The courtyard had quieted.
Not completely.
The baseline infected still writhed against the reinforced fencing, laughing without rhythm, jaws snapping at empty air while ropes and hooked restraints kept them from throwing themselves forward.
The echoes of the earlier struggle still lingered.
Blood darkened the frozen dirt.
Carl stood in the middle of it.
His hands were stained crimson.
The hoe he had used lay several feet away where someone had kicked it aside.
Nobody spoke.
Not immediately.
Miriam's eyes rested on Carl with an expression that somehow unsettled me more than rage ever could.
She looked…
Disappointed.
Around her, the intelligent infected shifted.
Some folded their arms.
Others stared openly.
One woman clicked her tongue beneath her breath.
Another shook his head.
There wasn't satisfaction on their faces.
There wasn't excitement.
There was disgust.
Hatred.
My stomach twisted.
…
Hatred?
For him?
No.
No, that wasn't right.
