Demon Read Online Free PDF Page A

from the road. In the desert more.
    Hank nodded. He would drive into the desert, away from the road. First, though, he’d call home. Say good-bye.
    He pulled out his cell phone, hoping he had a signal. Instead, the battery was dead.
    â€œFuck!” Hank threw it into the dashboard. The battery broke free and hit him in the face. “Can’t even say good-bye?”
    Hank wiped his dry eyes and dropped his wallet on the seat. He took a shallow breath and exhaled slowly before shifting the truck into drive.
    So this is it. No good-byes. No “I love you.” Just a picture and some memories and that’s it. You’ll probably be dead within an hour. Just drive out into the desert and cough yourself to death.
    Hank looked in the rearview. No movement. He put the truck in reverse and headed toward the nearest Land Cruiser. Once there, he got out and walked slowly, his legs shaky and unsteady, over to the contractor who’d shot himself after winning the battle royale.
    A swarm of flies already coated the back of his head where the bullet had exited. They crawled over the red mass and gray matter until Hank walked up. Then they took off in a black cloud.
    But they didn’t leave. They hovered over the body. Then a few flies fell to the ground.
    Shit , he thought. Even the flies are fighting. Something about them disturbed him more than any of the other deaths. He’d almost accepted that whatever he had could affect humans and complex animals. But insects?
    Hank turned his attention to the ground and grabbed the rifle. Carefully, he dug through the corpse’s pockets and found a cell phone. Still had half a battery left. Clutching it in his fist, Hank thanked God for giving him another chance to say good-bye to his family.
    He walked back over to the truck. As he did, he turned to see if the flies had stopped fighting, hoping it was a proximity thing.
    Nope. The cloud had already shrunk by half, little black bodies decorating the highway. If it was a proximity thing, he needed to get farther away.
    â€œWell, that’s that then.”
    He heard shouting. Hank turned, thinking one of the contractors or drivers was still alive.
    No, it was in Arabic. It was someone shouting in Arabic.
    Hank looked at the side of the road. Another Bedouin with a camel marched toward the convoy.
    â€œStop!” Hank waved his arms. “Don’t come any closer.”
    The man shouted more words in Arabic and kept approaching the dead. He couldn’t be more than fifty feet away.
    â€œPlease stop.” Hank wished he could remember any Arabic. All that came to mind were words for “work” and “faster.”
    The old man kept coming, still shouting the same words and pointing at the bodies. Still moving closer.
    Hank raised the rifle and pointed it at the man. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”
    The man shifted his eyes from the bodies to Hank. They were old eyes. And Hank knew they had seen death before. But there was something else in them. Something unsettling. More than fear. As if the old man had found himself treading suddenly through hell itself.
    He pointed at Hank and said something else in Arabic. Louder than anything he’d spoken yet. Almost hysterical.
    Thirty feet away? Maybe closer.
    The old man’s eyes changed. The desperation that had dwelled in them faded and was replaced by rage. He screamed and for a moment Hank thought he was going to run and attack him. Instead, the old man turned on the camel, pulling his knife from his belt and drawing it quickly across the animal’s throat.
    The camel wailed and collapsed to its knees. The old man bellowed a primal cry and stabbed the creature repeatedly in the side and neck until it lay in an ocean of blood-mixed sand.
    The old Bedouin turned to Hank, locking him with wild eyes. He breathed heavily, sucking in giant gulps of air. Drool hung from his lips and chin.
    A few seconds of silence passed between them.