Free Web NovelChapter 71: Chapter 71 - Smoke Rising
He blinked hard, the noise still ringing in his ears. For a second, everything felt wrong. The smell. The weight. The sound of air catching in a throat that should not breathe.
He wasn’t in Iraq.
The tent walls came into focus, the faint hum of the lantern, the cold biting through the canvas. The man on top of him was not an enemy. It was Andrei.
His skin was gray, veins black beneath it, mouth opening and closing without sound. Teeth scraped the air inches from Malcolm’s face.
He froze, realization cutting through the fog. Then instinct caught up.
Malcolm shoved the body off him. Andrei lurched, arms flailing, legs kicking against the dirt. Malcolm drove a hard kick into his chest and sat up. The body hit the ground with a heavy thud, twitching, head rolling to the side, jaw still working in that dull rhythm.
The tent flap rustled.
"Malcolm," Kyle’s voice cracked, confused.
"Get out," Malcolm said, not turning.
Kyle froze at the sight, eyes wide, mouth opening but no sound coming out. "Is that—"
"Get out."
Kyle backed away and pulled the flap closed, the sound of canvas brushing faint behind him.
Malcolm’s breathing slowed. Andrei’s body twitched again, legs pushing weakly as if trying to stand.
He pressed his boot down on its shoulder, holding it still. "You were a good man," he said quietly.
The thing twitched again, a growl bubbling up through its broken throat. Malcolm shifted his stance, brought his other heel down hard on the side of its head. The crack was sharp and final. The twitching stopped.
He waited, watching for movement. Nothing.
Malcolm stepped back, wiped his hands on his pants, then ducked out of the tent. The air outside hit cold and clean. He crouched, scraping his hands through the snow until the blood thinned to pale streaks. The cold stung, but he didn’t stop.
When he finally looked up, Kyle stood a few feet away, still pale, eyes red.
"You okay?" Malcolm asked.
Kyle nodded, though his voice caught. "Did a scratch do that?"
Malcolm gave a short nod. He had been careless.
The infection was changing. Walkers spread it through bites, that much he knew, but these things—their claws tore deeper, sharper. Maybe the virus lived in the blood now, or under the nails. Maybe one open wound was all it needed.
He looked toward the tent again, jaw tightening. "Where did the hunters first show up?"
Kyle blinked, trying to focus. "I don’t know. But when that supply group went out near Clinton, they never came back. Then we sent more to look for them. Ten men went in. One made it out."
Malcolm’s eyes stayed on the horizon. "What did he say?"
Kyle swallowed. "He said it wasn’t like the others. Said he saw one climb a wall after them."
Malcolm turned his gaze toward the direction of Clinton, the faint light of dawn brushing the treeline. A few miles away, maybe less.
What if there wasn’t just one.
The thought settled heavy in his mind. The winter would be long. Food scarce. If those things were alive, if they hunted to eat, they would move—further each day, drawn to heat, to scent, to people.
Kyle’s throat worked, a sound caught somewhere between a sob and a breath. "Oh God, Andrei..." He pressed a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking once.
Malcolm watched him, the raw edge in Kyle’s voice cutting through the cold. For a moment, he saw someone else—another face, same cropped hair, the same freckles scattered across the bridge of the nose. A flash of memory, someone he hadn’t thought of in years.
His hand moved before he realized it, reaching halfway toward Kyle, then stopping. The moment passed. He drew his hand back, silent.
The wind shifted through the trees, carrying the smell of snow and blood. Malcolm looked once more toward the tent, then turned away.
"Pack up," he said quietly. "We move. Still two days of walking."
Kyle wiped his face with the back of his hand and nodded, silent. The light grew stronger, spilling across the snow, catching on the blood that had already begun to dry.
By the second day, the cold had settled deep into the ground. The air was sharp, every breath turning to frost between them. They moved steadily through the white fields, the sound of their boots breaking the silence.
Kyle walked close, his pack lighter now, his movements cleaner. Malcolm watched him from time to time, offering a word or a nod when the boy’s footing slipped. A twitcher crossed their path before noon, slow and stiff from the cold. Malcolm let Kyle handle them.
The treeline ahead marked the edge of the old highway. Beyond it lay the outer ridge of the community, half-hidden under drifting snow.
They were close.
"Andrei used to bring me there," Kyle said after a while. "Said someone else should know how the lines work. Just in case."
Malcolm nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Kyle’s boot dragged through the snow, breaking the quiet. "Guess he knew it would happen one day."
Malcolm didn’t answer. The sound of the wind filled the space between them, soft and steady. Sometimes silence was all a man could give.
By late afternoon, the sky began to pale. Smoke rose in the distance, thin lines drifting above the treetops. Kyle’s voice came quiet. "That’s the settlement."
Malcolm slowed. The air smelled faintly of ash.
The closer they came, the more wrong it looked.
The walls still stood, but the smoke wasn’t from cooking fires. It was scattered, coming from different parts of the compound. Something had burned recently.
He lifted his gaze to the gate. Two men stood on top, rifles slung low. Their faces were unfamiliar. Their stance too loose.
Malcolm frowned. He hadn’t seen them before. freёwebnovel.com
He scanned the fence again, noting the empty watchtowers, the silence where there should have been voices. Then he caught Kyle by the arm and pulled him down behind the ridge.
"Stay down," he said quietly, eyes never leaving the gate.
The snow shifted under them, the smell of smoke thicker now. In the distance, one of the guards turned toward the trees, as if he had heard something.
Malcolm didn’t move. The wind carried only silence.
