Machines of the Dead (Book 3) by Bernstein David

Author:Bernstein, David [Bernstein, David]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, horror, science fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2016-01-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

“How is he?” Maria asked, keeping an eye on the blown out window.

“Looks bad,” Zaun said.

Knowing Jack would need immediate shelter and food, the house was a must have. If someone—maybe someone's—was holing up inside, that meant it was most likely stocked with supplies, including food. Whether or not it was worth risking their lives was another question, but based on what just happened, she didn’t think a group of armed hostiles were inside.

Maria headed over to the back door, blew its handle out, then kicked it open. She waited for gunfire from whoever was inside, but none came. “Drag Jack over here,” she called to Zaun, and he did, leaving behind a trail of bloody snow.

“We clear the house, then bring him inside,” Maria said.

Zaun turned around and yanked his sword out. “Just a second,” he said, referring to the zombie still working its way through the snow.

Maria raised her rifle and fired, blowing the bot-controlled brains from its head. There was no need to keep quiet now, guns had been fired. Zaun slid his sword back into the sheath and took up his M4.

They entered the house and were in a short foyer with a washer and dryer set along the left wall. A door was on the right. Maria opened it and saw the front end of a Chevy Blazer shrouded in gloom and knew she’d found the garage. She closed the door and moved into the house. A hallway went left, and she assumed she had thrown the flashbang into that room. To the right were stairs leading up to another level.

Maria paused. The house was still, as quiet as she could remember a place being. She motioned to Zaun that she was going left. Zaun nodded and followed, watching the stairs.

She looked into the room and saw an elderly man on the floor, apparently unconscious. He was wearing black khakis and a tan sweater. A bushy white beard covered his face, his skull bald except for the Caesar crown of long, white hair around his head. A shotgun rested a few feet away from him. The room was warm, and then she saw why—a small wood-burning stove rested in the center of it. Flames danced behind the ceramic window. A pile of logs lay next to smaller pieces of wood, the floor beneath dirty with chips of bark. A collection of water jugs took floor space in front of the television.

She moved in and quickly saw that no one else was present. Zaun stood by the doorway. “It’s all clear,” Maria whispered as she checked on the elderly man. He was alive. She pulled out a couple of zip ties, secured his wrists together, and then his ankles before dragging him to a corner across from a computer desk. Next to the desk was a door. She shouldered her rifle and pulled her Glock, wanting it for close-quarter action, and yanked the door open. Before her was a closet, the shelves stocked with canned goods.

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