Rotter World Read Online Free PDF

dead. Susan, frozen in terror, refusing to open the car door, wasting valuable seconds as the swarmers approached. Himself yanking her out with one hand while shooting swarmers with the other. Susan plodding along, whining that he was running too fast. Running too fast? Jesus Christ, they had been running for their fucking lives.
    Robson chastised himself for constantly revisiting that day. Each time he did, he told himself that what had happened had not been his fault, and each time his conscience would not allow him to accept that. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sound of the surf through his tiny window as it crashed on the rocks below the fort wall. Robson lifted the cigarette to his lips for a much-needed nicotine fit, pissed to discover that the tobacco had burned itself out during his attack. He tossed it aside and massaged his sweaty forehead.
    The days following the swarmer attack in Newington still remained a blur to him. Somehow he had survived and headed back to Kennebunkport, staying to the back roads where zombie activity was minimal. Eventually he had stumbled upon Fort McClary, where Paul had already established the camp and gathered survivors. Robson had joined them and, because he was a sheriff’s deputy, Paul had placed him in charge of the raiding party sent out to gather supplies. It had taken a couple of months, and more trips into rotter territory than he cared to remember, before they had transformed the fort from a tourist attraction into a semi-modern and viable camp to sit out the apocalypse.
    Despite their relatively safe situation, an underlying uneasiness had filtered through the camp. Distrust would be a better word. Having faith in other people proved difficult enough after watching civilization come crashing down around them and witnessing mankind default to its basest instincts. That distrust had been most pronounced among the women who arrived at camp, especially those who had experienced their own sexual hells while on the road. Everyone who had stepped foot into camp had no idea what to expect, and had been relieved when Paul had demanded nothing more than that those who stay provide their fair share of the work. But after those few first months of the Zombie Virus, trust had been the toughest emotion to rebuild.
    What little trust Paul had been able to restore had been severely put to the test when he had allowed the vampires to join their ranks, especially since they had been the ones to release the Zombie Virus on mankind. Paul had argued that the humans needed to put the past behind them and unite forces against the greater threat. He had explained that the vampires significantly increased their fighting capability and would be a minimal strain on resources given that they had agreed to feed off of the livestock. No one had believed the bullshit. In those rare candid moments shared between one another, most people at camp had thought that at best Paul was being naïve and probably would get them all killed. But Paul ran the camp, so everyone had reluctantly agreed to admit the vampires, although Robson felt certain that most of the others carried a wooden stake and kept it under their pillows at night.
    In time, the vampires had proven they were not a threat to the camp. At least not an immediate threat. They had accompanied Robson’s raiding party on every nighttime run and, as Paul predicted, had greatly increased the party’s strength. He personally knew of half a dozen people who owed their lives to a vampire. In time, much of the camp accepted their presence, and he increasingly found wooden stakes discarded with the rest of the camp’s garbage. As the months passed, the mutual distrust between the vampires and humans had slowly eroded and both sides had settled into a routine that gave them some semblance of a normal life.
    Until today. Something did not settle right with Robson when Paul ordered them to rescue Compton’s party from Portsmouth. He could not quite put