The Farm - 05 Read Online Free PDF Page A

another quick look around. She found the buckets were used for expended cartridges—apparently, the sniper intended to reload them. Biggs moved on, the stock of her rifle pressed against her right shoulder. She was careful to avoid stepping on the used cartridges lying on the wooden floor, and every time a slat creaked beneath her weight, she paused. The metronomic slamming noise continued, unabated. So far, her entrance had gone unnoticed. She reached the partially-open door and peered through the opening.
    On the other side, a hall stretched away from her. A big man in old woodland-pattern battle dress utilities stood at the other end, slamming his shoulder against a closed door. The door was sturdy, not one of those hollow types found in newer homes, and he fairly bounced off it each time he threw himself against it. His skin was mottled and pale, with blackened veins standing out in stark relief against the ashen flesh. A bloodstained bandage was wrapped around his left forearm, and the man wore a 1911 model .45 caliber pistol on his hip. Biggs knew this was the sniper she’d talked to yesterday. The former Marine.
    And now, he was a stench.
    As the corpse slammed against the door once again, it seemed to give slightly. Someone on the other side shrieked. A woman? A child? The zombie, heartened by this sudden change in fortune, hurled itself against the door again. Something cracked, probably the latch or even the entire jamb giving away beneath the punishment. The stench made a huffing sound, sensing it was close to getting through. Biggs firmed her sight on the zombie.
    “Hey, Marine.”
    The stench whirled at the sound of her voice, its eyes dull and lifeless but still full of an odd type of mindless malevolence. Its full beard seemed as dark as graphite against its almost alabaster skin, and two horrible wounds had been inflicted on it, ragged holes in its chest through which splintered bone was visible past puckered and burned flesh. It opened its mouth and released a dry rasp, then lunged forward, arms outstretched. One of the limbs didn’t work very well, damaged by what must have been shotgun blasts. Biggs fired once, drilling the zombie right through the forehead. The stench shuddered, then collapsed to the floor without a sound. Biggs approached it cautiously, kicking it several times to make sure it was down for the count. When it didn’t react to the contact, she turned her attention to the door the corpse had been so intent on battering down. She rapped the knuckles of her left hand against it.
    “Anybody in there?” she called out. When there was no response, she added, “Listen, I’ve killed the stench out here. It’s safe to open up.”
    There was a rattling click as a lock was flipped. Biggs stepped back as the door slowly opened, holding her rifle at low ready, just in case. The door opened only a crack, and a pale face peered out at her. A young girl, maybe fourteen years old or so, regarded her with blue eyes that glistened with tears.
    “Where is he?” she asked, softly.
    “On the floor,” Biggs said. “Dead. He can’t hurt you, now.”
    The door opened wider, and Biggs saw the girl wasn’t alone. A small boy stood behind her, clasping her leg, his eyes wide with fear. The girl held a double-barrel shotgun, but she wisely didn’t point it in Biggs’s direction. She stuck her head into the hallway, and when she saw the body behind Biggs, she put a hand to her mouth and stepped back with a soft sob.
    “Daddy—”
    Biggs stepped forward, blocking her view of the corpse. The girl was forced to look up at her. “Hey, listen. We need to get out of here.”
    “Where…where do you want to go?”
    “Pennsylvania. Where do you keep your supplies?”
    “Downstairs, mostly,” the girl said.
    Biggs pointed to the shotgun. “Is that loaded?”
    The girl looked down at the weapon. She seemed to consider what to say, then shook her head. “No. I used the shells on Daddy…”
    “Is there