Battlefield Z Outcast Zombie by Chris Lowry

Author:Chris Lowry
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Published: 2017-08-08T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“This is them.”

Phil pointed me toward a house, an old Victorian style two story with clapboard shingles and a wide porch that carried around the side of the house.

I guess he expected me to knock because the Mayor’s second in command kept walking, intent on some other business.

I wondered for a moment if it was to go tell.

If it was, I wouldn’t have much time.

Just a quick speak and run.

Or a fight if it came to that.

If people wanted to leave, I wasn’t going to stand by and let them be held captive.

Especially since bringing them back would set my kid’s free.

He stopped talking as a teen ran up, sucking wind, wild eyes searching our faces as if deciding what he could say before settling on Phil.

"They're back."

I thought Phil was laid back.

But he looked panicked as he shot a look at me and ran after the boy.

I debated for a moment and took off after him.

I chased down Phil as he raced for the courtyard on the inside of the gate.

The run did me good.

I could feel the anger ratchet down from volcano to out of control wildfire.

The sound of an engine filled the courtyard.

It was a different gate, another entrance.

This was one was wide enough for cars to get in and out in a roundabout way.

Two guys got out of a black van idling in front of the closing gate behind them.

"Who let them in?" Phil shouted as he angled toward them.

"Who was gonna keep us out little man?" the driver smirked.

He wasn't too far from his teenage years, lean cheeks that might have filled out if the zombie Armageddon hadn't turned the food chain sideways.

And a greasy, stringy ponytail dripping down his back, tobacco stained teeth in a ferocious fake grin.

“Go get my brother,” he ordered Phil.

“Get out.”

Ponytail rounded on Phil and went forehead to chin with him. It was impressive for a little guy to stand up to the tall square crow like that, even if it looked like the start of a bad Laurel and Hardy routine.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“He doesn’t want you here right now.”

I watched the exchange from too close.

Because they saw me and knew I was new.

Ponytail tilted his head to glare at me.

“But he’s letting new people in.”

Phil watched the top of his slick head.

“He’s just passing through.”

The driver idled over to stand next to me.

“Is that true, stranger? You just passing through?”

He was in my bubble. Even before the fall, I was very careful of who I let into my personal space.

I travelled to other countries several times and was amazed at the lack of boundaries when it came to getting close to people. Maybe it was an American upbringing, the wide open spaces I dreamed of out West, or maybe I had the type of personality that just didn’t let too many people get too close to me, but I had an unwritten rule.

Two feet was good.

Eighteen inches was borderline intimate, unless we were in the act of getting intimate or sharing secret plans to storm the castle.

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