Capital Falling | Book 4 | Sever Winkless, Lance (most popular ebook readers TXT) 📖

the Rabids? I ask myself; I know creatures are in here, I can feel it. Then, I see a possibility, in the very corner, over at the back, on the left is a dark opening. There must be another area behind the back wall, I decide, and it must be cleared before I liberate Karen and Jim.

Once again, I take a breath and step forward to accept the challenge, the latest on a long list, that shows no sign of ending. I go left, to stay this side of the oversized office, I don’t want to begin my approach to the dark opening until I can do so head-on. With any luck, that will give me a view of what’s beyond the opening and what horrors wait for me inside whatever is back there.

As I skirt around an impressive looking printer/photocopier, positioned against the wall, I scan across the office, taking in as much of the layout as possible. The task isn’t easy with so many turned over desks and chairs, together with computer screens and other equipment littering walkways.

I come to a stop directly opposite the opening, which thankfully has a relatively clear path all the way down to it, past the row of offices on the left. Stepping forward, I take a covering position, low down behind the nearest desk, on the right and in front of me. My M4 points over the top, directly at the opening ahead, which doesn’t look quite so dark from my new angle. A thought pops into my mind as I lower my head down to the rifle’s sights. I wonder if Karen and Jim know that I am only a few meters away from them, or do they suspect something is about to happen?

The thought is only fleeting though, all my concentration is quickly taken up with the darkness at the other end of the office. Contrary to my first impression, I see that there is light inside the room. The light is dim, but it is enough to show me the racks lining the walls of the interior, the shelves hold files and other boring stationery that are far too mundane for the ‘cool’ office environment on show here.

Now I have a decision to make. Rabids have taken refuge inside the storage room, I am certain of it. Dark and dingy is their favourite environment, unless there is human flesh on offer, of course. I need to decide the best course of action to deal with the creatures. Do I draw them out and cut them down as they emerge, or do I go inside to see what I have to deal with?

A third option, which I have discounted before the thought has chance to materialise, is to throw my last few grenades through the doorway and blow the fuckers to pieces. Much as I would prefer that method of clearing the room, it would only alert every other creature in the entire building of our presence, no thanks.

In the end, I decide on option one, draw them out. I could probably walk straight into the room, without a batted eye from the Rabids inside, but have seen how quickly their demeanour towards me changes, however, once I start putting bullets in their heads.

I pull the M4 back from on top of the desk to move closer to the kill zone. I don’t want to get too close, but just close enough to make hitting a head shot that bit easier. Clearing my blind spots as I move past the first island of desks, I draw level with the first office in the row of four to my left when I realise something. I haven’t considered if any of the other offices are occupied, apart from Phil Matlock’s. For all I know each one of them could have employees cowering inside, praying for salvation, or worse, each one could house the undead, hungry for flesh.

Stepping right, off the path forward, I go to take cover again behind the closest desk to reconsider my plan. As I go to duck down, I see a foot sticking out from under an adjacent desk. Surprise automatically makes me reverse my motion down, my legs pushing me up and to the side, my rifle prone. Above the foot, a leg is revealed, and I carry on moving to follow the leg up and under the desk.

In the shade of the underside of the desk, a battered and hunched over body is slumped. I can’t tell if the man is alive or dead, or if what I am actually looking at is a Rabid, the head is down with only the top of it visible. My finger brushes the trigger of the M4 with the temptation to take the guesswork out of the situation completely and fire a bullet into the thick brown hair, crowning the head.

The struggle to get my finger under control is real, the temptation to just pull the trigger and have done with it is strong. Finally, my finger obeys me, and my better judgement, and it falls away from the trigger, but not too far away. My foot kicks timidly out at the one poking out from the desk before quickly retreating as if the foot might bite back, which I honestly would not be surprised in if it did. The kick gets no reaction and so I kick again, this time with force, and this time there is a reaction.

The leg shakes and the all too familiar grunt of a Rabid reverberates from under the desk. My finger instantly returns to the M4’s trigger in victory and as the Rabid’s thick hair begins to move as if the head might rise, my finger’s victory is complete. The bullet disappears into the brown locks with a quiet thud, where it must travel through the man’s brain and end its journey embedded into his neck somewhere. There is no tell-tale splatter of blood to indicate an exit wound.

Immediately, the man’s body