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
    The sound of distant footfalls echoed between the buildings. Barney saw eight or nine junkies charging down the road, just over four blocks away. Three more joined them as they ran through an intersection. He looked at the two women. ‘Tell me you’re ready to go,’ he said.
    Chit had washed most of the drool and blood away from Monica’s face. She rinsed the last of it away and emptied her canteen on the blood-soaked shirt. Monica wiped her face with her sleeve and opened her eyes. ‘Good as we’re going to get,’ she said.
    The junkies were two blocks away when they got back on the bikes and leaned over the handlebars. The infected chased the outsiders for almost half a mile. Then one of their own, a young woman, fell and snapped an ankle. They forgot the four bicycles and went for the easy meal. Her screams didn’t last long.
    Monica was just breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it again. A quick movement down an alley. It was almost like catching a glimpse of her own reflection. Almost, but just off enough that she knew it wasn’t.
    ‘It’s still following us,’ she told Barney. She jerked her head to the north. ‘Whatever it is, it waited for us.’
    He straightened up in his seat for a moment and looked off to the side. ‘I told you, it’s not an it,’ he said.
    ‘Yeah, sorry,’ she said. ‘I got a bit distracted back there. What is it then?’
    ‘You sure you want to know?’
    She nodded. He bent over the handlebars for a few moments and collected his thoughts. When he spoke he didn’t look at her.
    ‘I think that whoever it is probably has a really nice rifle. Something that’s a passable sniper weapon, but would still work if you got cornered. Probably with a high-end suppressor on it, too, or we’d’ve seen and heard a lot of gunshots last night.’
    Monica nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
    They’d reached Westwood. It was all downhill from here. They swerved around a pack of crouching junkies and heard them howl with frustration. The bikes soared down the street, building up more and more speed.
    He mirrored her nod. ‘So, where’ve we seen a nice, high-end collection of guns lately?’
    She glanced down at the P90 slung across her chest. ‘The off—’
    They heard a clatter of metal behind them. Barney glanced back and slammed on his brakes. Monica and Chit did the same.
    Charlie’d fallen