Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ken's body, and he gasped for air.  
    Behind him, he could hear his wife screeching. Although he couldn't be sure, it sounded like she had the upper hand. Even still, she might not have it for long.
    I need to help her, he thought.
    Willy continued to rail him with his fists, and Ken fought to protect himself. At the moment, he was lying on his side. He needed to fight back, but his body was wracked with pain, and he was unable to catch his bearings. His eyes wandered from Willy to the floor, searching for a weapon. He didn't see one.
    A blow connected with his jaw, and he felt one of his teeth crack. He tried to grab one of Willy's fists, hoping to prevent further damage, but the man shook him free. It was then he saw Willy's gun. It was still holstered on Willy's waist, and Willy was reaching for it.
    I can't let him get to it.
    Ignoring the pain, Ken swung at Willy, putting as much strength as he could muster into the blow. The blow glanced off the bigger man's chin, and Willy's eyes fluttered. His hands flew up to protect his face.
    Come on. Keep going.
    Ken swung again, this time with his left hand, and hit the man in the temple. He made a frantic grab for the gun. He felt the handle in his grasp, and he tugged it free just as Willy latched onto his neck.
    Ken's throat tightened, and his Adam's apple felt like it was about to cave in. He could feel the airflow cutting off, and he attempted to cough, but the noise was trapped in his throat. A whimper escaped his lips—the sound of a man living out his last few seconds. Every part of him wanted to drop the gun and pry the man's fingers from his throat.
    But he couldn't do that.
    Ken brought the gun up and fired. The shot echoed through the room, momentarily drowning out the noises around him. He felt the hands around his neck release, and he gasped for breath as the man rolled off him. Willy gurgled and spat blood.
    The shot had hit him in the abdomen.  
    The man groped at the wound, examining it with curious eyes, as if by touching it he'd be able to make it disappear. Then he flicked his gaze back to Ken. Before the man could do any further harm, Ken fired again. The bullet hit the man in the forehead, and Willy dropped, his head bouncing off the cement floor.  
    Ken struggled for footing. He realized the liquor store had gone quiet.
    There were no voices from behind him. No sounds of struggle.
    Roberta?
    He spun to assess the scene, his heart hammering. Roberta and Tony were both staring at him, as if they'd been waiting for his attention. He lowered the gun. Roberta was no longer in control.
    Tony had gained the upper hand, and he was holding a knife to Roberta's neck.
    "Drop it," he spat.
    Tony's eyes were bloodshot, and there were scratch marks all over his face. Even without a weapon, Roberta had managed to inflict damage. Out of nowhere, Ken felt a swell of pride, a sense of overwhelming love for his wife. She'd risked everything for him, putting herself in danger to protect him. Ken held onto the gun, afraid to let it go, but knowing that he had to.
    There was no way he could live to see her killed.
    He crouched down, setting the piece on the floor.  
    "We can work this out," he said.
    He stared at Tony, doing his best to get through to him. The man's eyes were wide and frightened, and Ken could see that his hands were shaking.
    "We're all going to walk out of here," Ken reassured him. "You'll go your way, and we'll go ours, and no one will follow each other."
    "All we want is to find our son," Roberta added.  
    It was the first time she'd spoken since the attack, and Ken's eyes welled up at her words. That's all they'd ever wanted, ever since this whole thing had started. To find Isaac. To make their family whole again.  
    Ken's eyes roamed from his wife to the man holding her. He could see the man was shaking, but it looked like they were getting through to him. His demeanor had softened, and he'd relaxed his grip on the knife.
    Ken held up his hands,