Chapter 7: Mark’s Stand
"Sarah, get the kids!" Quinn yelled, his voice raw with terror and adrenaline. "We’re getting out! We’re getting out now!"
He did not wait for a reply. He charged, swinging the iron poker in a wide, desperate arc that was fueled by pure instinct. The heavy iron connected with the side of the teenage boy’s head with a sickening crack. The creature dropped without a sound, collapsing in a heap that blocked the narrow hallway. But as one fell, another appeared. The woman in the pink jogging suit was on him, scrambling over the fallen body, her movements eerily silent and fast. Her face was a blank slate of inhuman hunger.
Quinn kicked out with a steel-toed boot, a remnant of a past life, sending her stumbling back. He used the precious second to glance over his shoulder. More were coming. One was emerging from the den, and he could hear the distinct sound of another one clawing its way over the dining table in the kitchen. The house was a deathtrap. Every second they stayed, their chances of survival plummeted toward zero.
He saw a flicker of a path, a desperate, impossible plan born of a soldier’s tactical mind. Through the living room, to the connecting door to the garage. They could get in the car. It was their only chance.
"The garage!" he shouted, pointing with the bloody end of the poker. "We have to get to the garage!"
Sarah, her face a mask of white terror, fumbled with the closet door under the stairs, pulling a crying Lily and a shell-shocked Tom into the chaotic hallway. The children’s fear was a physical presence in the air. "Mark!" she screamed toward the kitchen. "Mark, we have to go!"
Mark appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was clutching his bleeding arm, the fabric of his sleeve soaked in dark blood. His face was pale. He saw Sarah and the kids huddled by the stairs. He saw Quinn, holding one creature at bay while another closed in from the side. He saw the open doorways, dark maws spilling more monsters into their home. He saw the impossible odds.
And in that moment of terrible clarity, Mark made a choice. It was not the choice of a soldier, but of a father and a husband looking at the only thing in the world that mattered. His eyes met Quinn’s for a fraction of a second, and in them, Quinn saw not fear, but a grim, heartbreaking resolution.
Mark ran, but not toward his family. He ran directly at Quinn.