Flood Plains Mark Wheaton (inspirational books for students .TXT) 📖

reddish sheen. That’s when he felt the handcuffs torn from his hand by the gangbanger.

Capitalizing on the distraction, the second gangbanger lifted Vining’s shotgun, clicked the cuff’s second bracelet around the officer’s wrist, and raised it next to the trigger. The dull “click” of the shotgun’s Smart Gun lock being unlatched entered Alan’s ears before he fully grasped what was happening.

“Never heard of a Smart Gun?” the gangbanger sneered at Richards as he pulled the trigger.

The gun had been aimed directly at the guard’s face, so the pellets immediately flayed off the man’s face, sending brains, bits of skull, and swatches of skin in every direction as the man’s body flew backwards. The gangbanger turned the gun on the still unconscious Vining and chambered another round.

“Fuck you, too.”

The blast took off Vining’s head as well, smearing it across the floor like a watermelon hit by the business end of a sledgehammer.

With the two men dead, the gangbanger went quiet. The prisoners against the wall glanced furtively around, unsure what to do next. It was hard to tell what they were more frightened of: the man who had just shotgunned a pair of guards or the mysterious goings-on up the stairs.

For his part, Alan tried not to make a sound. He hoped the gangbanger had forgotten all about him.

But then, the sleepy-eyed man turned around with the shotgun aimed at his face.

“Keys.”

Alan nodded, knowing what the man wanted. He crept over to Vining’s body to search his pockets for the handcuff keys but saw that the liquid from the stairs had oozed around the fallen officer’s corpse. He tried not to look at it as he tried to figure out where the man would keep his keys.

That’s when he noticed that the water was also moving towards Richards’ body. It didn’t pool around the desks, trash cans, chairs, or anything else, only the dead men. As a puddle formed around the chunks of Richards’ ruined head, Alan watched the pieces dissolve into the black.

“What the hell is that?” the sleepy-eyed gangbanger asked.

“I don’t know,” Alan whispered, shaking his head.

The oozing liquid quickly dissolved the loose pieces and then slid over to the body proper. It rose up and over Richards’ broken skull like an amoeba absorbing its microbiotic lunch.

By now, a couple of the other prisoners were staring at this as well and were equally awed. It was an otherworldly sight, the oily liquid seeming to have a mind of its own.

“Keys, motherfucker,” the gangbanger hissed.

Alan nodded. He dove back over to Vining’s body. The keys had to be in his pants pocket, but even as he searched, he saw the liquid crawling up Vining’s torso from his feet.

“Come on!”

Alan knew what was going to happen next. The ooze consumed Vining’s body as quickly as the other tendril dissolved Richards and was now moving towards the gangbanger attached at the wrist. Suddenly, his quick-thinking move to access the Smart Gun seemed like suicide.

“KEYS!” he bellowed.

Alan nodded and finally saw the edge of a key ring poking out of the man’s left breast pocket. But just as he reached for them, the liquid swam over his torso and subsumed the man’s entire chest. Alan, fearing exposure, leapt backwards.

“What the fuck, man?” the gangster shouted, turning the shotgun on Alan. “Keys!”

“They’re gone.”

The gangbanger pulled the dead man’s wrist close in order to activate the gun and shoot Alan. He pulled the trigger, but there was no report, no kick. The ooze had already eaten away much of the man’s fingers, dropping the ring to the floor.

“Shit!”

The gangbanger tried to yank his arm away even as the liquid sluiced across the handcuffs and began burning into his hand.

“Keys!”

But it was too late. The oil was now racing up his arm, burning away his flesh as it marched towards his face. The gangbanger tried to wipe it away with his other hand and ended up leaving his fingers behind as he yanked his arm away a second later.

That was it for Alan and the prisoners. They’d been frozen in place by the horrific sight, but as the man melted into the ground, they got the message. It was now or never. Several ran towards the door leading to the garage. Alan rose to follow them just as seven of the prisoners were lifted off their feet and thrown across the room.

Alan ducked down as the men screamed and flew overhead. He looked back up when he realized they hadn’t landed. Instead of crashing into the wall, the prisoners were now being held aloft by towers of the black ooze. It swarmed over them in torrents, obscuring them from sight. They would begin to scream and shout for help, only to have their voices get sucked away a second later.

The surviving prisoners ran back to the cafeteria, but Alan held still. Even though he couldn’t see the invisible force, he could feel the change in the air as it rushed past. The oily liquid on the floor was trailing after it.

The stairs up to the cell block.

Alan could barely see them in the dark, but there appeared to be only the thinnest of liquid tendrils trailing down them. He knew it was now or never.

Leaping to his feet, he crossed the room in seconds flat. He took the stairs three at a time, careful not to step in the oil. With each footfall, the liquid shot towards him, as if attracted by the scent of his flesh, but it was too diluted to reach him. Expecting to have his legs yanked out from under him at any second, Alan closed his eyes and powered his way up to the next floor.

The smell hit him first. Like stepping into an abattoir and a sewer at the same time, the odor of blood and shit filled his nose. On the floor were half a dozen guards, including the sergeant who had come up before, now shredded. Two cell doors were open, and piles of bodies were crowded at