Read Online Dawn of the Dead by George A. Romero - Free Book Online

toward the launch dock.
    Abruptly, a sound jarred Fran’s concentration.
    â€œJust stay cool,” a voice muttered out of the darkness.
    Fran, already uptight because of the running figure, was shocked to hear the voice coming from behind her. Spinning around, she dropped the fuel nozzle in her surprise, and it clattered to the wooden dock boards. She was looking directly at the nose of a rifle pointed right at her head.
    â€œIf you die,” the policeman said menacingly, “it’ll be your own fault.”
    Fran stood in stunned disbelief, but the moment was short-lived, because the officer who had been running with the carton shouted toward the guardhouse.
    â€œCome on, Skipper. They got friends comin’.”
    In the guardhouse, Steve was held at bay by the officer with the rifle while the one with the pistol went to check the progress of the approaching vehicle. The headlights were coming closer every second.
    â€œWho are you?” the officer with the rifle asked.
    â€œWe’re with WGON. We—”
    The other man cut him off. “About a minute and a half,” he reported on the vehicle’s approach.
    The one referred to as Skipper pushed Steve with his gun barrel. The impact caused the slight young man to spin out through the open doorway. Looking up, he noticed that the vehicle was now turning onto the long, narrow pier.
    The two officers led Steve over to the helicopter, where Fran stood, shivering with fear. The first officer reached inside the helicopter bubble and pulled out Steve’s rifle.
    â€œNow wait a minute,” Steve shouted over the whirring of the helicopter blades. “We’re just here to refuel. These men were already dead. You were here. You know that. It looks like somebody was after the launches. We had nothing to do with—”
    One of the officers who had been in the guardhouse with Steve noticed the insignia on the machine.
    â€œHey, WGON traffic watch . . . Steve Andrews,” he said with amusement.
    â€œRight, that’s me,” Steve perked up, hoping that whatever celebrity or notoriety that gave him would help them out of this mess.
    â€œNo shit,” the officer answered.
    â€œWe’d get a lot further in this bird, Skipper,” said the officer who had cornered Fran. He was now happily ensconced in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter.
    All at once, a terrible feeling overcame Steve. He began to put the pieces together: the wholly unprofessional way that the men conducted themselves; their nervousness over the approaching car; their scurrying around for extra supplies. They were on the run, scavengers like Steve himself. Now he began to worry. These were not men to reason with. He prayed that Roger would be in the approaching vehicle.
    The man who was carrying the carton rushed back up the dock, having deposited his load in one of the motor launches.
    â€œCan’t all fit,” he commented.
    â€œHow many will that thing hold?” the imposter who had inquired after Steve’s identity asked.
    â€œHey, man, I ain’t goin’ nowhere in nothin’ I can’t drive myself,” the man who had held the gun to Steve in the shack announced belligerently.
    â€œThat’s true,” said the man who had returned to the van and was carrying out another carton to the launch. “Somethin’ happens to him and ’stuck. Stay with the launch!”
    â€œGet a lot further in this bird!” said the first imposter.
    Suddenly, above the two white headlights of the approaching vehicle, a third red light was visible.
    â€œHey, that’s a black and white,” said the belligerent one, noticing the spinning bubble-gum top and hearing the blast of the car’s siren.
    The officer in the helicopter, still holding his gun to Fran’s head, said, “They’ve seen us!”
    â€œIt’s all right,” said the skipper calmly. “We’re