He kept it propped open as he stared at Rhys and Vicky. Other than the twitch of his head from side to side as he seemingly took in Rhys, and then Vicky, and then Rhys again, he stood still. A low rattle ran through his chest with his laboured respiration. Malice then twisted his features as he drew a deep breath that swelled his rib cage. “Oh fuck!” Rhys said. Higher pitched than Dan’s, the boy’s shrill primitive call sent ice through Rhys’ veins. The child’s scream came in three braying waves. It may have only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like a fucking lifetime. Rhys lost his breath when he looked over the car park wall at the carnage below. As one, the pack of what must have been one hundred or more diseased looked up… straight at Rhys. Their collective bloody stare drove frigid dread to Rhys’ core. When he turned to Vicky, he saw it in her eyes. Despite her tough exterior, he knew she couldn’t do it. Rhys headed straight for the boy and wound his baseball bat back as he ran.
