Read Online The Coalition: Part 1 The State of Extinction (Zombie Series) by Robert Mathis Kurtz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Mathis Kurtz
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horizon, Cutter was ready to leave. He had just been waiting for The Kid to rise so that he could tell him. He waited until the door to the boy’s bedroom opened and the youth came out.
“The deads are all gone,” he told Oliver. “I’m heading out.”
“Okay,” Oliver said, looking every inch a child and not a person who should be stuck in this situation all alone. “You gonna stop by again in a few days?”
“Sure kid.” Cutter stood with his hand on the doorknob. Outside , the wind stirred the leaves of the big poplar tree to which the kid’s place was attached. “You know. The offer still stands. You can go with me if you ever want to. Or do like Colonel Dale said…stay with the Lunds.”
“I don’t need anyone else,” Oliver said. His posture stiffened and a hard look froze his features. “I do just fine right here by myself.”
“All right. I just like to ask. We have to look out for each other.” He opened the door and stepped outside. The air was fresh, the heat was not yet on the city, and the stench of deads had followed the walking corpses to wherever they’d shambled. As he moved across the decking to toss down the rope ladder, the kid followed him out, and tapped on his shoulder.
“I need to ask you something.” Without waiting for a replay, the boy continued, his voice smooth. “If I ever get bit, or if something happens to me. And I end up like…you know, like them. Would you take care of it for me? Put me down?”
Cutter looked down at the boy, seeing him for what he was, a child. He hesitated for only a second. “Yeah, Oliver. I would. You can count on me. I wouldn’t leave you like that. Not for anything.”
Quickly , Cutter was down to the earth and The Kid had pulled the ladder back up. Without a backward glance, he was off, into the dead city.
**
The Kid had been right. The city was home to more of the living dead than it had been in previous months. Cutter had not seen the infestation so severe since the plague had first been initiated. He recalled the running battle he had made across the town the day after things had fallen to Hell, trying to reach the house where his wife and daughter had lived , while the lawyers had been hashing out the divorce proceedings. Things had been slightly worse then, but just barely.
Most of the morning , he had spent dodging from one spot to the next, doing his best not to be spotted by the undead. Of course, you couldn’t stay invisible, so he’d done everything he could to keep moving on , when they spotted him and pausing to put them down without gunfire when running wasn’t an option. His ball peen hammer was crusted in hardening ooze and his right arm was dark with drying blood to his elbow. It wasn’t even noon and already he was tired. If he hadn’t needed a canister of propane so much he would just have retreated to his favorite penthouse and settled in for a long wait. He was provisioned well enough for a prolonged bout of sitting still, but he had made up his mind to get that fuel. Damn the deads.
Just then, Cutter was sheltering in the overhang of a shattered drugstore. The place had been completely looted and he wasn’t there to search for anything of use. It was just a dark, shaded spot for him to pause and take stock of the area. Whenever he could, he liked to stop and soak in the feel of the moment , because it wasn’t just the dead that he had to worry about. There were those living among the survivors who made their way by killing and stealing, and while those were few , he had to be wary of those who were just high-strung and trigger-happy , too . Sometimes he figured those two types had brought more people low than by the zombies.
Cutter crouched just inside the old drugstore, kneeling as low as he could , and leaning against the wall. He had a clear view to his left and right, with a solid wall at his back. The floor was strewn with uncounted shards of window glass, broken bottles, and plastic containers. If
“The deads are all gone,” he told Oliver. “I’m heading out.”
“Okay,” Oliver said, looking every inch a child and not a person who should be stuck in this situation all alone. “You gonna stop by again in a few days?”
“Sure kid.” Cutter stood with his hand on the doorknob. Outside , the wind stirred the leaves of the big poplar tree to which the kid’s place was attached. “You know. The offer still stands. You can go with me if you ever want to. Or do like Colonel Dale said…stay with the Lunds.”
“I don’t need anyone else,” Oliver said. His posture stiffened and a hard look froze his features. “I do just fine right here by myself.”
“All right. I just like to ask. We have to look out for each other.” He opened the door and stepped outside. The air was fresh, the heat was not yet on the city, and the stench of deads had followed the walking corpses to wherever they’d shambled. As he moved across the decking to toss down the rope ladder, the kid followed him out, and tapped on his shoulder.
“I need to ask you something.” Without waiting for a replay, the boy continued, his voice smooth. “If I ever get bit, or if something happens to me. And I end up like…you know, like them. Would you take care of it for me? Put me down?”
Cutter looked down at the boy, seeing him for what he was, a child. He hesitated for only a second. “Yeah, Oliver. I would. You can count on me. I wouldn’t leave you like that. Not for anything.”
Quickly , Cutter was down to the earth and The Kid had pulled the ladder back up. Without a backward glance, he was off, into the dead city.
**
The Kid had been right. The city was home to more of the living dead than it had been in previous months. Cutter had not seen the infestation so severe since the plague had first been initiated. He recalled the running battle he had made across the town the day after things had fallen to Hell, trying to reach the house where his wife and daughter had lived , while the lawyers had been hashing out the divorce proceedings. Things had been slightly worse then, but just barely.
Most of the morning , he had spent dodging from one spot to the next, doing his best not to be spotted by the undead. Of course, you couldn’t stay invisible, so he’d done everything he could to keep moving on , when they spotted him and pausing to put them down without gunfire when running wasn’t an option. His ball peen hammer was crusted in hardening ooze and his right arm was dark with drying blood to his elbow. It wasn’t even noon and already he was tired. If he hadn’t needed a canister of propane so much he would just have retreated to his favorite penthouse and settled in for a long wait. He was provisioned well enough for a prolonged bout of sitting still, but he had made up his mind to get that fuel. Damn the deads.
Just then, Cutter was sheltering in the overhang of a shattered drugstore. The place had been completely looted and he wasn’t there to search for anything of use. It was just a dark, shaded spot for him to pause and take stock of the area. Whenever he could, he liked to stop and soak in the feel of the moment , because it wasn’t just the dead that he had to worry about. There were those living among the survivors who made their way by killing and stealing, and while those were few , he had to be wary of those who were just high-strung and trigger-happy , too . Sometimes he figured those two types had brought more people low than by the zombies.
Cutter crouched just inside the old drugstore, kneeling as low as he could , and leaning against the wall. He had a clear view to his left and right, with a solid wall at his back. The floor was strewn with uncounted shards of window glass, broken bottles, and plastic containers. If
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