The Death Trilogy (Book 1): The Death: Quarantine Read Online Free

to see if it was locked; it was.
    He heard her walk to the large bay window, where he had been earlier. There her footsteps stopped. All he could think was she was looking in.
    A whine from the dog alerted Devin and her that he was at the back door.
    Devin remembered that he hadn’t locked the back door. Conflicting thoughts entered his mind; should he try to lock it or just let her come in? He finally decided that she was coming in, regardless of a locked door.
    He closed his eyes and listened. With each step towards the back, his blood pressure increased. He gripped the shotgun tightly while sweat poured off his brow.
    She had now reached the back door; he could hear her whisper something to the dog.
    An idea flashed in his mind,\; he knew what he had to do.
    A wall separated him from the kitchen door; he stood and positioned himself against it. She was now only eight feet away. He waited for the sound that would call him to action.
    The doorknob turned, and with a slight nudge it opened. The old alder door groaned as it was pushed fully open.
    This was his cue; he came from behind the wall with the shotgun against his shoulder. However, whoever this woman was, she was ready and took aim on him.
    “Stop right there. This is my house!” he yelled.
    “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m just looking for food. It didn’t look like anyone was home,” the woman pleaded.
    “Well, you were wrong!” Devin exclaimed, his sweaty grip tightening around the stock. His right index finger was on the trigger, ready to pull it back if necessary.
    “Just lower the gun, and I’ll lower mine,” the woman said calmly, her green eyes intensely looking at Devin down the short stock and barrel of her AR-15.
    “You lower yours first,” Devin snapped.
    The dog began to emit a barely audible growl. His teeth now showed as he crouched down.
    Devin looked at the dog and knew that he was outnumbered.
    “Brando, it’s all right. This nice man won’t shoot us,” the woman said, her eyes not breaking away from her hard gaze.
    Brando took a step forward.
    Seeing this, Devin shouted, “Tell your dog to sit or something!”
    “He listens when he wants.”
    Devin didn’t know what to do; his actions were now guided by fear.
    Brando slowly lifted his right front leg and placed it back down. He was inching towards Devin, stalking him like a predator does prey.
    “Leave now!” Devin screamed, his voice muffled from the respirator.
    “We’ll leave, no worries. Just don’t shoot us in the back.”
    A slight feeling of victory ran through Devin after hearing what she said.
    “C’mon, Brando, our host isn’t that hospitable.”
    Brando didn’t listen; he was focused on Devin. His growls had ticked up in volume, and his white fangs were in clear view.
    The woman stepped back till her back hit the screen door.
    “Brando, come, boy,” she commanded.
    Brando wasn’t listening; a stripe of thick black hair that ran along his back was raised now.
    “I’ll shoot your dog, I will!”
    “Whatever you do, don’t point the gun at him. I’ll get him to heel, just give me a moment,” she pleaded.
    Brando’s growl grew in intensity, and he let out a bark.
    Devin jumped and swung the shotgun towards him.
    Brando leapt, his jaw open. He latched onto Devin’s right arm and clamped down.
    Devin screamed in pain and pulled the trigger; however, the trigger didn’t move, it was locked on ‘safe’.
    Brando shook his head violently, his jaw tightening on Devin’s arm.
    The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. He dropped the shotgun and stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of a thick Persian rug in the living room.
    Brando wasn’t letting go. He dangled from Devin’s arm like an ornament from a Christmas tree.
    Backwards and down both went.
    Devin was still screaming in pain, but all was silenced when his head hit the coffee table. With the force of the blow, his vision blurred, then went dark.
     
    FEMA Camp 13, Region VIII, Fifty Miles