The Reckoning - 02 Read Online Free PDF Page B

me to be wary of the living. Not that I thought Myron would go bad, but who knows who might have taken over his house.
                  “Whoever the fuck you are,” said a raspy voice that I recognized, “get the hell off my porch.”
                  “Gunny, it’s Wylie,” I replied, softly.
                  “Wylie, who?”
                  “Wylie Grant, from next door,” I said, trying to keep my voice low.
                  “Oh yeah,” he snapped. “Fucking prove it, asshole!”
                  “Open the door, you fucking Jar-head ,” I replied, grinning.
                  “Aw, shit. Why didn’t you say it was you?” he asked, opening the back door.
                  Gunnery Sergeant Myron Thaddeus Graves was still an imposing figure at 62 years of age. His barrel chest and lantern jaw were the epitome of the image of a Marine. He still kept his iron-gray hair in a regulation buzz cut. He was wearing a pair of fatigue pants with combat boots and a black Marine Corps t-shirt. There was a k-bar knife on his belt and he was also holding an AR-15 at the ready.  The barrel was pointing towards the ground.
                  “Get your ass inside before the gawd-damned zombies see you.”             
                  I didn’t wait for another invitation. Odin and I slipped inside and he shut the door behind us. Then he slid a wooden crossbar into place, locking the door solidly shut. The small window in the door wasn’t big enough for anything to get through, but he had it covered with a thick curtain so nothing could see inside. With the door shut, he turned to me and smiled.
                  “I never thought I’d be so happy to see your ugly mug,” he said, extending his hand.
                  I took it readily and shook it. Myron had a grip like a vice.
                  “I didn’t know if you’d be here or not,” I said. “Or even if you were alive.”
                  “Where the hell else would I go?” he said, grinning. “This place is all I have. I’ll be damned if I let anyone run me out of it, dead or otherwise.”
                  “Are you secure?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
                  “The ground floor and basement are,” he replied. “Upstairs windows are all covered with blankets. I don’t have power but I do have a whole fuck-load of candles and kerosene lamps.”
                  “Outstanding,” I replied. “How are you set for guns?”
                  “I’ve got my AR, here,” he said, shaking the rifle. “Plus, I’ve got this.”
                  He pulled a Colt 1911 .45 out of his waistband.
                  “Then there are the guns I have in my bedroom.”
                  “What do you have?” I asked. “I’m limited to just pistols.”
                  “Shit, son,” he replied, grinning, “I’ll take care of you. I’ve got a few rifles and a couple shotguns upstairs. There’s enough ammo to hold out for a good long time, too.”
                  “I can’t stay here,” I said. “I’m going after Karen and the kids.”
                  “I thought they were out on your boat.”
                  “They were,” I replied. “I came after them as soon as I got clear from the department. We pulled them out and I sent them back to the jail in Springfield.”
                  “Why didn’t you go with them?”
                  I recounted the tale to him of how I’d realized that we wouldn’t make it to the Humvees. I told him about the marina and my decision to blow it up. Myron listened in silence as I brought him up to date on everything that happed since then, too.
                  “I should