The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

would forget. The alarm was an insurance policy. Marianna was a high school biology teacher. Lunch was the only time she had to talk unless it was an emergency. Winston liked telling her that he loved her. That was the main purpose of the call, but there was no need now. She'd rather eat him than hear those three little words.
    He tugged his cell phone from his back pocket, amazed that it held up through all the ruckus. Winston scrolled through his numbers, stopping on HOME. He glanced around the carnage in the diner. Three bodies. Blood splattered over the linoleum. Broken glass everywhere. For a moment, Winston felt proud surrounded by chaos. Proud that his love for Marianna was strong enough to help him face death again and again. He didn't care what Byrd thought. Winston was getting out of this alive and he was going to save Marianna. He dialed home, knowing Marianna wouldn't pick up. After seven rings, voicemail kicked in. Winston smiled as Marianna's voice soothed his ears. She was doing her best karaoke version of Lionel Richie's "Hello." Her voice cracked between laughs. After the beep, Winston said, "I love you, baby."
    Winston picked up his Colt. Useless for the moment, but he had plenty of bullets back home. Why didn't I bring another magazine? he thought, holstering the gun. He went behind the counter and poured a cup of coffee into a to-go cup. Styrofoam . Winston held the cup at eye level, going over all the ways Styrofoam was bad for him. Bad for the environment. Before the virus, Winston was health conscious. It started around his fortieth birthday. He had gained weight and Doc Barnard diagnosed him pre-diabetic. A few years later, clean eating and exercise had given him a new lease on life. He looked at the cup and then stuck his finger through the hole in his jacket caused by one of Randy's shots. He felt down to the flesh. A little wetness. Not too bad. Not a lot of blood. A superficial wound. He would live. Winston eyed the cup again. "Screw it. There's too many things that will kill me." He walked to the door, gave the diner one last glance, and turned off the light.
    There was no way of telling when the power would go out for good, but Winston didn't want to waste what little was left. He stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Luther's. A brisk wind slapped him. He took a sip of coffee and started toward Ticker Evans.
    "How am I going to do this?" Winston neared the boat dock. Ticker hadn't noticed him yet. The easiest way would be to sneak up behind Ticker and shove him into the water. Ticker was old. His heart couldn't take much. He would drown. What a horrible way to go. Winston thought back to his childhood when a wave took him under and refused to let him up. He was only underwater for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity, and the scar it left took a long time to heal. Drowning Ticker wasn't an option. Besides, the brain would still be intact.
    Winston froze mid-stride. "He's not alive. Why the hell am I worrying about this?"
    Even though Winston's death toll was up to seven, it was still hard for him to believe the people he shared his life with were dead, but not dead. He looked around for anything that could be used to put Ticker out of his misery. Winston couldn't bring himself to push the old man over the dock.
    Winston was about five feet from the dock when Ticker saw him. The old man started for Winston. Slow, staggered strides that resembled zombie movement reminiscent of horror movies. Winston kept walking in Ticker's direction. He still didn't have anything that could pass for a weapon other than the Colt. He could use the butt of the gun if it came to that. Winston hoped it didn't. The gun was a present from his father who had passed away nearly ten years earlier. It held sentimental value, but if it came down to it, Winston would do whatever it took to save his life. He was confident in his ability after poking his best friend's eyes out.
    Ticker coughed. The dead don't cough. A