The Turned [Book #1 Turned Trilogy]

Cowboys and Turned

            |Lara|

            Fighting the cold, wind, sleet is one matter – fighting blood suckers is a whole other trouble. I decide that both really suck, the Turned, literally do. Taking shelter across the street from the grocery store in a small hotel room seems like a good idea. It is built above an old beat up bar called Tin Can. The once neon sign shaped into a beer can, dangles from a wire swaying, keeping a collection of icicles sharp as daggers. I duck, crossing underneath the sign, crawling through the broken glass door. Luckily my petite figure comes in handy, practically scraping the jagged glass that threatens to puncture my clothing. The bar is a hellhole. Rancid smells of booze and rusted iron that expels from the splash of dried blood scattered effortlessly on the walls and floor.

            Pinching the tip of my nose tightly, I set foot onto the creaking steps to the stairs that lead to the upper floor. I’m taking caution, knowing my luck; I will run into a Turned. Preparing myself, I grip my stake, holding it out in front of my body and slowly walking up the final last two steps when…

            POW! POW! Gunshots pop through the air.

            My heart skips a beat or maybe it stopped for half a second? I lean against the stairwell wall, holding my breath, afraid the slightest noise will reveal me. Someone else is up here with me, in one of the rooms, shooting off rounds from a rifle. This is a good sign, hope rises inside me, and it could be another non-infected. Although, it still doesn’t mean they aren’t crazy. Slowly craning my neck around the corner of the stairwell, I gaze into the hall. Unfortunately all that was visible was a door that was ajar. Still gripping my stake, I step into the hall way, creeping slowly and cautiously towards the room.

            “Almost there,” I say softly, my lips trembling.

            Each hand is shaking, forgetting how cold my toes feel inside my soaked boots. Reaching forward, my fingertips touch a wooden door that keeps me and the shooter separate. Giving it a slight push, the door opens wide, exposing a room with furnishing and wooden flooring that shows tarnish.

            Okay deep breath, Lara. I try to calm myself, but my trembling legs beg to differ.

            “Who’s there?” I speak softly, afraid at first, but I am being extremely brave regardless of the vibrato in my voice.

            No one answers back. Walking through the door, I stick my boot forward, moving inside the room. A shadowy figure stands in the distance, with a rifle barrel aimed at my forehead.

            My breath catches, as I stare ahead at a tall ruggedly looking man standing across the room holding his rifle, still aiming straight at me. He is wearing a thick flannel jacket and a black cowboy hat that tilts forward on his head shielding his eyes. I study him, but still cannot tell what his expression holds. From the shape of his figure and stance, he looks to be mid-twenties. Raising my hands high above my head, I try to show him that I was there unarmed, sort of, if you don’t count my stakes.

            The stranger walks across the room, never letting the barrel of the rifle lower. When he reaches me, the tip presses against my forehead firmly. I wince, jerking my head back. He angles his head sideways, smirking, and then lowers his weapon to his side. Stepping closer to me, his arm swiftly reaches around me slamming the door shut and I fall back into it gracelessly. Pressing against the door as tightly as my body was capable of, I try to figure out what his intentions are, and still not sure what this guy was capable of doing.

            “Welcome to my humble abode.” His arms rise into the air, spinning in a circle.

            He has a slight touch of southern drawl to his voice. Facing towards me again, he reaches down into a box, grabbing an object that is being hurled straight at me, I duck fast. Luckily, my reflexes are on point or else the can of beer would be planted into my face.