Jack Zombie (Book 1): Dead Haven by Maxwell Flint

Author:Maxwell, Flint [Maxwell, Flint]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombies
Publisher: Dark Void Press
Published: 2017-02-25T18:30:00+00:00

20

He herds us upstairs like some kind of macabre sheep. I’m last in line so I get the barrel digging into my back. Pat isn’t gentle, either. I feel bad for his wife.

He stands guard at the top of the steps, leaning between two water fountains, his eyes flicking from the front doors on the first floor to us as we start building another barricade at the top of the steps.

“We wait here until help shows up,” Pat says. “No more fighting and killing. We keep our noses out of it until the Army or police get here.”

“What made you change your mind?” I ask as Ryan and I roll an elliptical machine near the rest of the piled up workout equipment.

Pat narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t ask questions, Jupiter. I want to live. It’s that simple. We aren’t gonna live out there. We have a better chance in here.”

Speak for yourself, Pat, I think. As soon as the time is right, I’m tossing him over the balcony and getting to Darlene.

But I can’t say this, so instead, I say, “I’m just saying what if they never show up? What if we starve? We only have so much vending machine food.”

“He’s right,” Abby says.

“Can it, whore,” Pat says. “Less talking, more moving.”

Ryan and I pass Abby and Kevin as we head back to the almost barren weight room. I catch eyes with her, see the fire in them. Kevin just looks defeated — it’s a terrible look on such a gladiator, but I guess he has every right to be.

The rack where the dumbbells used to be is empty. Large hunks of metal with three rows for weights from two pounds to a hundred pounds.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get this one.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Watch out, Jupiter. Let the real men handle this.”

I cock my head. Real men? I don’t remember seeing this cocky asshole bashing in the zombies ten minutes ago. Whatever. I’ll let him do his thing. No way will he be able to move this thing by himself. It’s got to be about three hundred pounds of pure steel.

“Unlike you, I’ve lifted heavy shit before,” Ryan says. “I don’t just sit behind a desk all day and make up stupid stories.”

He sounds bitter, but it’s cool.

“Go right ahead,” I say, with a smile on my face.

He struggles at first, his pale face going beet red. To my surprise, he actually lifts one end of the rack up so it’s pointing straight up to the ceiling.

“Now what?” I ask, trying not to laugh. “You gonna roll it all the way to the steps.”

Ryan’s breaking heavily, half-hunched over, sweat standing out on his forehead. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I will. Get out of here and make yourself useful, Jupiter.”

He starts to push against the metal again. It easily towers over him by about five feet.

I cringe as it topples, expecting the noise to be like a lightning bolt at my feet, but it doesn’t topple over the way Ryan intends it to.

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