Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller Read Online Free Page A

belligerent passenger was actually fighting with the people trying to help. And, oh look, there was his big fat neighbor! No longer weeping like a baby, the whale of a man was actually throwing punches.
    Better you than me, …… Mason concluded, and raised his glass in salute to the nameless, faceless peons in uniforms who were just trying to do their jobs. They wrestled the big man down the stairs and bundled him into an ambulance, and then a slim young woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was one of the rescue people. A firefighter, by the look of her clothes. She was cradling her hand against her chest, and the front of her shirt was red with blood. She started down the stairs, but then a man appeared behind her; one of the passengers dressed in a blue power-suit and tie. Before the firegirl could reach the ground, the man tore down the steps after her and grabbed her from behind. Then, long before anyone could make a move to help, he grabbed hold of the girl's hair, jerked her head back violently, and buried his face in her neck.
    What the hell? Is he trying to make out with her? Christ!
    The firegirl's knees gave out, and she slumped in his arms. Still, he kept his face buried in her neck until another firefighter raced up the stairs and pulled the two apart. Suddenly, the girl's entire front was a mess of blood. It streamed from her throat and cascaded down her chest in a river. She gave a single gasp and fell lifelessly into her colleague's arms, and then the man in the suit was on him. As they came together, the firefighter dropped the girl and raised his mouth to the sky. Mason couldn't hear anything through the plate-glass windows, but he knew that the man was screaming. The guy in the suit had his mouth pressed against the firefighter's face as if he were giving him a big sloppy kiss, but when he finally pulled back, the firefighters face was red with blood, and the man in the suit was like a wolf standing over the carcass of a caribou. He threw back his head, flipped a piece of meat into the air, caught it in his jaws, and chewed it until it was gone. Then he lunged once more at the firefighter.
    Other people in the bar were shouting now. Gasps of disbelief, screams of horror, more than a few people cursing like sailors. So Mason wasn't seeing things, then. He was actually seeing what he was seeing. An otherwise respectable man had just physically attacked two rescue workers, and he'd done it with his teeth. His goddam teeth! What kind of unstable freak deals with fear and trauma by biting his rescuers? And he didn't just bite that poor bastard; he'd actually torn off the guy's cheek. And eaten it! He'd actually eaten it! What kind of fucked up monster does that?
    The bartender of this Whatever-the-fuck Bar was one of those in the crowd, watching the drama unfold. He'd come out from behind the bar to join a dozen others with their faces pressed against the glass to get a better look. They were just like the drivers that slow down at an accident scene, hoping they can maybe get a glimpse of blood or a dismembered body lying in the road.
    What a piece of work is a man , Mason thought again, downing his drink and stirring himself out of his comfortable booth. Yeah, you guys go ahead and satiate your bloodlust. I'm going home …..
    He found his way outside and stepped bodily in front of a passing cab. The driver stuck his head through the window and made some protest about a cab stand fifty feet back and the hell he'd have to pay if he cut the line, but Mason had the door open and was inside before the statement could be finished. The driver relented with a shrug, nodded at the stated address and drove off. At that point, all Mason wanted was to be home. The airline would forward his luggage if they wanted, but Mason couldn't have cared less. A few lost t-shirts and a handful of ratty underwear was a small price to pay to put this whole damned episode behind him.
    He laid his head back against the seat and