Claire huffed, but did as she was asked. Together with an elderly couple that Jack recognised as the lovers from the pool balcony, she started sliding a table across the floor. It was unbelievable that the rest of the group were still standing around and doing nothing.
When Claire and the old couple reached the doorway, they placed the table down in front of it – but they did so several feet short.
“You need to get it right up against the door,” said Jack.
Claire stared at him and he saw the distrust in her eyes. Her intention wasn’t to help him. She had other ideas.
Jack shook his head at her, still restraining the chef by twisting the man’s wrist behind his back in a basic hammerlock. “Claire, don’t!”
His pleas went ignored. Claire unlatched the doors and pushed aside the table, tipping it over. Then she opened both doors wide.
One of the eyebleeders spotted her and ran towards her. He leapt straight for her, grabbing her in an embrace and tearing at her throat with his teeth. The two of them fell to the ground in a heap. Claire’s body was already limp and dying as a thick torrent of blood exploded from her jugular. More eyebleeders flowed in through the doorway. The elderly lovers were the next to go down.
The old man stood in front of his wife, meaning to protect her, but his defiance was made weak as the flesh of his cheek was torn free by the teeth of a crazed stranger. Both of the old man and his wife were dead within minutes, ripped apart like two leathery fillet steaks. The eyebleeders moved on to other victims.
Jack had backed away to the far side of the room. His instincts urged him to help these people, but he didn’t know enough about the situation to risk taking action. He’d already tried to protect everybody in the room, but they’d turned against him. They weren’t his responsibility.
Screw them.
Jack looked around the room and tried to find a way out. The main entrance was blocked by a throng of thrashing bodies, but the space behind the buffet train looked like it led to a staff area. There was no telling what was behind the door, but it was his only viable option. Jack sprinted across the restaurant, barging and flipping any bodies that dared get in his way. He managed to reach the staff area in one piece.
There was a kitchen inside, simple and confined. There were no exits or ways out of the area other than where he’d come in. If the eyebleeders found him inside, he would have nowhere to run and his only option would be to stand and fight them. He’d cornered himself.
Jack began to ransack the room, looking for a makeshift weapon. He yanked out drawers and pulled open cupboards, but found only crocks and useless cutlery. Just when frustration and despair started setting in, his eyes fell upon what he was looking for. In the centre of the room was an island, and hanging above it was a selection of industrial knives. Jack grabbed the largest he could find: a 12-inch French chef’s knife. It felt good in his hand. Heavy.
Jack crouched in the centre of the room, eying the doorway. He was aware of his own breathing and tried to slow it down to keep from panicking. Infected or not, the attackers outside were just people; and he’d spent most his life dealing with people. This was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Just an ordinary day.
Jack hardly noticed the screaming anymore – the sound was quickly becoming commonplace – but he did notice when it started to die down. The sound of silence took hold and suddenly there was a sense of foreboding in the air. Jack waited for something to happen.
The silence continued.
Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. He crept towards the door, knife held out in front of him in a standard, right-handed combat stance. It wouldn’t be the first time Jack was prepared to kill somebody.
He reached the door and stopped still, listening for anyone that may have been standing on the other side. The first person to attack him would get the knife in their groin. But there were no blood channels in the blade, it would probably get stuck. If that happened, he would have to defend himself against anyone else with his fists.
Sea Sick: A Horror Novel
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