SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

34

KEITH

Keith gripped the banister with all his strength and limped up the stairs. His wounded leg felt as though it were on fire.

Harris chewed a piece out of his calf before he could break through the hole. Between dealing with him and that guard in the kitchen, fevered sweat now soaked his shirt. Maybe this new type of zombie had a supercharged infection in their bites to match their other enhancements. It sure seemed that way.

He checked his injury. A red blossom spread through the dishtowel he tied around his wounded leg. He'd have to be careful to avoid the watchful eyes of DiMarco's guards. From the sounds of the voices upstairs, most of the household had gathered in one spot. Even armed with the dead man's gun, it was going to be a challenge getting close enough to the man in charge to ensure a kill shot.

The sound of the pitched battle outside temporarily grew louder as someone entered the outer door to the kitchen. Keith silently cursed and pushed himself faster. With the huge distraction he left outside, he didn't think DiMarco's men would end up on his trail quite so soon. Then again, he hadn't expected Harris to ambush him at the wall either. That was how it went sometimes. No plan could account for every possibility. The key difference between pros and rank amateurs was adaptability.

Luck had also played a role in getting him this far. His gnawed leg served as a painful reminder that he might have to go the rest of the way without it.

He reached the top of the stairs and fast-limped down the hall towards the collection of nervous voices talking over one another. It sounded as if the DiMarcos were hosting a party in there, instead of hiding for their lives.

"Honey, please come inside," DiMarco's wife cried.

Her voice was muffled compared to the others muttering throughout the room. Keith discovered the reason for that as soon as he reached the parlor's archway. She and several members of the staff were huddled together for protection inside the opened vault of the family's panic room.

The subject of her frightened pleas paid her no mind. Carmine DiMarco loaded shells into a pump-action shotgun while overseeing the battle through a huge plate glass window. A sweaty man in a black suit stood on one side of him, while a teenage girl and a blonde woman with a suspicious bulge in her jacket stared out the window on the other.

Keith stepped into the room, taking in any possible threats in his way. Most of the people mumbling in fear looked harmless. A few guards stood by a bookcase, wearing the same dark jackets as the one he took off the body downstairs. They might be a problem, he thought. For the time being, the noises outside seemed to catch their full attention more than anything immediately around them.

Keith fingered the gun in his pocket. There were too many warm bodies between him and his target. Seeing as how this would be his one and only chance, he didn't want to risk missing out on a kill shot. If he was going to bite it here, he wanted to make damn well certain he wasn't going to be the only asshole in Hell today.

He circulated through the crowd on his way to the far side of the room. Along the way, he kept his gait casual, trying not to draw attention to himself with an obvious limp. With his dark pants and stolen jacket, he almost passed for one of DiMarco's guards. If the man was anything like Manconi, he probably wouldn't blink twice at his unfamiliar face.

"Erica, come here," DiMarco's annoying wife persisted.

Keith glanced over at the redhead seated on a bench inside the exposed safe room. She sat apart from several others, stroking the fur of a sleepy Pomeranian while gaping through the doorway at her obstinate family. He eyed her figure appreciatively and gave her no more consideration than her family did.