Chicago Undead (Book 2): Deep Freeze by Weaver Shawn

Author:Weaver, Shawn [Weaver, Shawn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombies
Publisher: shawn weaver
Published: 2015-12-31T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Panicking that the mangled man would break through the thin wooden door, I rushed out of the store, leaving everything behind. The sound of the ringing bell atop the door chased me as I crossed the street. I no longer had my bag of books. Somewhere between the appearance of the construction worker and slamming the door, the thin plastic had ripped, spilling out its contents, and leaving me with a trailing bracelet of plastic.

I rounded the corner to the alleyway sidestepped a rusted blue Dodge Ram parked along the curb and stopped, putting a hand on the cold brick wall. Breathing hard, I pulled off the plastic bag, which had left a welt on my wrist. To my left, a picture window revealed the dark interior of a small coffee shop.

Looking across the road, I expected to see the construction worker come busting out the door. I knew that I had to go back in and grab the basket of canned goods. I needed the food and did not want to scavenge through the houses across the tracks until my other resources had been exhausted.

I pushed away from the wall, forcing myself to return to the convenience store. My nerves were ready to run at the slightest sound. I dug my nails into the palm of my hands to keep steady.

An itch crossed the back of my head. Not one that I needed to scratch, but one that said eyes were on me. Stopping, I looked both ways down the sidewalk at the empty street.

The bell rang when I opened the door. I cringed at the sound, expecting the roar of the dead. The construction worker had stopped pounding on the door. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there waiting. I had seen the dead stand in one place for days, watching for something living to come by. Then like a caged animal, they attacked.

Daring to walk in, I stepped to the bookrack. When I grabbed a paperback, the next copy fell off the shelf. Though the sound was not loud, it sent the dead man into a frenzy. His fists pounding on the thin wood made the door rattled loudly. A cry seeped out, painfully etching into my ears.

I grabbed the basket and raced out of the store, dropping a few cans along the way. I never once noticed the additional footprints in the snow. Locking the backdoor, I rushed upstairs. Entering the kitchen, I let go of the basket, the frozen cans spilling onto the linoleum.

Dropping heavily onto the sleeping bag, I grabbed a corner and pulled it over my shoulders. Low heat emitted from the stockpot, the coals inside glowing a nasty red with a smattering of gray along the edges.

Tossing a few sticks into the pot. I stirred it with a metal spatula to get air to the coals. Within a minute, whips of smoke rose. I listened to the wood crackle as it caught fire. Pulling the sleeping bag tighter, I settled back.

My pile of kindling was getting as bad as my food stock was this morning.

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