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

off,” Roger shouted to them. “There’s a radio report about the dock bein’ knocked out.”
    Fran, Steve and Roger reached the cockpit, which had been filled to the brink with supplies by Peter.
    â€œYou sure this’ll carry us all?” Fran asked as she climbed in and crouched on the floor in the rear of the bubble.
    â€œLittle harder on the fuel, but we’ll be OK,” Steve reassured her.
    As Peter managed just barely to fit his bulk into the helicopter, one of the other men approached Roger.
    â€œHey,” he asked, putting down the last carton, “you got any cigarettes?”
    Roger looked at the others one at a time with a strange expression on his face. Fran shook her head no.
    â€œSorry,” he said shortly, trotting around to the passenger seat.
    â€œWhere ya headed?” Steve asked from the pilot’s seat.
    â€œDown river. Got an idea maybe we can make it to the islands.”
    â€œWhat islands?”
    â€œAny island. What about you? Where you headed?”
    â€œStraight up,” Steve said with a smile as the propellers lifted the chopper off the ground.
    The imposter rushed off with his two partners. As they untied one of the launches from the dock, the WGON helicopter whined loudly overhead, completing a perfect lift-off.
    Then, the police launch started without a hitch and pulled out onto the dark river, leaving just the corpses and the strong smell of gasoline on the creaking pier.
    Steve, at last, felt in control again. The last hour had really been hairy. He didn’t know if he or Fran would have made it out alive if Roger and Peter hadn’t come along. But, now, as the lights on the helicopter blinked over the city of Philadelphia, Steve felt safe and secure in his metal womb.
    He took the bird over his favorite sights, almost a farewell salute. He didn’t know when, or if, they would be coming back.
    First they swooped over the art museum, the floodlights illuminating a path up the stone steps. The Rodin museum was a few hundred yards away. Steve wondered if the walking dead would soon make the city unfit for any kind of habitation. Maybe thousands of years from now archaeologists would uncover this city with all its art and treasures and wonder what disaster caused all its inhabitants to flee.
    It was an hour or two before dawn, and the city was now empty. Independence Hall, Betsy Ross’s house with the original American flag—all the monuments to a great civilization lay in the grips of an impending disaster. The oldest American heritage stood coldly in the night, awaiting its fate.
    For a second, Steve thought of his parents. He hadn’t even tried to contact them and wondered where they were, if they were still alive. They had instilled this love of history in him. As teachers, they were always reading, discussing. They were sorely disappointed when he decided to forsake his college education and try for the glamorous job of a reporter. They had hoped he would go for his doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania. They didn’t care what he studied, as long as he had a PhD after his name.
    In the cockpit, Fran surreptitiously lit a cigarette. Roger did, too. The only comment was Peter’s smirk.
    The big man leaned back, but was still uncomfortable. He didn’t have room to stretch out his legs. He looked down at the city. A wave of sadness overcame him and he spoke to the group for the first time.
    â€œAny of you leavin’ people behind?”
    â€œAn ex-husband,” Fran said without a trace of regret in her voice.
    â€œAn ex-wife,” Roger said thoughtfully.
    â€œYou, Peter?” Steve asked, his eyes straight ahead.
    The trooper was quiet for a moment, his gaze still on the city disappearing below.
    â€œSome brothers.” And the tone of his voice told them that he didn’t want to discuss it any further.
    As the copter moved west, the lights on the ground below grew few and far