The Rabid: Rise Read Online Free PDF

They're partially concealed by a ten-foot high brick wall.
    “ That wall didn't do jackshit for them when it really mattered,” Ruiz says, clicking his tongue.
    The apartment complex has a front gate, a back gate, and a main office . The back gate is on the other side of the property. A single man propped up against a cement support column, a shotgun resting next to his right leg, guards the office. He waves at us as we drive up. Two burly types with backwards caps and big guns resting across their bellies similarly guard the front gate. A third man comes walking out of a first floor apartment on the other side of the gate. He gives us a lazy two-finger salute, grabs a rusty chain from the ground, and slowly begins tugging the gate back on its track. He leans hard in the other direction, his face distorting with the effort, the veins on his arms showing through like garden hoses. This is his job. His routine. It's evident in the way his comrades sit back, chatting and smoking cigarettes, paying no mind to his plight.
    Everyone has their role.
    He works the gate.
    “ What if the General and his men come bursting in here with body armor and troop transports? They'll run straight through your guys and the gate.”
    Katia drapes her head back towards me. “We got that covered. You just relax.”
    “ Covered how?”
    “ Snipers and RPG's.” Ruiz points his finger up, as if I can somehow see them through the truck’s roof. “They'll have a bad time, a real bad time.”
    Katia winks at me in the mirror. “Like I said, we got it covered.”
    Beyond the gate, the complex is bustling with life.
    Life!
    Faces of the living.
    I'm used to death. Rotting flesh. Putrid gray matter. Scrounging in the dark.
    I imagine I feel much like a man being led from solitary back to general population. Crossing that gap between the buildings. Granted a moment with the sun on my face.
    I smile. I can't help but smile. I look at Bethany and she's smiling too.
    The complex rises around us. It's made up of three-story red brick buildings with identical rectangle balconies extending out over the parking lot, backed up by floor to ceiling sliding doors. The balconies are a grab bag of suburban luxury with lounge chairs, metal tables, and pots of empty soil to fill out the mix. There's even a hammock, slung between two poles, browning from exposure, occupied by a man lazily rocking in the midday sun, his rifle slung across his belly.
    People walk past us on either side of the truck carrying bags of rice and beans across their shoulders and boxes of bottled water stacked two and three high against their chest. Some nod and wave, others just stare curiously, at us, the fresh faces in the backseat.
    “ Supply run: food, water, gasoline for the generators. We try to do one every week or so. Sometimes we get lucky, sometimes we have to scrap a little. We got lucky this time,” Ruiz says, addressing the looks of wonderment on our faces.
    “ Yeah, I'd say so.”
    “ This place isn't quite home. But, we're doing our best.”
    “ Looks like you're doing a damn fine job.”
    “ This is awesome.” Bethany is thrilled. She throws her hands across her mouth to try to contain it. All of the hostility seems to have faded for the moment.
    Looks like we're all starting from square one.
    Fine by me. I could get used to this place.
    Katia parks the truck sideways , effortlessly overtaking three spaces parallel to the black gate shielding the complex. Giant bushes, running wild with growth, twist in and out of the gaps in the gate, reaching for us, desperate.
    “ Leave the bag, our men will unload it and stick it in your room,” Ruiz says before hopping down from the truck. Bethany and I follow suit. “Casey, Tyrell, clear the bed. The duffel goes in 1210 ,” Ruiz calls to two men across the parking lot. They’re dressed in greasy coveralls. They nod and make for the truck, effortlessly scaling the large rear tires and hoisting themselves up, over, and into