Read Online Wake the Dead by Gary F. Vanucci - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gary F. Vanucci
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heard the familiar moan of what could only be one of the living dead.
It barreled down on him, rushing toward him crazily with arms outstretched.
Alex calmed himself and quickly removed the shotgun from his back with one hand, pushing himself to his feet with the other, pumped a round into the chamber and blew its head clean off just as it got to within an arm’s reach.
Its body fell away and he closed his eyes, awaiting the impact. Instead he heard the thud of the body as it slumped to the earth before him.
When he opened his eyes again, its twitching hand was less than an inch from his right foot.
“Fuck me…”
***
Over the next few hours, Alex had managed to properly inspect the wound on Shadow’s right flank and recognized that it was not life threatening. It would undoubtedly heal on its own. It was what appeared to be a bite wound, but it must not have been very deep. Alex was also relieved that the wolf did not appear to be diseased or present with any hostility, he reflected thankfully. As he methodically began to hollow out a rather large pit in the ground some fifty paces west of the cabin, he considered the situation as he had come to know it.
He figured at this point that he was immune to the source of zombie plague, but anyone he had seen who had died, immune or not, had returned to a life after death—and not the good kind. As far as he could tell so far, the disease had not affected animals either. However, he had no idea if the folks who were resistant, along with all of the animals, were carriers of the virus.
“So I guess we’re both immune, eh, Shadow?” he said absently to the wolf.
Further thoughts led him to believe that they had the virus inside them, but for some reason, after the initial wave that killed almost everyone in the world, a small percentage of the population was unaffected.
Lucky ? Alex considered. It is something to debate for sure.
He did a quick inventory on the damage inside the cabin from the few undead that had gotten inside. They had broken windows, unhinged his door, and generally made a mess of things inside.
It would take him days to clean it up and make repairs to whatever he could.
He boarded up the broken windows, two of four, as best he could with some wood paneling scraps he found in the bedroom closet, along with the hammer and nails he’d brought along from home.
He also located the crawl space in the attic and the ladder leading up to it, tucked right along the seams of the wooden panels on the ceiling, no chain hanging and nothing to indicate it was even there. It was camouflaged well and Alex wondered if it was designed that way on purpose.
If so, this person had thought of everything .
Once he figured out a way to get a grip on it, using the other ladder to get a closer look, he pulled down and then climbed up the attic ladder. He immediately identified some useful items among the objects stored there. He saw fishing gear that included a tackle box and a pair of fishing rods, and a folded map, presumably of the surrounding area. He opened a cardboard box with tablecloths and plastic drop cloths neatly folded into squares, a lunch-sized cooler, a toolbox with basic tools, and an off-road bike that was currently in pieces. There was also an empty duffle bag and another backpack up there, both empty.
Most notably, in the corner of the attic, was a handful of old fashioned and probably illegal foot snares. Some looked to be archaic bear traps from decades ago. That sparked his imagination and he began visualizing how he might go about setting traps around the cabin in the very near future so that he would never be taken by surprise again—by the living dead or otherwise. He also realized with some clarity that he could not let that happen again if he wanted to survive.
Alex dragged the tools and the bear traps down and left the rest up there for a later date.
He spent the whole day continuing to dig a huge pit, meaning to toss the
It barreled down on him, rushing toward him crazily with arms outstretched.
Alex calmed himself and quickly removed the shotgun from his back with one hand, pushing himself to his feet with the other, pumped a round into the chamber and blew its head clean off just as it got to within an arm’s reach.
Its body fell away and he closed his eyes, awaiting the impact. Instead he heard the thud of the body as it slumped to the earth before him.
When he opened his eyes again, its twitching hand was less than an inch from his right foot.
“Fuck me…”
***
Over the next few hours, Alex had managed to properly inspect the wound on Shadow’s right flank and recognized that it was not life threatening. It would undoubtedly heal on its own. It was what appeared to be a bite wound, but it must not have been very deep. Alex was also relieved that the wolf did not appear to be diseased or present with any hostility, he reflected thankfully. As he methodically began to hollow out a rather large pit in the ground some fifty paces west of the cabin, he considered the situation as he had come to know it.
He figured at this point that he was immune to the source of zombie plague, but anyone he had seen who had died, immune or not, had returned to a life after death—and not the good kind. As far as he could tell so far, the disease had not affected animals either. However, he had no idea if the folks who were resistant, along with all of the animals, were carriers of the virus.
“So I guess we’re both immune, eh, Shadow?” he said absently to the wolf.
Further thoughts led him to believe that they had the virus inside them, but for some reason, after the initial wave that killed almost everyone in the world, a small percentage of the population was unaffected.
Lucky ? Alex considered. It is something to debate for sure.
He did a quick inventory on the damage inside the cabin from the few undead that had gotten inside. They had broken windows, unhinged his door, and generally made a mess of things inside.
It would take him days to clean it up and make repairs to whatever he could.
He boarded up the broken windows, two of four, as best he could with some wood paneling scraps he found in the bedroom closet, along with the hammer and nails he’d brought along from home.
He also located the crawl space in the attic and the ladder leading up to it, tucked right along the seams of the wooden panels on the ceiling, no chain hanging and nothing to indicate it was even there. It was camouflaged well and Alex wondered if it was designed that way on purpose.
If so, this person had thought of everything .
Once he figured out a way to get a grip on it, using the other ladder to get a closer look, he pulled down and then climbed up the attic ladder. He immediately identified some useful items among the objects stored there. He saw fishing gear that included a tackle box and a pair of fishing rods, and a folded map, presumably of the surrounding area. He opened a cardboard box with tablecloths and plastic drop cloths neatly folded into squares, a lunch-sized cooler, a toolbox with basic tools, and an off-road bike that was currently in pieces. There was also an empty duffle bag and another backpack up there, both empty.
Most notably, in the corner of the attic, was a handful of old fashioned and probably illegal foot snares. Some looked to be archaic bear traps from decades ago. That sparked his imagination and he began visualizing how he might go about setting traps around the cabin in the very near future so that he would never be taken by surprise again—by the living dead or otherwise. He also realized with some clarity that he could not let that happen again if he wanted to survive.
Alex dragged the tools and the bear traps down and left the rest up there for a later date.
He spent the whole day continuing to dig a huge pit, meaning to toss the
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