Read Online Omega Days (Book 2): Ship of the Dead by John L. Campbell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John L. Campbell
Tags: Zombies
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as the group got inside.
A perimeter check uncovered a few fire exits—closed and secure—and showed that despite the area occupied by the nightclub, more than half the hangar remained open and unused. Fortunately, no drifters had been discovered in the echoing space. There was no power, of course, and the only illumination came from moonlight through the windows as the clouds finally broke apart.
Carney sat in a chair near the windows, dozing with his M14 across his knees, and Jerry, the big comedian, slept lying down in front of the entrance doors, a shotgun beside him. Before he went to sleep he joked that if a zombie was strong enough to push his mass away from the doors, the group had bigger problems. There were smiles, but no laughter.
TC sat on a stool at the bar, staring at his shadowy image in a mirror on the back wall, still without his shirt. He liked the way people looked at him when he was bare-chested: the men with nervousness, the women with curiosity. He had waited until Carney nodded off before helping himself to the tequila, and now one hand curled around the bottle, the other a shot glass.
Darius, the sociology professor rescued by Rosa, and who had failed to kill Xavier, quietly went behind the bar to look for bottled water. He gave TC a smile and nod—which was not returned—and began checking the cold cases. TC poured a shot and raised the glass, inspecting the golden liquid before downing it. He smacked the glass on the bar and let out a gasp.
The professor glanced at him and then the bottle, seeing how much was already gone. “Maybe you should go easy on that,” he said softly, not wanting to wake the others. “We’re all going to need clear heads.”
TC cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Is that right?” He poured another shot, then leaned his elbows on the bar, holding the glass in both hands and dropping his voice to a matching whisper. “You remind me of someone.”
Darius smiled and waited.
“Yeah, a little bitch I punked out at the Q. I used to rent him out for smokes.”
The professor stiffened as if slapped.
“What do you say, dark meat? I like those pretty beads in your braids. Why don’t you come sit on my lap?”
The sociology professor ducked his head and hurried away, and TC watched him go in the mirror, chuckling. “Maybe later, chocolate,” he murmured, downing the shot.
In an office against one wall of the hangar, Margaret Chu slept in a chair, her shotgun leaning in a corner. The sick girl was still bound, lying on the carpeted floor near a desk. Wrapped in a packing blanket, her face glistening with sweat, the young woman tossed and mumbled through the gag. Rosa had made the girl as comfortable as possible, and Margaret volunteered to stand watch and deal with her if and when she turned. Contrary to Xavier’s concerns about group panic over an infected person in their midst, there had been little argument. Everyone was too tired. Margaret wished she knew the girl’s name, but she would probably never find out. She knew what was coming.
In the adjacent office, Rosa Escobedo finished giving Dane a shot of Demerol and placed a Band-Aid over the puncture. The bite wound at the back of his knee was freshly dressed with a clean bandage, and he sat propped against a wall, unspeaking and unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Maya stood near her father, rubbing his back, and nodded her thanks to the medic. Rosa closed the door on the way out.
Xavier and Evan were waiting in the darkness of the big hangar, and the three of them moved off to sit on the back of the stage. They were all exhausted and said nothing for a while, just stared into the dark and listened to the silence.
“We’re not safe here,” Xavier said at last. “It only feels like that because it’s quiet and nothing’s happening. That’s going to change. They’re going to find us here.”
“And it’s too hard to defend,” said Evan. “Too many doors, all those
A perimeter check uncovered a few fire exits—closed and secure—and showed that despite the area occupied by the nightclub, more than half the hangar remained open and unused. Fortunately, no drifters had been discovered in the echoing space. There was no power, of course, and the only illumination came from moonlight through the windows as the clouds finally broke apart.
Carney sat in a chair near the windows, dozing with his M14 across his knees, and Jerry, the big comedian, slept lying down in front of the entrance doors, a shotgun beside him. Before he went to sleep he joked that if a zombie was strong enough to push his mass away from the doors, the group had bigger problems. There were smiles, but no laughter.
TC sat on a stool at the bar, staring at his shadowy image in a mirror on the back wall, still without his shirt. He liked the way people looked at him when he was bare-chested: the men with nervousness, the women with curiosity. He had waited until Carney nodded off before helping himself to the tequila, and now one hand curled around the bottle, the other a shot glass.
Darius, the sociology professor rescued by Rosa, and who had failed to kill Xavier, quietly went behind the bar to look for bottled water. He gave TC a smile and nod—which was not returned—and began checking the cold cases. TC poured a shot and raised the glass, inspecting the golden liquid before downing it. He smacked the glass on the bar and let out a gasp.
The professor glanced at him and then the bottle, seeing how much was already gone. “Maybe you should go easy on that,” he said softly, not wanting to wake the others. “We’re all going to need clear heads.”
TC cocked his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Is that right?” He poured another shot, then leaned his elbows on the bar, holding the glass in both hands and dropping his voice to a matching whisper. “You remind me of someone.”
Darius smiled and waited.
“Yeah, a little bitch I punked out at the Q. I used to rent him out for smokes.”
The professor stiffened as if slapped.
“What do you say, dark meat? I like those pretty beads in your braids. Why don’t you come sit on my lap?”
The sociology professor ducked his head and hurried away, and TC watched him go in the mirror, chuckling. “Maybe later, chocolate,” he murmured, downing the shot.
In an office against one wall of the hangar, Margaret Chu slept in a chair, her shotgun leaning in a corner. The sick girl was still bound, lying on the carpeted floor near a desk. Wrapped in a packing blanket, her face glistening with sweat, the young woman tossed and mumbled through the gag. Rosa had made the girl as comfortable as possible, and Margaret volunteered to stand watch and deal with her if and when she turned. Contrary to Xavier’s concerns about group panic over an infected person in their midst, there had been little argument. Everyone was too tired. Margaret wished she knew the girl’s name, but she would probably never find out. She knew what was coming.
In the adjacent office, Rosa Escobedo finished giving Dane a shot of Demerol and placed a Band-Aid over the puncture. The bite wound at the back of his knee was freshly dressed with a clean bandage, and he sat propped against a wall, unspeaking and unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Maya stood near her father, rubbing his back, and nodded her thanks to the medic. Rosa closed the door on the way out.
Xavier and Evan were waiting in the darkness of the big hangar, and the three of them moved off to sit on the back of the stage. They were all exhausted and said nothing for a while, just stared into the dark and listened to the silence.
“We’re not safe here,” Xavier said at last. “It only feels like that because it’s quiet and nothing’s happening. That’s going to change. They’re going to find us here.”
“And it’s too hard to defend,” said Evan. “Too many doors, all those
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