Read Online Hamsikker 3 by Russ Watts - Free Book Online Page B

out of the wreckage, and the town was quiet. There was a faint murmur in the background, like the humming of electricity, but Jonas couldn’t see the source of the noise. They came to a small park with a children’s play area fenced off, and they stopped. Bishop dismounted, and Jonas joined him, watching him tie Black Jack to the fence.
    “We’re on foot from here on. The church is just the other side of this park. It’s too dangerous to take Black Jack where we’re going.” Bishop stroked Black Jack’s nose, and the horse responded by nuzzling up against Bishop. “Settle down. We’ll be back for you soon.”
    Jonas looked around. The town was eerily quiet except for that throbbing sound in the back of his head. There was something unnerving about the place, as if it were too quiet. Jonas took his gun out and checked it was loaded. The stores across the road were empty, and the buildings were all bathed in glorious sunlight. So why did he feel so nervous?
    “Best not to use that if you can,” said Bishop, drawing out his sword. “One shot, and you’ll draw the attention of every fucking zombie for miles.”
    “Well, I’ve tried asking them to leave politely, but it didn’t work. I can’t rely on my wit and charm to fight off an army of the dead.”
    Bishop chuckled and walked across to one of the vehicles that lay at the side of the road. It was some sort of delivery truck, and judging by the blood splattered across its hood and the smashed windshield, the driver had not come out of the crash well. Bishop began pulling at the huge side mirror that hung loosely, twisting and turning the metal until it snapped off. He held it out for Jonas. One side was jagged and sharp, and it would suffice for close hand-to-hand combat.
    “This’ll do for now. I’m sure we can find you something else, but for now this will have to do.”
    “What am I supposed to do with this, admire my reflection?” said Jonas taking it, wondering how the hell he was going to kill a zombie with a broken side mirror. No matter what Bishop said, if it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate in using the gun.
    “You’ll be fine,” said Bishop.
    Jonas followed him across the road, and they quietly backed up against the wall of a post office. Bishop checked the street ahead and then turned to Jonas.
    “Let’s go. It’s clear.”
    As they walked down the street with deserted stores on each side it became apparent what had caused the huge crash. The road ahead was blocked completely, and the noise that Jonas had heard earlier grew louder. Soon, he saw exactly what the noise was, and where it was coming from.
    A prison bus had come to rest at an intersection, smashing into a second hand clothing store. It had become tangled up with a garbage truck, and evidently whatever had caused the crash had happened quickly. It looked as if all the other vehicles behind had smashed into them, resulting in a huge pile of twisted metal. What had once been cars and trucks had become a magnificent work of art, merging into one, their bodies intermingling, and their scratched paintwork adding a colorful dimension to the scene.
    “Jesus,” said Jonas as they got closer. Some of the vehicles drivers were still trapped inside, and the humming sound Jonas had heard was the clamor of the dead for freedom, a constant moaning sound that filled the air like a church choir singing a terrible, incessant hymn. As they neared the prison bus, it became apparent that the prisoners were still inside too.
    When the prison bus had crashed, it lodged itself firmly into the garbage truck, and there was no way either was ever moving again. Power poles at the intersection had fallen across the bus roof causing the metal to buckle, and yet the front door was ajar. Had the guards not been able to free the prisoners? What had made it crash in the first place? Jonas could only theorize that it had been the dead; that even in this remote town the dead had risen, causing instant death,