The Immortal Photographer (3)

Chewing on some jerky taken from the panic room, Marcus looked down the stairwell at the body of the security guard. The guard’s body had shifted position slightly. He slowed and listened intently for any sign of pursuit. His instincts, a built in mechanism in all organisms, could never be dulled out by his unusual biology. His hairs stood on end while his heart began hammering. The blood flowing through his body carried the juices of fight-or-flight and kept Marcus’s eyes fixed on the body.

Making sure that his weapons were loaded, he took out the old man’s cell phone and flipped through the options. He smirked when he found the music player. He set the volume at the maximum and selected a song.

Metal music, from decades ago, blared from the tiny device and turned the cramped quarters of the stairwell into a concert hall. The sudden change in atmosphere excited the pursuers. They began advancing with ravenous speed.

With his suspicions confirmed, Marcus began taking four steps at a time up the stairwell.

“Status on pick up?”

Three flights from the roof, he tossed the phone down the well. The music slowing began to dull as it accelerated to the bottom floor. Perhaps that would throw the infected off for a little while.

“They left base about 12 minutes ago, ETA is approximately 8 minutes. You on the roof?”

He crashed through the door and ran to the opposite side of the roof, guns trained on the door.

“Listen, I’m out here. It’s almost dawn.”

He peeked over the edge towards the closest building hoping to find a soft place to land should he have to jump. He hated pain, even when he knew it would go away. He turned his attention back to the door and began to wonder if the infected would pursue him if he dove.