Chapter 431: The Boardwalk’s Screamer [3]

Honestly, going to the Hotel might have been the smarter choice.

There were more people there. More families. More guards. If the Screamer had pulled a swarm toward the Boardwalk, the hotel could have become a trap with hundreds of people stuck inside and nowhere safe to run.

But no matter how selfish it sounded, there were two people I was more worried about.

Carmen and Shannon.

A mother and her fourteen-year-old daughter, living near the edge of the Boardwalk with no one else in the house to protect them.

I needed to know they were safe.

Shannon had just celebrated her birthday.

She had spent the evening laughing over cake, arguing for bigger slices, and making everyone pretend the world outside was not falling apart.

Now this was happening.

"Please," I muttered as Maribel and I rushed through the street. "Just let them be okay."

I stayed beside Maribel instead of running ahead at full speed.

She had told me to go without her more than once, but I could not do that. The Boardwalk had turned into a nightmare within minutes. Leaving her alone in the dark, surrounded by Infected driven mad by the Screamer, was not an option.

More and more Infected spilled into the streets.

They came from the opposite direction, drawn toward the sound at the center of the settlement. Some ran in packs. Others crashed into fences, storefronts, and abandoned carts in their rush to follow the buzzing noise. The farther we moved from the main road, the fewer survivors we saw.

Most people lived closer to Brighton Park and the Whitesun.

Carmen’s house was farther out.

More isolated.

It would be fine.

It had to be.

They had a house. They knew to barricade the doors if something went wrong. Carmen was smart. She had survived long enough to know what a loud noise in the middle of the night meant.

Maybe they were hiding upstairs.

Maybe Shannon was frightened, but safe.

Maybe Carmen had locked them into a room and was waiting for everything to pass.

They could not have gone outside.

They would not be that careless.

The thought did not make me feel better.

As we reached the roads leading toward their house, my chest tightened.

More Infected were gathering there.

At first, I saw only a few shapes moving through the darkness.

Then the flashlight beam shifted.

My stomach dropped.

Infected were already inside Carmen’s yard.

They climbed over the low fence in groups, forcing their way through the garden she had worked so hard to keep alive. A plant bucket tipped over beneath one of their feet. Another Infected crashed into the gate hard enough to rip part of it loose.

"No!"

I ran ahead.

"Ryan!" Maribel shouted behind me.

I clenched my right arm.

Dark-green wind erupted around it.

The force ripped through the sleeve of my shirt, sending scraps of fabric twisting away from my skin. The black chain tattoos along my arm glowed beneath the swirling blades, their green light flashing against the fence and house.

I stepped forward and drove my fist out.

BOOM!

The gust exploded across the yard.

A wave of compressed wind slammed into the Infected at the entrance, tearing through the front group and throwing the others back. The damaged gate broke apart. Wood splintered across the ground, and several Infected were hurled into the garden wall or knocked through the open doorway.

But when the debris settled, my heart sank even further.

The front door had already been open.

"R...Ryan..." Maribel said from behind me horrified.

"Stay behind me," I told her.

The Infected nearest the house turned toward us.

They sensed Dullahan.

Their heads snapped in my direction. One let out a broken snarl, and the others followed it, rushing across the yard with sudden, violent speed.

I grabbed Maribel’s arm and pulled her through the entrance.

The house was full of them.

Infected crowded the living room and kitchen, crawling over furniture and smashing into walls. One had fallen through the small table near the sofa. Another clawed at the stairs, trying to drag itself upward while several more pushed in behind it through the broken front entrance.

"Carmen!" I shouted. "Shannon!"

It was stupid.

With so many Infected in the house, yelling only gave them another reason to focus on us.

I didn’t have time to care about that however.

I was too worried for that.

"Carmen! Shannon!"

No answer came back.

Only growls.

Only the Screamer’s buzzing pulse outside, louder at some moments and lower at others, like the whole Boardwalk was trapped beneath an enormous mechanical insect.

My mind started going somewhere dark.

It cannot be happening.

Not Carmen.

Not Shannon.

Please, God.

The Infected turned toward us.

More kept forcing their way through the front door.

"Maribel," I said, pointing toward the kitchen. "Get behind the bar."

She did not argue.

Maribel hurried over, jumped over the counter, and crouched behind it with the Beretta held tightly in both hands. She kept her eyes on me, but she stayed where I had told her.

I faced the Infected.

There were too many to cut down one by one.

A dark-green halo of wind began to circle around me, raising dust, broken glass, and scraps of paper from the floor. The nearest Infected hesitated as the pressure built, their clothes snapping against their bodies.

I pulled my arm back.

Then I punched the floor.

BADOOOM!

The tiles shattered beneath my fist.

A shockwave burst through the house.

Wind blades ripped outward in every direction, filling the room with a deafening roar. For a brief moment, the force of it drowned out even the Screamer.

The Infected nearest me were torn apart instantly.

Others were lifted off their feet and slammed into walls, furniture, and the ceiling. The ones crowded near the kitchen were thrown back through the broken front entrance. In a radius of nearly ten meters, nothing remained standing.

When the wind finally died down, the living room was wrecked.

The furniture had been knocked over. Broken tiles covered the floor. Torn pieces of the Infected lay scattered across the room.

My right arm throbbed sharply from the impact.

I ignored it.

I looked around.

The Infected inside the house had been nearly wiped out.

But more were already entering through the front door, drawn like moth to flames toward my Symbiote.

"Maribel!" I called.

She rose from behind the counter and hurried over to me, keeping the gun ready.

"Upstairs," I said. "They have to be upstairs."

I had not seen Carmen or Shannon anywhere below.

And there were Infected crawling up the staircase.

There had to be a reason.

"Carmen!" I yelled again, louder this time. "Shannon!"

My throat hurt from shouting.

"R...Ryan!"

I froze.

Carmen.

It was Carmen’s voice.

She was alive.

The sound had come from upstairs.

"They’re up there," I said.

I did not wait.

I ran for the stairs, and the Infected crawling along them immediately turned their attention toward me. I pulled out my hand axe and swung at the first one. The blade struck its neck, and its body collapsed sideways across the steps.

I stepped over it and kept moving.

Another Infected lunged from above.

I drove the axe into its head, shoved it away, and climbed past it while Maribel followed close behind me. She fired once at an Infected trying to crawl from the living room toward the stairs, the shot ringing through the house.

By the time I reached the upper corridor, I could see where Carmen and Shannon were.

At the end of the hallway, several Infected were crowded around Carmen’s bedroom door.

They scraped their nails against the wood.

They slammed their bodies into it.

And from behind that door, I could hear Shannon crying.