He turned and fled.
The baritone calls chased him, the air vibrating with them. They’re excited. Must not be any of the ones that got supper last night, he thought crazily as he pelted across the lawn, trying to focus on the bottoms of Alice’s feet ahead of him. She and Ty were already on the street leading from the facility toward the bridge. Movement to their right caught his attention, and he glanced that way, stumbling, as he saw two more stilts running across the grounds, their eyes locked on Alice and Ty. Quinn fired three more times, and a chunk of flesh exploded from one of the creatures’ shoulders in a red haze. It spun and bellowed, putting a massive hand to the wound before finding him, its gaze boiling with pain and hatred. It redoubled its pace, blood flowing down its arm and dripping from bony fingers.
“Go! Go! Go!” Quinn yelled, glancing over his shoulder. The three behind them were closer, the distance closing with each enormous stride. He came even with Alice and Ty and his hand found Alice’s arm. Blood ran down his leg, and their collective panting was a rasping soundtrack to their flight. The bridge neared, the vehicles’ bright paint muted beneath the stainless steel sky. He threw another look backward and nearly cried out. The two groups had melded into one pack of skeletal limbs and flexing joints, eyes black and mouths yawning. Hungry. The Tahoe seemed to be further away with each step they took, the sound of the stilts louder, closer.
They made the bridge and sped between the cars, their footsteps slapping hard against the cement. Quinn searched the opposite side, somewhere for them to hide, but the only building was the antique shop, its front decimated by the eighteen-wheeler. For the first time, he read the script painted in bold letters on the side of the tanker: NITRO-LOCK-REFRIGERATED LIQUID. The rear of the truck was dead center of the road, blocking the middle of the bridge with its girth. A square, steel box was bolted to its end, one of two doors hanging open. As they neared it, Quinn veered off to the truck, and Alice turned sideways, still moving with Ty clutched to her chest.
“What are you doing?” she yelled.
“Just go!” he replied, swinging the second door of the truck open. The sound of the stilt’s breathing filled the air, the world. He would feel their long fingers grabbing him any second just as Graham had done, their teeth biting through him. There was a number of gauges and pipes inside the truck’s attachment housing, some of them covered with a thick layer of frost. A brass hammer hung from a support and he snagged this, bringing it down as hard as he could on the closest freezing pipe.
The pipe snapped off midway through and spurted a stream of liquid surrounded by white steam past his face. A portion hit his shoulder, his skin burning like nothing he’d ever felt before. He spun away from the back of the tanker, bringing his rifle up as one of the stilts lunged at him. He blew away a portion of its throat in a spray of tissue and blood that coated its brethren behind it. Its eyes flew wide, but it continued to reach for him, snagging its filthy fingernails in his shirt and tearing it partially from his chest as it tipped forward.
Quinn fell on his side, slamming to his throbbing shoulder but keeping hold of the rifle. His vision shook with the impact and his breath rushed from him. He rolled, coming up on his feet in the time it took the stilt to slide to a stop. He made it two shaking steps back before he paused, the view before him stopping him in his tracks.