Survivors Read Online Free PDF Page B

off!”
    The exclamations were forthcoming for several long moments, with speculation about the well-being of Sherman’s group flying back and forth. When the excited chatter began to die down, Keaton seized a chance and spoke up.
    “How do you fellows know Sherman? He didn’t mention he had anyone on the way behind him,” Keaton said.
    “Oh, he wouldn’t have known we were coming,” Hal said, waving it off as he unholstered his sidearm and passed it to Wes, who had warily begun the collection of firearms from the newcomers. “It’s a long story.”
    “I’ll have to hear it,” said Keaton, “but now that you’re in and we’re sure you’re not here for trouble, I have to go make sure the clinic gets taken care of. Most of the fire’s out, but it’s still smoldering in parts.”
    “Someone knock a lantern over?” asked Allen, ducking the sling of his MP-5 as he handed it to Wes.
    “No, someone left a few common household cleaning supplies near one smart asshole, who seized the opportunity,” Keaton shrugged. “Just like you, it’s a long story. Anyway, I’ll catch up with you later. You mentioned you needed food. The only place we have that does that kind of bartering is Eileen’s. It’s a pub just down the street, on the right, before you get to the town green. They have some stock up for trade.”
    “A pub? Does it have beer?” Rico called out to Keaton’s swiftly retreating back.
    “It sure does—if you want to call it that,” replied Keaton, speaking over his shoulder.
    “What about pussy?” Allen sang out to no response. Wendell slapped the back of his head.
    But that decided matters for the survivors. The sailors quickly volunteered to go and barter for food—and whatever passed for beer in Abraham. Harris followed behind them, muttering about keeping them in line. The truth of the matter was that he likely didn’t mind the idea of a brew himself.
    This left Hal and Stiles standing with Wes near Abraham’s main gate. The poor deputy looked half-buried under confiscated firearms. He stumbled over to a nearby lawn cart and carefully dumped the weapons into the rear end, tucking the barrel of an errant rifle into the compartment.
    Wes turned with a slowly reddening face and, looking at Stiles, stumbled over his words.
    “Uh, I kind of need to—ah, your rifle—I need to bring it to the station,” he managed, pointing at the Winchester that Stiles was using for a crutch.
    Stiles looked down at it, blinked, and stared back at the deputy. “I kind of depend on it. Got something else I can use in the meantime?”
    “Well, not on me. But wait,” Wes said, snapping his fingers. “We’ll get you an actual crutch at the clinic. I was going to go by there after I took care of the weapons anyway. You can ride with me in the cart until then.”
    “Works for me,” Stiles said, limping over to the cart. He slid into the passenger seat and tucked his rifle in with the other weapons, giving it a tender pat as he did so. He had become quite attached to it over the past several weeks—almost literally.
    “Don’t think you’re leaving me here,” Hal said, pushing Stiles over. “Make room—I’m coming, too.”
    “Aren’t you the one who’s always bitching about how you should be lounging around and drinking?” Stiles pointed out. “I would have thought you’d be the first to run off to the pub. Never know when we’ll see another one.”
    “Oh, I can, and I will, I assure you,” Hal said with an easy grin. “But I’d kind of like to see this operation Abraham’s running first. Seems like a good opportunity for a tour.”
    Wes took the driver’s seat. The cart was slow but ran with a quiet electric whine, moving efficiently along the mostly deserted streets. The citizens, it seemed, were congregated near the other end of town, distracted by or helping with the clinic fire.
    “So,” said Wes, glancing at Stiles, “if you don’t mind my asking, how’d you hurt your leg? Get