Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 10): Drawl (Duncan's Story) by Shawn Chesser

Author:Shawn Chesser [Chesser, Shawn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Morbid Press LLC
Published: 2016-01-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Half a block down 47th where the street began to level off there was a break in the barriers allowing access to a drive leading into some of the staff parking for Providence Hospital.

While the Traffic Division building and its acres of parking pretty much owned the southwest corner of East Burnside at 47th, Providence Hospital proved to be a goliath, its campus sprawling north and east for several blocks in each direction. The main building fronted 47th and cast a shadow on everything around it, most notably I-84, which snaked through the gully once known as Sullivan’s Gulch.

In the passenger seat Charlie was scrubbing at his face with the front of his shirt. White gut exposed and jiggling like a bowl of Jell-O, he said through the thin fabric, “You really think we can get the infection from spit and sweat?

“No idea,” Duncan replied truthfully. He slowed the truck to a crawl, leaned over the wheel to peer past Charlie, and saw at least six deep and static on the drive, the ambulances that had blazed by them a few blocks back. There were paramedics scurrying about unloading patients, some on gurneys, most ambulatory. Soldiers were milling about. Nothing about the way they held their weapons and kept their heads constantly moving said things were under control on the premises. That the discharged patient loading area was being used as a makeshift ER in-processing site only added to Duncan’s unease. He swung his gaze forward and sized up the soldiers at the looming roadblock. “I wonder what the trauma offload area looks like.”

Charlie lowered the shirt long enough to say, “No doubt as full as the pickup area.”

Preparing to stop for the roadblock identical to the one behind them, Duncan shifted his body to the right a bit and glanced down to see if any part of the shotgun was visible. Good to go. Charlie’s boot heels were abutting the pump and keeping it out of sight.

Back at it with the shirt, Charlie asked, “You have a plan B?”

Duncan remained tight-lipped. Mainly because he didn’t really know. He had a dead body in the loadbed. There was a shotgun, its legality debatable, underneath the seat. And as a cherry on the sundae he had a .45 caliber Colt Model 1911 perched on his hip and in plain view on account of his losing his shirt two blocks back.

“That’s a helluva plan B, buddy. Thanks for letting me in on it.”

Ignoring the quip, Duncan said, “We’re going back to your place so I can think this through.”

“And Tilly?”

“If the soldiers don’t detain us … I don’t know,” Duncan replied, the Dodge’s brakes grating as they rolled up to the roadblock.

In the distance the Portland police set up on the overpass to guard the north approach made the obligatory effort of turning their heads, then quickly returned their attention to turning their queue of vehicles away from the hospital.

The guard soldiers didn’t appear to be concerned. Their rifles remained aimed at the ground.

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