Free The Junkie Quatrain by Peter Clines Page A

off his bike. He was on his back, flailing. Monica’s first thought was that he looked kind of like a cockroach, and that wasn’t much of a leap for Charlie. As soon as she thought it, she saw the drops of blood spraying from his mouth. The red was that bright, even a dozen yards away.
    He tried to sit up and twenty feet away they could see the twisted shape of his throat. Charlie grabbed at his neck and croaked out some air. He flailed some more when he couldn’t take any in. He wheezed and fell back on the pavement, clutching his throat.
    Behind Charlie, they saw a handful of junkies racing forward.
    ‘Move,’ snapped Barney. ‘He’s here. Move!’ He didn’t wait to see if they listened. He just stood up on the pedals and started pumping.
    Monica glanced at Chit and bent over her own handlebars.
    It took them five more minutes to get to the Federal Building. It was at the bottom of the hill, just before Wilshire ducked under Interstate 405 and headed down to the beach. Barney had always thought of it as the ghost building because of the eerie lighting effects the recessed windows caused at night.
    These days it was more of a fortress. Months ago it had been fortified with concrete dividers, chain link fences, and lots of barbed wire. There were scaffolding towers with spotlights and more towers with armed men. A huge gate had been built on the Wilshire side. Chit had mentioned several times that it looked like the gate to a concentration camp. The bonfires out front where they burned infected bodies added to that appearance.
    In front of the gate was a large circle, almost fifty feet across. They rode their bikes into the circle and slammed on the brakes. Like a lot of the little sanctuary communities, one of the first stages of getting into the Federal Building was proving you could be patient and stand still. The three outsiders looked up the hill at the junkies they’d passed on the way down. The infected men and women built up momentum as they charged down the hill after the bicycles.
    They waited just over a minute. They bit their lips and kept their hands at their sides as the junkies got closer and closer. There were almost forty of them pounding across the pavement when the guards waved them in though the gate.
    Charlie had once commented on the fact that there weren’t any actual soldiers guarding the Federal Building. It was all private security in black uniforms with a notable lack of nametags and badges. Barney had told him to shut his mouth.
    Monica glanced back up the street as they passed through the gate. She could just see the speck of Charlie’s body. The junkies were tearing it limb from limb.
    They heard the soldiers fire into the approaching mob. All they had to do was wound six or seven of them and the rest would shift focus to feed on the wounded. It was an accepted strategy at this point.
    The outsiders dropped their packs in the waiting area, surrendered their weapons, and headed into the trailers for the safety exam. They each stripped for a doctor while two guards held them at gunpoint. They stood naked while every inch of their skin was checked for bites and their blood was tested. Chit spent the time staring at the floor or ceiling. Monica focused all her attention on the guards and tried to make them feel more uncomfortable than she did. Normally Barney held out hopes that he’d get the cute female doctor he’d seen once or twice. Today he was glad he didn’t, because he still felt a bit cold and withdrawn.
    He was getting dressed when they asked for his papers. He bit his lip as he remembered Charlie flailing in the street, his messenger bag sticking out from under his hips. ‘I lost our work order,’ he said, ‘but Director Bradbury can vouch for us. Tell him we got everything on his list.’
    The guard made a noncommittal grunt and picked up a phone. After a few moments he gave a nod. ‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Your gear’s in the reception area. Director Bradbury’s