Read Online The Last Outbreak (Book 2): Devastation by Jeff Olah - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeff Olah
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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up high and tossed it toward the six-foot coat rack.
“Damn.” His makeshift tether smacked into the ground eighteen inches from its intended target. He needed more distance. But it looked doable. This wasn’t over. He wasn’t giving up—not yet.
Frank pulled it back and this time pushed his left arm through the bars up past his shoulder. Taking the buckle in his right hand, he mimicked the movement a half dozen times. Throw with the right, shift his weight to the left and stretch out as far as he could .
“Here goes nothin’.” As the moonlight through the crack in the doors glinted off the buckle, he watched it glide past the leg of the rack and hook itself ever so gently around the lower support.
“YES!” Victory. He pumped his fist and smiled, but was a bit surprised. He had expected this to take much more time. He figured he’d wear out his arm and give up without actually making this work. Or his back would tighten and he’d go back to sitting against the block wall listening to whatever the night outside had to offer.
Carefully, Frank moved to his knees and switched the sleeve of the jacket into his right hand. He took a deep breath, held tight to the cell door with his left and began pulling. Before the rack had moved three inches, he sensed a problem. He stopped pulling and laid the end of the jacket on the floor. He then stood, walked to the far left corner of the cell, and found the issue.
“Okay, this is still a go. I hope.”
The third leg of the weighty coat rack was caught behind an extension cord that disappeared behind the door. He could continue pulling it forward, although with the awkward angle it now sat, failure was almost certain.
Stepping back, he surveyed the hall and the placement of the trashcan. He didn’t necessarily need the coat rack to cover the entire distance, but he did need it much closer than it was now. Six feet, just another six feet. If he could somehow figure out how to move the heavy rack another six feet, the rest would be easy.
Back to the cell door, Frank groaned as he squatted to the floor. His knees cracked and his back reminded him of the past five days. Reaching for the jacket, he clutched the sleeve and again began to pull.
For every three inches the top portion of the rack traveled, the legs moved less than one. As he continued to pull, the rack moved up onto two legs and rocked to the right under its own weight. He paused momentarily as it settled and then scanned the white linoleum floor. He was estimating where the rack would finally come to rest once gravity finally took over.
Holding tight to the coat sleeve, he gently pulled back and to the left. The rack pitched up onto one leg and then twisted awkwardly to the right, sending it into the wall directly across from the cell door.
As the rack detached from his makeshift tether, it slid down the wall and pitched forward. Frank held his breath as it moved away from him, striking and overturning the small plastic trashcan. As the rack rebounded off the floor and rolled to within a few feet the cell, he watched the keys shoot out across the slick floor and slide into the darkened corner fifteen feet away. Out of reach for good.
Slumping to the floor, Frank released the jacket. He turned his back to the cell door and sat in silence. Other than the distant sounds of the night and the sighing of the brick and mortar as it settled, nothing moved.
After ten minutes, Frank again moved to his feet. He stared through the hall toward the doors to the lobby. “Why?”
Gripping the bars, he squeezed down tight. Rocking back and forth, he shook the door as arthritic flares shot through his joints. His knuckles turned from white to red as explosions of pain raced up his hands and forced him to release his grip.
Leaning in, Frank pulled his jacket back through the door and united the knot. He slipped his belt back on, moved to the cot, and sat down. Breathing a sigh of defeat, he folded his arms into his chest
“Damn.” His makeshift tether smacked into the ground eighteen inches from its intended target. He needed more distance. But it looked doable. This wasn’t over. He wasn’t giving up—not yet.
Frank pulled it back and this time pushed his left arm through the bars up past his shoulder. Taking the buckle in his right hand, he mimicked the movement a half dozen times. Throw with the right, shift his weight to the left and stretch out as far as he could .
“Here goes nothin’.” As the moonlight through the crack in the doors glinted off the buckle, he watched it glide past the leg of the rack and hook itself ever so gently around the lower support.
“YES!” Victory. He pumped his fist and smiled, but was a bit surprised. He had expected this to take much more time. He figured he’d wear out his arm and give up without actually making this work. Or his back would tighten and he’d go back to sitting against the block wall listening to whatever the night outside had to offer.
Carefully, Frank moved to his knees and switched the sleeve of the jacket into his right hand. He took a deep breath, held tight to the cell door with his left and began pulling. Before the rack had moved three inches, he sensed a problem. He stopped pulling and laid the end of the jacket on the floor. He then stood, walked to the far left corner of the cell, and found the issue.
“Okay, this is still a go. I hope.”
The third leg of the weighty coat rack was caught behind an extension cord that disappeared behind the door. He could continue pulling it forward, although with the awkward angle it now sat, failure was almost certain.
Stepping back, he surveyed the hall and the placement of the trashcan. He didn’t necessarily need the coat rack to cover the entire distance, but he did need it much closer than it was now. Six feet, just another six feet. If he could somehow figure out how to move the heavy rack another six feet, the rest would be easy.
Back to the cell door, Frank groaned as he squatted to the floor. His knees cracked and his back reminded him of the past five days. Reaching for the jacket, he clutched the sleeve and again began to pull.
For every three inches the top portion of the rack traveled, the legs moved less than one. As he continued to pull, the rack moved up onto two legs and rocked to the right under its own weight. He paused momentarily as it settled and then scanned the white linoleum floor. He was estimating where the rack would finally come to rest once gravity finally took over.
Holding tight to the coat sleeve, he gently pulled back and to the left. The rack pitched up onto one leg and then twisted awkwardly to the right, sending it into the wall directly across from the cell door.
As the rack detached from his makeshift tether, it slid down the wall and pitched forward. Frank held his breath as it moved away from him, striking and overturning the small plastic trashcan. As the rack rebounded off the floor and rolled to within a few feet the cell, he watched the keys shoot out across the slick floor and slide into the darkened corner fifteen feet away. Out of reach for good.
Slumping to the floor, Frank released the jacket. He turned his back to the cell door and sat in silence. Other than the distant sounds of the night and the sighing of the brick and mortar as it settled, nothing moved.
After ten minutes, Frank again moved to his feet. He stared through the hall toward the doors to the lobby. “Why?”
Gripping the bars, he squeezed down tight. Rocking back and forth, he shook the door as arthritic flares shot through his joints. His knuckles turned from white to red as explosions of pain raced up his hands and forced him to release his grip.
Leaning in, Frank pulled his jacket back through the door and united the knot. He slipped his belt back on, moved to the cot, and sat down. Breathing a sigh of defeat, he folded his arms into his chest
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