Read Online Last Man Standing (Book 1): Hunger by Keith Taylor - Free Book Online

him. "Help yourself."
     
    He lights up, and closes his eyes as he takes a long, blissful pull. "God damn , I miss that." He holds the cigarette up and looks lovingly at the smoldering tip. "Marcy - that's my wife, Marcy - she made me quit when I retired. Told me she wanted to keep me around until I'd finished repainting the kitchen. I don't suppose it makes much difference now, right? Chances are none of us will be around long enough for a little smoke to hurt us."
     
    He takes another long drag, coughs and winces. "Looks like I'm out of practice." He sets the cigarette down on the lip of the counter and takes a sip of his Coke. "Prospect Park. That's what's next." He turns his eyes up to the ceiling, trying to summon his memory. "Prospect, Lincoln and James J Braddock. Oh, and the Bronx Zoo. That's where they'll set up rally points for the city. They've all got fresh water, and they'll bring in generators, food, tents and what not. Gotta keep the city empty until the army can sweep it clean, so I guess we'll all be sleeping on camp beds for a while." He shrugs his sleeve up and takes a look at his watch. "That's where Marcy will be waiting, God willing. We live a few blocks from Prospect, and she knows to head there when everything goes to shit." He stubs out his cigarette on the table. "On that note, kids, I think it's high time we mosey."
     
    I turn to Kate. "You good to go?"
     
    She nods and grabs her jacket, but I sense some hesitation.
     
    "What's up?" I ask.
     
    "It's nothing," Kate replies, lowering her voice. "Just... let's talk just the two of us when we get out, OK? There's something you should know."
     
    I nod, and I'm about to reply when Arnold grabs his gun, tucks it into his jacket pocket and lifts himself from his stool with a sharp gasp. "You OK, Arnold?"
     
    "Yeah, yeah," he replies, waving away my concern. "Nothing to worry yourself about."
     
    Kate shoots me a wide eyed look, as if to draw my attention to something. She nods towards Arnold, but I don't get it.
     
    "OK, let's move, kids. Time's wasting."
     
    That's when I see it, as Arnold turns from us towards the shutter. He's bleeding. The back of his right thigh is stained red where he put his weight on the stool. The blood has seeped through his gray trousers, and the sodden material clings to his leg. He doesn't have a limp, but from the look of the blood his injury is more than just a little cut.
     
    Kate takes my arm as Arnold raises the shutter, and she silently mouths the words to me.
     
    He got bit.

 
     
    We drive slowly south on Flatbush, Arnold feathering the gas just enough to keep us rolling without building up the revs. Even driving carefully the engine sounds worryingly loud in the otherwise silent streets.
     
    "Where are all the people?" I ask, peering down the empty roads at each intersection. "How come we're not seeing many bodies? I've only seen a couple in the last five blocks."
     
    Kate shrugs. "Saturday morning. I guess most of them were still in bed when it started. I know the coffee shop was pretty dead. And it was raining pretty bad this morning. Maybe they waited for the crowd to pass then headed for the park?"
     
    "Maybe," I agree. "Maybe a lot of them got out of town before it all went bad. What time did it come on the news?"
     
    Kate shrugs. "I don't know. We don't have a TV in the shop. First I heard of it was a couple of customers talking about a riot going on in Manhattan, then it all went to shit pretty quickly."
     
    Arnold slows the car to maneuver around a mail van blocking our side of the road, and I turn to the townhouses at the sidewalk. "Wait a minute," I mumble. "You seeing this, guys?"
     
    I point out the window to the houses. Almost every second door is wide open, and as we slowly coast by I can see the carnage within. Behind each door a long hallway stretches towards the back of the house, and in almost every one bodies lie, twisted and broken, like chocolates revealed from behind the windows