Read Online The Last Five Days: Day One: Luther's Diner: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller by Paul Seiple - Free Book Online Page B

and he didn't have a key. Breaking and entering was a long way down the list of his crimes. There was nothing left of the life he knew before sickness fell on Black Dog. He craved a good old cup of Luther's coffee as bad as an addict needed his next fix. Winston's coffee wasn't as good as the pot Vera used to make, but there was just enough comfort to give him hope that all was not lost. He got up to get another cup when the bell just above the door rang. Winston turned to grab the gun. The dead were fast. He needed to be faster.
    "Whoa, don't shoot."
    Winston ignored the plea and put a white-knuckle grip on the Colt. He aimed it at Dr. Byrd.
    "I was just hoping to have a word with you. It's Winston, right?"
    Winston pointed the gun at Byrd's head. "Do the dead talk?" He wanted to punch himself for asking such a dumb question. Dead people didn't talk. And if they did, they sure as hell wouldn't tell the truth.
    Byrd laughed. It was accompanied by a slight cough. "Honestly, I'm not sure."
    That was the only answer Winston would accept. He lowered the Colt. "Sorry, you can't be too careful these days. Would you like some coffee?"
    "No thanks. If it's OK with you, I'd just like to have some good old human-to-human conversation." Byrd took a seat in the prized booth. She watched Ticker fumble along the dock while Winston poured another cup of coffee.
    "Is he sick?" Winston asked, taking a seat across from Byrd.
    "Probably."
    Winston noticed Byrd's fingers twitch. The bones in her hand looked like piano keys being played by a phantom. "Nervous?" he asked.
    Byrd looked at her fingers. She placed her other hand on them. "A little. My training didn't prepare me for this type of outbreak."
    Winston nodded and sipped the coffee.
    "Are you infected?" Byrd asked. Her top lip quivered. She rolled it under her bottom lip and kept it still with her teeth.
    "Not yet." Winston sat the mug down. "What is happening here?"
    "I wish I knew. My team will not respond to any of my messages. No offense, but Black Dog isn't the most technologically advanced place. There's not even a light microscope here." Dr. Byrd chuckled.
    "People are dying, but they aren't staying dead."
    "Not the scientific name for it, but yeah that's going on," Byrd said.
    "Zombies?"
    "Not like the kind George R. Romero dreamed up."
    The muscles in Dr. Byrd's right thigh started to contract. She massaged her rectus femoris as it rippled under her skin. Her toes seesawed in her heel as they pressed into the linoleum floor. The ball of her foot ached, sending a stabbing pain through the arch. She winced.
    "Are you OK?" Winston asked, noticing the discomfort.
    Byrd sighed as the pain subsided. "This just has me stressed."
    "We're not getting out of here, are we?" Winston sipped the coffee again and placed the mug on the table. He ran his thumb around a silver ring on his finger, waiting for the obvious answer.
    Dr. Byrd ignored the question. "You married?"
    Winston looked at his ring. "Ten years."
    "Is she infected?"
    Winston thought back to the first time he met Marianna. Her shoulder-length blonde hair drew him in. He was never much of a blonde-type guy. He preferred brunettes, but Marianna's smile froze him. The moment she said hello, Winston knew she was the one he would spend the rest of his life with. They married on the boat dock on a beautiful May afternoon. He looked at Ticker, who had fallen again in the very spot Winston said "I do" to the love of his life.
    "She's sick."
    "Where is she?"
    Winston closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was something his mother used to do when he told her he had a headache. Marianna first complained about not feeling well two days earlier. The sickness progressed to the point where she had stopped speaking. Last night, she lunged at Winston, narrowly missing his neck with her teeth. He shoved her in the spare bedroom and locked the door.
    "She's at home."
    "Is she still alive?"
    Winston recalled the cloudy white film