Read Online The Zombie Saga (Book 3): Burn The Dead: Riot by Steven Jenkins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steven Jenkins
Tags: Zombies
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support. “It’s this or out there, Adriana. I won’t risk hurting you—or anyone else for that matter.”
Jonny suddenly comes to life. “I still say we should throw him out,” he says, coldly, not even looking at Ted. “That tie won’t hold shit.”
I walk over to Ted and help him to his feet. “It’s a good idea,” I tell him, optimistically. “But what are we supposed to tie you to?”
There’s a moment of quiet as most of us scan the room for something securely attached to the floor.
There’s nothing obvious. No pillars, no pipework. I can’t even see a bloody radiator.
Ginge steps up to the bar and pokes his head over. “Nothing back here.”
Natalie gets up and checks the spectator seats. “These might work, but the metal bases are a little too thick.”
“Can’t we just tie his hands behind his back?” I suggest. “Or his feet together?”
“What good would that do?” Ginge asks. “He can still bite us.”
“I know that,” I reply, “but it should slow him down a little, give us a chance to fight him off.”
“Shut up!” Adriana cries as she leaps up from the sofa. “My husband’s not some animal you can just put on a leash. He’s a human being, for Christ’s sake.”
“This is how it’s got to be,” her husband tells her, as if nothing would ever change his mind. “If there were another way, then we’d do it. But there isn’t.”
Jonny hops off his stool, drags it away, and then points down at the bottom of the bar. “You can tie him to that. It’s bolted down to the floor.”
Fixed to the base of the bar and the floor is a footrest. It’s a long piece of metal piping that runs along the entire front. It’s perfect.
I walk up to it and inspect it. Grasping the smooth, rounded steel, I jiggle it to see just how secure it is. It doesn’t budge. “This’ll do the job. We can put the sofa cushions on the floor.”
Ted shuffles over to it, prods the footrest with his leather shoe, and then nods. “Yeah, this’ll work fine.” He turns to his wife. “Pass me a cushion, love.”
Adriana looks at him with grave disappointment in her eyes, but then reluctantly pulls up the thick sofa cushion. I take it from her and lay it down next to the bar. I help Ted down; he winces painfully as his heavy body settles on his new bed.
“Can you tie me up?” Ted asks me with a thin, strained smile. “I can’t do it with my arm like this.”
I notice his wound again. It’s oozing from the cloth, the darkened veins now snaking up his neck.
Taking the tie, I kneel down in front of him. “No problem.”
I wrap it around his wrists twice, avoiding any contact with his bite mark; don’t fancy getting infected from his blood. I try not to show any revulsion on my face as I secure the end around the footrest.
Ted gives it a yank to make sure it’s a strong hold. “It’s good,” he says, nodding. “Good job. Thank you, boy.”
Adriana stands over her husband, peering down at him with a lost expression. And then she sits next to him, rests her head on his shoulder, and closes her eyes.
But I doubt she’ll get any sleep.
13
It’s 19:03 and I’ve been gasping for a cigarette all day. Jonny lit one earlier, but then put it out when he realised that the room is rigged with smoke alarms and sprinklers.
The phones have been dead for the last four hours. No signal, no Internet, not even a landline.
Something’s up.
The power’s still working, so at least we’re not completely cut off. The TV is on but with the volume all the way down. We’ve had to resort to reading subtitles to find out when this nightmare will be over. So far, all they’ve said is: there’s been a breakout of Necro-Morbus in the stadium (No shit Sherlock!), and that the government has managed to contain the spread of the disease. According to some dickhead from Disease Control, they’re close to finding a solution to the problem, but their primary concern is protecting the rest of the
Jonny suddenly comes to life. “I still say we should throw him out,” he says, coldly, not even looking at Ted. “That tie won’t hold shit.”
I walk over to Ted and help him to his feet. “It’s a good idea,” I tell him, optimistically. “But what are we supposed to tie you to?”
There’s a moment of quiet as most of us scan the room for something securely attached to the floor.
There’s nothing obvious. No pillars, no pipework. I can’t even see a bloody radiator.
Ginge steps up to the bar and pokes his head over. “Nothing back here.”
Natalie gets up and checks the spectator seats. “These might work, but the metal bases are a little too thick.”
“Can’t we just tie his hands behind his back?” I suggest. “Or his feet together?”
“What good would that do?” Ginge asks. “He can still bite us.”
“I know that,” I reply, “but it should slow him down a little, give us a chance to fight him off.”
“Shut up!” Adriana cries as she leaps up from the sofa. “My husband’s not some animal you can just put on a leash. He’s a human being, for Christ’s sake.”
“This is how it’s got to be,” her husband tells her, as if nothing would ever change his mind. “If there were another way, then we’d do it. But there isn’t.”
Jonny hops off his stool, drags it away, and then points down at the bottom of the bar. “You can tie him to that. It’s bolted down to the floor.”
Fixed to the base of the bar and the floor is a footrest. It’s a long piece of metal piping that runs along the entire front. It’s perfect.
I walk up to it and inspect it. Grasping the smooth, rounded steel, I jiggle it to see just how secure it is. It doesn’t budge. “This’ll do the job. We can put the sofa cushions on the floor.”
Ted shuffles over to it, prods the footrest with his leather shoe, and then nods. “Yeah, this’ll work fine.” He turns to his wife. “Pass me a cushion, love.”
Adriana looks at him with grave disappointment in her eyes, but then reluctantly pulls up the thick sofa cushion. I take it from her and lay it down next to the bar. I help Ted down; he winces painfully as his heavy body settles on his new bed.
“Can you tie me up?” Ted asks me with a thin, strained smile. “I can’t do it with my arm like this.”
I notice his wound again. It’s oozing from the cloth, the darkened veins now snaking up his neck.
Taking the tie, I kneel down in front of him. “No problem.”
I wrap it around his wrists twice, avoiding any contact with his bite mark; don’t fancy getting infected from his blood. I try not to show any revulsion on my face as I secure the end around the footrest.
Ted gives it a yank to make sure it’s a strong hold. “It’s good,” he says, nodding. “Good job. Thank you, boy.”
Adriana stands over her husband, peering down at him with a lost expression. And then she sits next to him, rests her head on his shoulder, and closes her eyes.
But I doubt she’ll get any sleep.
13
It’s 19:03 and I’ve been gasping for a cigarette all day. Jonny lit one earlier, but then put it out when he realised that the room is rigged with smoke alarms and sprinklers.
The phones have been dead for the last four hours. No signal, no Internet, not even a landline.
Something’s up.
The power’s still working, so at least we’re not completely cut off. The TV is on but with the volume all the way down. We’ve had to resort to reading subtitles to find out when this nightmare will be over. So far, all they’ve said is: there’s been a breakout of Necro-Morbus in the stadium (No shit Sherlock!), and that the government has managed to contain the spread of the disease. According to some dickhead from Disease Control, they’re close to finding a solution to the problem, but their primary concern is protecting the rest of the
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