Dead Advent: New World Order (Book 1)

Chapter 24 - Horsemen (Part 1)

Previously: The CDC sent out a distress call and in response to it, Randolph and his team embarked on a mission to the CDC to find out what happened. On the night after Randolph and his team had left, an explosion took place in Picketford, the town beyond the woods surrounding the base. Flares were set off as well, and Killer, Ronney and Smash had to leave the base in order to try and rescue whoever had set off the flares. This leaves the base especially vulnerable with so many soldiers away. The next morning, Randolph returns to the gate with only 3 other team members instead of the original 10. He reveals that all of them are dead, and then shows the dreadful bite mark on his neck as well.

The red, dripping patch of exposed flesh stood out jarringly against Randolph's tanned, sweat-stained skin. Teeth marks, embedded deep into muscle, rimmed the bloody gash in his neck, a pulsating crater from which dense, translucent, yellowish liquid oozed.

It became the only thing I saw. The only thing I could see, as a paralyzing indifference filled the veins in my body and the stony pavement beneath me disintegrated, leaving me suspended in the nothingness of the vacuum left behind.

I watched as the surface of that emptiness suddenly rippled. There was a disturbance, small, almost indecipherable, but like tremors building up to an Earthquake, with a jolt, my fragile bubble of protection burst. I startled to soft whimpers behind me. It was Fae, who had her arms wrapped around my thighs and face buried in my side.

Dirt stirred up from the ground as frantic feet pounded past. A woman skidded to her knees in front of the man with the crushed ankle, her eyes wide and wild as she took in the sight of her dying husband.

"Mike?" She squeaked as her shaky hands hovered over an apathetic face, not daring to touch it.

"Please... Please!" The woman wailed. "Don't! Don't! Please!"

Randolph sat stock-still beside the grieving woman, never once raising his head at her. He remained in his state of oblivion even as Dr Amelia arrived with help. Her small team of paramedics lifted the comatose man, now known to me to be Mike, onto a stretcher and carried him away. The woman stumbled after, tripping over herself as her own consciousness dangled by a thread stretched taut by shock and fear.

A moment's later, the other person that I had helped down, Kurt, according to Dr Amelia, was hauled away on a second stretcher as well. Dr Amelia glanced at Randolph for a split second and, recognizing the bite immediately, gave Taylor a meaningful look. Then she turned heel and hurried off to her duties.

Taylor stared with pained eyes at his dear friend, who adamantly shunned his gaze. He opened his mouth to say something, but choked on his words and shook his head to himself instead. A silence hung in the air. A silence of finality that I was so scared to break.

"I'm sorry, brother," came a weak, raspy voice. It took me a while to understand that it was Randolph who spoke.

Taylor lifted his head in response, his cheeks glistening with tears and sweat.

"I let you down. All of the guys. I led them to their deaths."

Taylor cringed, as if Randolph's words physically hurt him. He placed his hand firmly on Randolph's shoulder and brought his face down to look directly into Randolph's eyes.

"Don't. This is not your fault. Nobody asked for this. I know it, and you know it. You know it."

Randolph snickered, his lips pulled back into a sardonic smile.