Death Kit Read Online Free PDF

danger. Maybe the workman is a saboteur, maybe he’s undoing the tunnel, maybe.…
    No, Diddy had to believe that what lies on the far side of the barrier is just more track. The rest of the tunnel. Not, say, a big hole.
    â€œHey, can you tell me where I can find the engineer?”
    The workman looks up. “What the hell are you bothering me for? Can’t you see I got a job to do? And what are you doing out here anyway?” Then resumes his work.
    â€œJust tell me where the chief engineer is.”
    â€œClear out, man,” the workman barks over his shoulder, halting his labor again. “You’re wasting my time.”
    â€œListen,” said Diddy, “I’ve a right to know what’s going on. The rest of the passengers may be a bunch of sheep, but I’m not going to sit around trusting you guys to do the right thing.”
    â€œMan, are you going to get back on that train?”
    â€œNo.”
    The workman bringing his ax down on the wall, but his head is turned. “If you don’t get out of here in five seconds, you’ll be sorry.” Whatever he’s doing, it’s almost done.
    â€œ You’ll be sorry,” shouts Diddy, taking a step forward. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
    A lull in the strokes of the ax. The workman lifts up the last two boards, hurls them onto the others. Then he rubs his face with his forearm, hitches up his pants, spits on the ground. He’s looking at Diddy (now). Takes up the ax again. “You see what I’ve got here? Don’t push me too far, mister.”
    â€œThe ax?” says Diddy. “Oh, come off it! What’s the matter with you? I’m asking a civil question and you can damn well take a moment to answer me.”
    The man advances toward him, the beam from his forehead drilling into Diddy’s eyes. “I’ll give you five seconds to get the fuck out of here. Move!”
    â€œI’m staying,” Diddy says. An outraged voice. “And I’m reporting you to the conductor.” Glances at the engineer’s cab: dark. Not that he can’t handle this pig all by himself. Still, where in God’s name is the crew that operates this ultra-modern train? Off placating the passengers? Maybe some, sure. But all of them?
    â€œFive seconds!” says the man, raising the ax. “One.”
    â€œYou’d better watch your step,” Diddy snarls. Clenched his fists.
    The man inches toward him. “Two.”
    â€œReally spoiling for a fight, aren’t you?” Diddy says, bitterly.
    â€œThree.”
    Diddy smelling his own sweat (now). He’s mortally afraid; yet this is a more acceptable, cleaner fear than what he’d endured back on the train, cooped up with those zombies. Taking a deep breath; with twitching nostrils inhaling the unpleasant air. Stoops quickly and seizes the crowbar lying near his feet. Straightens up to see the startled look on the workman’s face. The workman scratching his head in a satire of puzzlement, then grinning.
    Four. It must be Four already.
    Diddy tensing his arm muscles, hefting his cold weapon. “Go on, you bastard!”
    â€œI guess you’re gonna think I’m scared,” the man says.
    This is too easy. He’s trying to trick me, to catch me off guard and grab the crowbar away from me. Then whack me with the ax.
    â€œCome on, man! I don’t wanna fight.” The workman grinning again.
    â€œLike hell you don’t,” Diddy says, panting.
    â€œHey, take it easy. I was just horsing around. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.” Diddy tightens his grip on the crowbar, licks his lips. Why doesn’t he say Four?
    The man laughs. “Okay, you win. Okay?” He winks at Diddy. “See?” Lowers the arm holding the ax. “I’m going back to work now, man. Right? You can do what you want.” He turns, offering his