Rotter World Read Online Free PDF Page B

his finger on it, but that did not matter. One thing you learn as a sheriff’s deputy is to trust your instincts. In this case, they were spot on. By rescuing Compton, they had brought into camp the man responsible for creating the virus that had caused the apocalypse in the first place.
    Robson’s instincts told him nothing good could come of this.

Chapter Four

    Natalie crouched on the top of the fort wall for several minutes after the rescue party and those they saved climbed out of their vehicles and entered the compound. She ignored the commotion created by their arrival, though she did take a few quick glances at Robson. Slowly the others filtered through the gated tunnel into camp, heading back to their containers or to the blockhouse for breakfast. This was the only safe environment they now knew. Natalie, however, did not have the luxury of feeling secure. She scanned the tree line and the main entrance off of Route 103 for signs of rotter activity. Or for humans watching them from a distance. She knew all too well that not all of the dangers they faced came from the living dead.
    Several minutes passed, and Natalie saw nothing that posed a threat to the camp. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch another glimpse of Robson, but he had left the area. Below her, Hodges and his motor pool staff checked out the returned vehicles, making sure they were filled with gasoline and ready to roll in case the camp needed to be evacuated quickly.
    Natalie stood up, groaning as her muscles strained against the stiffness caused by crouching for so long. She massaged her legs through the leather pants and worked out the kinks. Breakfast would be served for another forty-five minutes, so she decided to walk the perimeter wall and check for anything that required attention.
    As Natalie made her way along the wall, she secretly hoped to find something out of the ordinary. A breach in the outer perimeter fence or a structural defect in the fort wall. A stray rotter that had made its way through the barbed wire. Anything that would keep her distracted. Distraction was good because it occupied her mind and repressed the memories, memories that were as clear and disturbing as if they had happened yesterday.
    Natalie owed her life to an impulsive act. She used to be a reader for a large literary agency in New York City. The day before the outbreak began, she had decided to drive up to Maine to surprise her lover, Dave, who owned a real estate agency in Portland. They had spent the first night together making love and sleeping in each other’s arms, blissfully unaware of the unfolding apocalypse. Next morning, after some more love making, they had switched on television during breakfast and sat transfixed as the news carried live coverage of the end of the world. For close to forty-eight hours she and Dave had sat glued to the set, hoping the infection would burn itself out or be contained, and life would return to some semblance of normalcy. That hope had died with video images of zombies filing across the bridges out of Manhattan, and of the military blowing up the pedestrian-choked spans in a futile attempt to stem the virus’ spread.
    When Boston fell on the fourth day, Dave had decided they were no longer safe in Maine and had opted to head north to Nova Scotia where the combination of cold weather and isolation should keep zombie activity at a minimum. Gathering supplies for the trip, though, had proven nearly as dangerous as being exposed to the infection. By then, most of the grocery and convenience stores had been stripped of bottled water, canned goods, and medical supplies. When a tractor trailer had showed up at one nearby Stop-and-Shop with stocks of water and food, the employees had confiscated it all for themselves and abandoned the store to looters. Even more mercenary, most of the gas stations had taken advantage of the crisis to price gouge, one station charging fifty dollars a gallon, with cars lined up for a