Chicago Undead (Book 1): On The Eleventh Floor by Weaver Shawn

Author:Weaver, Shawn [Weaver, Shawn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombies
Published: 2014-01-29T08:00:00+00:00

approach.

CHAPTER FIVE

When I reach my floor, the door slides open. My chest tightens as my mind imagines a dozen people charging in, each one dead, dripping with rot, covered in blood and bits of flesh left over from their last victim.

Seeing his home nearby, Georgie begins to wriggle. I set him down and he runs out of the elevator. Watching his little legs fly down the hall, I catch the doors as they begin to close again. Georgie disappears into his apartment, possibly looking for the Yews, more than likely, a place to hide.

I agree with that. Finding a place to hide my head until this is all over sounds like a great idea. But I figure, like in a horror movie, I won't be able to find a place of true safety. And the end won't be pretty.

Bending down, I grab what is left of the table. With effort, I pull the framework partially back into the elevator. I feel the screws shaking in the joints. The table is taking a beating, but I figure it will hold for a while longer.

Straightening, I press my hands to the center of my spine and stretch backwards as far as I can. The flu bug is still hanging on in my muscles, making my joints ache like hell.

As the doors close on the table and bounce back open, the buttons to floors four and twelve light up. Someone is still alive here. I'm not going to take a chance like I did with Jean. They can take the stairs if they need to go down. If they are smart, they will stay where they are. But I know they will not stay put. It’s not in the human genome to hide away until it's safe. We all have to eventually crawl out from under our rocks and face our enemy.

Another muffled shot rings out from the twelfth floor. It sounds close, with a metallic echo, as if whoever fired the shot is standing in the elevator shaft.

I have no idea what is happening on the twelfth floor, and I don’t want to find out. I step out of the elevator and make my way to my apartment. Leaving the door open, I walk across the living room and go onto the balcony.

Navy Pier is now just a blazing mass of rubble. Every building is shattered and the boats anchored dockside are sinking as they burn. Smoke pours out over the lake in black sheets. I can't see any moving bodies near the fires.

Leaning over the edge, I grip the railing and try to look up at the balconies on the twelfth floor. Though I can’t see the apartment above me, I can see the next one over. White curtains hang down and everything is black behind them.

I walk back inside and step to the back of my couch. Reaching down, I grab the remote and the bottle of water shoved between the cushions. I twist off the cap and drain what is left.

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