Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End Read Online Free PDF Page A

brass bar of one of the rolling racks in the vestibule. Price can feel the eyes of the staff behind the desk on him as he makes his way back to the elevator. He ignores their curiosity without making eye contact, his main concern is being seen by the dead man’s burly body guards.
    He fights the cart’s swiveling wheels all the way to the lift, thankful for another guest’s need of assistance that prevents one of the staff from inquiring if he needs help. A man is at the desk complaining about stomach pains he attributes to the food he had ordered.
    He’s in the elevator and able to relax for a minute, half of his battle is almost over.
    “Hold the door!” a woman calls after him, he obliges out of reflex hitting the ‘door open’ button, cursing himself for his chivalry.
    “Thanks,” she says as she and her three friends crowd in around the empty cart. Their hair is wet and hanging straight down their damp bodies.
    “What floor?” Price asks, too concerned with getting back to the room to admire the ladies who have obviously just come from the pool, or give too much notice to all the bruises on their legs and arms. Had he the presence of mind he’d see they had jumped in fully clothed in their matching black short-shorts and tank tops, all embossed with the same logo, a silhouette of a woman in a martini glass.
    “Four,” one responds to the nervous man’s chagrin.
    The ladies talk amongst themselves during the short trip up. One has her back to him he happens to notice a tattoo that stretches across her shoulders: Penelope Bruise.
    “There’s no sign saying that we have to wear swim suits,” she complains. “Stuck up place.”
    “Should we say goodnight to Rocky and KB?”
    “No, Rocky’s probably already passed out for the night,” one quips. “KB will be busy making sure she doesn’t drown in her own puke.”
    “That girl is a saint for all she puts up with.”
    The lift comes to a halt with a ding that startles Price. He feels the doors are taking too long to open as he debates how to exit the small space. Once the panels slid open, he makes the obligatory gesture of holding them for the ladies to their pleasure before guiding his cart out to the hall.
    The man inside the suitcase easily weighs two hundred pounds, hefting him onto the cart is a chore. Every attempt Price makes causes the cart to roll away when he gets one side on the platform. He shoves pillows under the wheels to lock them in place in order to heave the heavy luggage onboard. The laundry bags are next along with his own effects, the satchel of cash and his new miracle cure.
    Already exhausted from his fight with the dead man’s body he takes one last look around making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. He catches his breath, all that’s left for him to do now is to get himself and the case down to his car and load it all in without being seen by the thugs or questioned by the staff.
    The weighted cart refuses to move in a straight line, it wants to veer to one side and scrape the wall, when corrected it resolves to head in the other direction with the same purpose. He frequently has to halt the cart to redirect it, getting it moving again from a dead stop is problematic. All the way to the elevator he fights to get it moving only to have to pull it to a stop against the inertia he builds.
    During the trip to the lobby he pictures the layout and plans his route, he needs to be able to get the cart moving with enough forward momentum that he won’t look like he’s straining, yet not so fast that he appears to be rushing out. The added weight on the small wheels makes a racket as it rolls over the tiles, like a train clattering along a track. He chalks it up to paranoia and tries to act casual, keep his composure as he passes the desk.
    The doors to the vestibule open for him, once he’s through he feels the frigid night air. It’s bracing but feels glorious as he takes his first breath of freedom, exhaling a long puff of