Read Online Hissers II: Death March by Ryan C. Thomas - Free Book Online

play it like a guitar.
    “Find anything to eat?” he asked.
    “No. I mean, there’s a couple Hot Pockets in the freezer, but the freezer is off so they’re pretty much room temperature. We can risk it, I suppose, can cook ’em over a fire. You think they’re full of preservatives and shit?”
    “I don’t think making a fire is a good idea. We don’t want to draw attention.”
    “I think if no one saw us breaking in here, making all that noise with the back door, then there probably aren’t any people around. At least not anyone who cares.”
    “You could be right. Then again, maybe people are just holed up in the homes ’round here, keeping a low profile. Still, I say no fire.”
    Amanita plopped in a recliner opposite the couch. “So then what? We stay here for a while, eat bugs?”
    “Funny.”
    “I don’t think it’s safe. I’ve been trapped in a house when those things broke in. Doors and windows don’t stop them, they just break through. And then you’re kind of trapped.”
    “We’ll leave in the morning, find someplace better, see if we can meet up with the army. They’ve got to have safety zones set up somewhere.”
    “I dunno. This place is like a ghost town. I haven’t even seen signs of a firefight let alone any military cars.” She drew her knees up to her chest and hung her head, breathed heavily to calm her nerves.
    “How you doing?” Doug asked.
    “Fucking dandy.”
    “I’m sorry again about your parents.”
    “I know. You already told me. Doesn’t bring them back, though.”
    Doug sneaked a peek out the curtains to the street. He turned back to Amanita. “I lost people too, you know. My best friends. All of ’em just killed before me. It was messed up, I tell ya.”
    “Them hissing dead things got them?”
    “Yeah. We were gigging when it happened , at The Calendar Bar.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “It’s north of Liptonville. Small little joint, but they have some great whiskey. We were halfway through a version of Walk the Line—”
    “Is that a song?”
    “Is that a song? You’re kidding me. Only the best Johnny Cash song ever written.”
    Amanita shook her head. “Still not entirely sure who that is? I mean, I’ve heard th e name and all. Wasn’t there a movie or something.”
    “You’re cutting me deep, Am. Johnny Cash is the o nly musician you ever need know. He is American music personified.”
    “Says you.”
    “Then tell me, Am, who do you like to listen to?”
    “Um. I like the Booya Brothers for hip hop. Or, um, I really like The Parasite Phantoms. They’re a punk band.”
    “Girl, there hasn’t been a real punk band since Joe Strummer kicked Mick Jones out of the Clash.”
    “Who?”
    Doug slapped his hand on his forehead. “Okay, we’re gonna have to set aside some time for Music 101 later, but for now just take it from me we were killing it on Walk the Line when all of a sudden these crazy guys just come running in the front door of the bar and start biting people. And I’m on stage singing, and I’m watching this and thinking a fight has broken out, which isn’t too uncommon at a bar, but then wondering why a fight would break out to a love song, and then I just see blood everywhere. I mean everywhere.
    “So w e stop playing and look at each other, like, what do we do. And I see one of the bartenders get his throat ripped completely out. Blood goes all over the damn place. He falls down and he’s totally still. But then about five seconds later he’s up again and his eyes are just wrong, you know, like kind of yellow. Like dry stones. And he’s snarling and looking right at me. Next thing I know he’s running right for me, jumping over dead people on the ground, marking me for death.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Nothing. I froze. I just see Kevin’s guitar—Kevin plays lead, kind of like Luther Perkins, and don’t ask me who that is because you’ll just make me cry—his guitar comes out of nowhere and smashes this dead