Life Among The Dead (Book 2): A Castle Made of Sand Read Online Free PDF Page B

“We’re almost
there.”
    “How long does it take to change?” Dustin
tightens his grip on his pistol.
    “Couple hours.” He sees the kid’s tension and
smiles. “Don’t worry. I ain’t dying until I see my wife.”
    They head towards West 8th on a road that
connects all the residential streets. With the exception of a few
solo zombies, the neighborhood is without movement. A yellow sign
warns them that they are about to enter a dead end, and Dustin is
apprehensive about this. Even more so upon seeing the bodies that
lay on the pavement. He and the limping soldier pass an abandoned
go-cart and a pair of wrecked cars. Smoke billows into the air from
a few of the properties. One such smoldering home adds vigor to the
injured man’s labored strides.
    “Oh my god!” Silva hobbles quickly to a door
that hangs off of its hinges and enters. He disregards the charred,
twitching bodies strewn across his lawn and those hanging over the
sills of his blown out windows.
    Dustin stops at the smoky void, unable to
summon the courage to enter. Dustin sets a hand on either jamb and
listens. The man is weeping inside, but the crying ceases after a
single shot rings out.
    Dustin retreats off of the stoop. He has no
idea what to do and only shifts from foot to foot like a dog left
out in the cold. He stares into the hazy gloom at a shadow that
moves slowly toward him. Then he takes a step closer with his
pistol ready. “Hey… sir? Is everything all right?”
    A charred hand’s emerges from the threshold,
followed by a second. The stiff and blackened flesh cracks as the
fingers flex, reaching for him, but he recoils backwards. In his
haste to evade capture, Dustin misses a step and falls onto his
back.
    A crispy skinned man falls onto him. All of
the ghoul’s hair has been singed off, and his shirt has melted to
his torso. Dustin pushes the creature away, knowing not to let its
mouth near him. Lips like overcooked sausages split open as the
dead man attempts to widen his jaw for a bite. The kid fires his
weapon into the thing’s face.
    Rolling the limp carcass off gives Dustin
little comfort, and more burn victims are exiting. He can easily
assume his companion had forgotten about him and their deal out of
grief, and in turn he must forget about the rifle he was promised.
Dustin heads for the street, dropping a round into the chamber of
his pistol. He is alone and on unfamiliar ground. Facing the city,
he sees zombies entering West 8th. Some stagger out of neighboring
homes and from the alleys between. He has no choice but to head
farther down the dead end street.
    The superfluous merchandise slung upon his
back batters against his shoulders with every step. He must change
his course, moving from one side of the street to the other to
avoid clumps of walking dead that appear from behind objects that
obscure them. The interest of the dead has been piqued by the
gunfire.
    He tries car doors but all are locked. He can
get into a delivery truck but there is no key in the ignition. He’s
running out of road as he nears the end of the cul de sac, and he
is losing hope until he sees one special car on the roundabout.
Dustin has never been a fan of late model Camaros, but he sees a
recent edition parked that he does fancy. He is drawn to its
grinning grill and rock star purple paintjob, but the greatest
attribute is its open door.
    A peek inside reveals that the keys are in
the ignition. He quickly tosses his gear in the back before sliding
in. He prays that the battery has enough juice to start,
considering the door has been open for who knows how long.
Fortunately, it turns over.
    “Thank you,” he says with a sigh, releasing
the breath he has been holding, but a slap on the window causes him
to swallow that air once again.
    A distorted male face with blue shadowed eyes
and a crooked lipstick sneer stares into the purple car.
    “Ahh! What the fuck?” Dustin screams as he
throws the car into drive and floors the accelerator. He