Books of the Dead (Book 1): Sanctuary From The Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

contemplate. 
    We also debated using vehicles to draw them away, but since the church didn’t have a garage, all the vehi cles sat out in the open parking lot.  Anyone wanting to get to one of them was going to have to fight through a hell of a lot of zombies.  That plan was scrapped and would only be considered as a last ditch alternative.
    My recent heroic (or stupid) actions of the day got me a seat at the warrior’s table, but I remained quiet, not having enough credibility with them to really be taken seriously.  These were sober and serious guys and some of them liked to debate things ad infinitum. 
    I was nearly dozing as they discussed ways to improve our horde defense strategy when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I looked up and it was Kara. 
    “She’s awake and wants to see you,” she said softly.
    Half out of it, I asked, “Who?”
    “The girl,” she said.
    “Oh, okay.”
    Kara led me down into the basement.  One of the children’s Sunday School rooms was setup as a half-baked emergency room.  Doc Wilson supervised all medical treatments.  Even though he was only a General Practitioner, he did a good job of taking care of any injuries.  No matter what, he always did what he could and hadn’t lost anyone...yet.
    Kara graduated from our high school two years after me and was off at Ashland University studying to be a nurse when things went to shit.  The best way to describe her was plucky.  At least, that’s the way I described her.  While she didn’t have her degree and didn’t feel truly qualified to treat anyone, she never backed down from any task assigned to her by Doc Wilson.  No matter how nasty or distasteful.  Plus, she had an undeniable reservoir of optimism that never seemed to run dry.  After the Outbreak, she rushed back home to her parent’s farm and maintained her steady faith despite the fact that zombies prevented her from making it there.  Her parents, like mine, never made it to the church.
    Partitions had been set-up across the room to give patients some sense of privacy.  Doc Wilson, his gray hair dangling to his shoulders, stood with his back to us.  He sensed our approach and turned, holding up a hand.
    “Joel, she’s still pretty out of it.  Nothing’s broken, but she’s had a rough go of it.   Please only stay a minute,” he said, concern creasing his face.  I nodded and went in leaving Doc and Kara standing in the doorway.
    The little girl’s head was bandaged with so much gauze and tape that it was hard to see her face.  What I could see was gaunt, her light mocha colored skin tightened over her cheek bones.  Multiple scratches showed from her wreck and whatever other ordeals she had encountered prior to her race in front of the zombie horde.  Both of her hands were bandaged, too.
    W hen I sat in the chair next to the bed her eyes fluttered open.  She looked at me, her eyes initially vacant and fathomless, until a light went on behind them.  That light was dim now, but it shone through all the horrors she had experienced.
    “You saved me,” she said, her voice raspy and weak.
    I didn’t know what to say.  Consistent with my typical social ineptness, I said, “It was nothing.  Really.”  I was surprised I didn’t add, “Aw shucks.”
    “What is your name?” she asked.  I caught a hint of an accent -- Indian or maybe British. 
    “Joel.” 
    A normal person would have asked for her name, but thankfully she offered it up.  “My name is Naveen.”
    Awkward silence filled the air.  “I’m glad to meet you, Naveen,” I said.  I reached to pat her hand but withdrew not wanting to hurt her any more than she already had been. 
    “My hands do not hurt that much,” she said and reached up to take my hand in hers.  It was so light and delicate that it made me think of a sparrow’s wing.  I did everything I could to limit any pressure, but she didn’t seem to care. 
    “How old are you?” I asked.
    “I’m eleven.”
    “You