The Last Safe Place: A Zombie Novella by Rob W. Hart

Author:Rob W. Hart
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

*

The light that trickles in from outside has to stretch and reach around corners. It’s pale and dirty. The pools of shadow are black as voids.

We trade off. One of us sweeps, the other backing him up. It’s slow work, but better to move safe and slow. When you’re bit, just minutes later, your body is racked in agony. Five minutes after that, you’re dead. Then you come back. None of it looks pleasant.

And that’s only if the rotters leave enough that you can even come back.

Twice we end up in the same bank of cubicles, but after that we make progress, bearing to the right side of the building. The kid is nervous but he’s trying to hide it. I give him credit. At that age, I would have crapped myself before we even got off the watercraft.

In a low voice I ask, “How you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” he says, lying. “They’re slow and dumb, right?”

“One-on-one, they’re easiest thing in the world. Kill the brain, kill the rotter. Even two isn’t so bad. A third and I want to put some space between me and them. Any more than that, you run like a mother fucker.”

He laughs. “How about five?”

“‘Run like a mother fucker’ applies to everything four and above.”

We stalk down a hallway, peeking into cubicles piled with stacks of paper and books, our footfalls muffled by the worn grey carpet. After a few moments of silence the rook asks, “So why didn’t we alert the island? Let everyone know what was going on?”

Because I’ve got two separate communities on that island, and both of them hate each other. One side feels privileged because they’re doctors and carpenters and engineers. They act like without them, our little community would collapse. Which it would.

On the other end of the island are the people who take care of the day-to-day, the ones who keep it clean and livable. Who empty the trash cans and tend to the water farm. They act like without them, our little community would collapse. Which it would.

Tensions are high. Everyone is hungry. People are sick. With supplies low, everyone is looking at everyone else sideways, wondering if they’re getting a bigger share. And everyone wants a weapon, just in case.

All it takes is one idiot to fight his way into the armory looking for a gun, and the result will be just about the same as sticking a road flare in the gas tank of a bus.

It’s a lot to explain, so I tell him, “Trying to avoid a panic.”

He shakes his head at me. “I wish I had told my mom. What if more of them get on the island?”

“Kid, we’re not sure what happened.”

“Then why are we even here?”

“We need to understand our enemy. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it’s something. Otherwise I’m just sitting around waiting to die.”

We move on, and in short order come across a staircase leading down. At the bottom of the stairs there’s a long hallway and a door, sunlight peeking through a small glass window.

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