Decay (Book 1): Civilization Read Online Free PDF

body like loose band aids.
    Beside her was a heavy set man. His gray skin hung loosely off his face. His blood stained business suit appeared to have torn pieces of flesh stuck to the front. He held what remained of a human arm in his left hand. Judging by his loose skin and baggy clothes he was heavier than that before. The arm he carried broke even more as he beat it against the gate.
    This was really happening, Jonathan knew. He took some time to double check the wall around the yard to make sure there were no weaknesses. Checking the gate one last time, he was relieved to see that the people, living or dead, were moving on. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and made his way back down the ladder and went in the house. As he walked through the rooms he couldn’t help but look at the photos on the walls and in frames along shelves. Not only was his family in these photos, but many of their friends as well. He had no way of knowing if any of these people were still alive, or if they had died a horrible death at the hands of the attackers outside.
     
    Placing the Steyr back in its spot in the safe Jonathan once again began to cry. The tears came slow. “These are the last tears you will ever shed,” Jonathan promised himself out loud. He walked to his parent’s bed and lay on top of the soft blankets. His sobs didn’t come naturally, however. He wanted so bad to cry for all the lives lost, but he couldn’t shake the thought that they now had it easy. How was he going to survive? Would his whole life be lived inside this house? At this point he knew he was crying more for himself than he was for the dead.
    He rolled over and faced the other side of the room. Sitting next to the bed was his father’s night stand. Everything his father said about “going against nature” and “trying to make the world a better place” came rushing through his head like a stampede. There was something to this. He slid his father’s nightstand drawer open hoping to find a journal or notes. Nothing. Jonathan jammed his hand under the mattress and felt around. Nothing there either. He stood up and walked back to the closet. Here he searched through every drawer, shelf, and pocket. Despair washed over him as he realized his defeat. There was no journal here.
    Jonathan returned to the safe and began to arm himself. He had no intentions of going out there, but he knew he would be soon. Curiosity was a strength that drove the pursuit of knowledge. Even if it killed him he was going to learn what was going on. He grabbed several pistols, a shotgun, the Steyr, and at least a thousand rounds of ammo. Vests, belts, and holsters would make carrying this small arsenal fairly simple.
    Walking out of his parent’s bedroom he walked right past his father’s briefcase. He hadn’t even noticed it sitting right inside the door. Lifting it off the floor by the leather handle, he was surprised at how heavy it was. A smile spread across his face, and he found himself laughing heartily. The gold plate on the front had the initials B.S engraved into it. His mother bought the briefcase for his father as a birthday gift 4 years ago. Although his father was a brilliant man he had somewhat of a crude sense of humor.
    “The B.S. is for Bull Shit. Not Brian Sawyer,” his father would say with a big smile and a laugh. “Because that is what I do. I bull shit my way through work.”
    The laughter wouldn’t stop. Jonathan thought he was losing his mind, but it felt fantastic. It wasn’t even that funny, not before, nor now. He didn’t want it to ever stop though. Tears rolled down his cheeks once again, and his side began to hurt. “Bull Shit,” he said aloud as he was finally able to breathe again. He sat the briefcase on the bed and tried to open it. The combination was six digits, which leaves over five-hundred-thousand possible combinations.
    Trying some of the more obvious combination choices, such as birthdates, didn’t yield any success, so