They Will Run You Down

Three: Blood Feather

John woke first the following morning. He wanted to let Harley sleep in a little but couldn't afford to lose any more daylight than necessary.

But before John nudged her awake he stopped to look at Harley where she lay on her side, arms gently cocooning the tiny, sleeping pup. He was glad to see she hadn't disappeared on him in the night.

John nudged her shoulder, rousing her from sleep and with no words needed the pair began packing up their gear.

Before hitting the road, Harley fed Rebel more of the formula mixture and afterward placed him gently into her backpack with a cushion to keep him safe and as comfortable as possible during travel.

"Won't he cook alive in there?" Asked John worriedly.

Harley pulled one corner of the backpack down to show John that the inside was lined with the same material one would find in a cooler bag, "Not a fan of hot water"

It wasn't long before the sun was scorching, creating oily black mirages on the steamed pavement up ahead of the lonely pair as they walked dutifully toward the mechanics shop that Harley had circled on John's map the day before.

Harley stayed several paces ahead of her counterpart for the majority of the morning with the reasoning that she knew where she was going and John didn't.

But as the sun neared its peak in the sky it became obvious to John that Harley was slowing down, clearly in need of water and a break from the blistering heat.

"Hey, let's find somewhere to have a rest, yeah?" he insisted as he caught up to Harley.

She stopped ambling along and placed her hands on her hip-bones, grateful for an excuse to stop walking. As she turned to face John, however, Harley spotted a Screamer sprinting up behind him, "How have you stayed alive for this long?"

John furrowed his brow and cocked his head to one side, "What?"

Harley simply raised her hand and pointed behind him to get her point across.

John spun around to discover the Screamer but this one was different and it rendered him immobilized. The unfortunate creature had once been a little girl, maybe six or seven years old, and by the looks of it had met her sad fate during what should've been a happy day. She was adorned in the tattered remnants of a pink princess dress and in her greasy, knotted hair dangled a plastic crown with plastic rubies and plastic diamonds.

The sight of it was shocking for John.

The tiny Screamer lunged forward squealing desperately for a bite but John didn't have the grit in that moment to do what he had done dozens of times before. As it closed in, the symptoms of the virus became more apparent. Its bulging, bloodshot eyes from heat and pressure and its mouth excreting a thick, greenish-black sludge.

John could only watch passively, leaving Harley to get the job done herself.

She sidestepped around John and drove her trusty screwdriver into the little one's left temple where it instantly dropped to the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes. A quick death. Painless.

John stood speechless over the Screamer as Harley wiped her screwdriver on her ripped jean shorts and tucked it into her back pocket.

"Let's go," she said.

John brushed his hand over his mouth, "Yeah. . Thanks"

Unfortunately it became clear just then that the little Screamer's high pitched squeals had drawn the attention of other Screamers, these much larger and soon John and Harley found themselves being surrounded.