Read Online Rise of the Governor by Robert Kirkman - Free Book Online

other. But something has changed. The emergency has transformed into something darker—a deathwatch.
    â€œWe gotta get him inside,” Philip announces, now soaked in his friend’s blood. But Philip makes no effort to lift the fat man. Bobby Marsh is going to die. That much is clear to all of them.
    It’s especially clear to Bobby Marsh, who now lies in a state of shock, staring up at the gunmetal sky, struggling to speak.
    Brian stands nearby, holding the nail gun at his side, staring down at Bobby. Nick drops the bandages. He lets out an anguished breath. He looks as though he might start to cry, but instead he simply drops to his knees on the other side of Bobby and hangs his head.
    â€œI—I—n-n-nn—” Bobby Marsh tries desperately to get Philip to understand something.
    â€œSssshhhhh…” Philip strokes the man’s shoulder. Philip cannot think straight. He turns, grabs a roll of bandages, and starts dressing the wound.
    â€œNnn-n-NO!” Bobby pushes the bandage away.
    â€œBobby, goddamnit.”
    â€œNN-NO!”
    Philip stops, swallows hard, looks into the watery eyes of the dying man. “It’s gonna be okay,” Philip says, his voice changing.
    â€œN-no—it ain’t,” Bobby manages. Somewhere way up in the sky, a crow yammers. Bobby knows what’s going to happen. They saw a man in a ditch back in Covington come back in less than ten minutes. “S-ss-stop saying that, Philly.”
    â€œBobby—”
    â€œIt’s over,” Bobby manages in a feeble whisper, and his eyes roll back for a moment. Then he sees the nail gun in Brian’s hand. With his big bloody sausage fingers, Bobby reaches for the muzzle.
    Brian drops the gun with a start.
    â€œGoddamnit, we gotta get him inside!” Philip’s voice is laced with hopelessness as Bobby Marsh blindly reaches for the nail gun. He gets his fat hand around the pointed barrel and tries to lift it to his temple.
    â€œJesus Christ,” Nick utters.
    â€œGet that thing away from him!” Philip waves Brian away from the victim.
    Bobby’s tears track down the sides of his huge head, cleansing the blood in streaks. “P-please, Philly,” Bobby murmurs. “J-just … do it.”
    Philip stands up. “Nick!—C’mere!” Philip turns and walks a few paces toward the house.
    Nick rises to his feet and joins Philip. The two men stand fifteen feet away from Bobby, out of earshot, their backs turned, their voices low and strained.
    â€œWe gotta cut him,” Philip says quickly.
    â€œWe gotta what?”
    â€œAmputate his leg.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œBefore the sickness spreads.”
    â€œBut how do you—”
    â€œWe don’t know how fast it spreads, we gotta try, we owe the man at least that .”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI’m gonna need ya to go get the hacksaw from the shed and also bring—”
    A voice rings out behind them, interrupting Philip’s tense litany: “Guys?”
    It’s Brian, and from the grim sound of his nasally call, the news is most likely bad.
    Philip and Nick turn.
    Bobby Marsh is stone-still.
    Brian’s eyes well up as he kneels next to the fat man. “It’s too late.”
    Philip and Nick come over to where Bobby lies in the grass, his eyes closed. His big, flabby chest does not move. His mouth is slack.
    â€œOh no … Sweet Jesus Christ no,” Nick says, staring at his dead pal.
    Philip doesn’t say anything for quite a long time. No one does.
    The immense corpse lies still, there on the wet ground, for endless minutes … until something stirs in the man’s extremities, in the tendons of his massive legs, and in the tips of his plump fingers.
    At first, the phenomenon looks like the typical residual nerve twitches that morticians might see now and again, the dieseling engine of a cadaver’s central nervous system. But