The Rising Dead Read Online Free PDF

his work. If he could take one with him, if he could make a copy somehow, maybe he could tell his side of the story. He fumbled with the clear lid of the sample but couldn't get it open with his gloves.
    Damn! I'm running out of time. Soon they will lock me out of my own lab and I'll be taken God knows where, Guantanamo or some black site and kept in isolation. This may be my last chance to prove my innocence!
    Satoshi ripped his gloves off in frustration. He reached up and yanked his protective mask free as well. He was sweating profusely now, panting from excitement. He leaned over and pried open the lid to his most virulent sample. He turned and looked up at the security cameras monitoring him. Nothing happened. He laughed. He had been expecting sirens to go off, maybe armed guards to come running in. He was so tired he was practically delirious. Surely he was being paranoid. No one was coming for him. Still it wouldn't hurt to have an insurance policy.
    Better to hide something now before it's too late , he thought.
    Satoshi broke apart part of the sample with a nearby glass stir rod and transferred it a small test tube, corking it with a rubber stopper. He held it up to get a closer look. In that tiny container was the culmination of his life's work - all he was and all he'd ever be.
    Mother would be so proud , he thought, if only she knew .
    He closed the lid back up and replaced the sample in the fridge. He had a tough decision to make. What was he going to do with the rest of his day? Should he leave early, claiming to be sick? Should he stay and wait for them to come for him? Who would come? Would it be one of the suits from the front office or someone else like the man in black who originally recruited him? What if no one ever came?
    He chalked up his indecisiveness to lack of sleep. He'd have to go home and rest. He had never taken a sick day. No one would give him a hard time for needing some rest, not after all the work he'd done. He was one of their most valuable employees. He had no doubt about that.
    He was undressing when he began to feel the tickle in the back of his throat. He didn't pay much attention to it, chalking it up to the dry Vegas air or maybe some mild allergy. He was so hot. He couldn't think straight with all his clothing on. He needed his car keys, but he didn't know why. He couldn't remember where he'd parked his Mercedes. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember driving to work in the first place. He was having trouble thinking clearly, having trouble remembering things. Everything felt foggy in his brain all of a sudden. He had a terrible headache coming on. His sore throat now felt red raw, like someone had dragged a fork through it. He coughed to relieve the tickle and a fine mist of blood sprayed out onto the counter. It felt like chunks were coming loose inside of him but he wasn't able to focus on it. He looked down to see blisters forming on the back of his hands. His skin itched all over. Something was wrong but he couldn't figure out what it was. His stomach gurgled as he leaned over and threw up a fluid stream of black bile all over the counter top. It felt good to get it out but left him empty inside. He'd never felt so hungry in his life before. He felt like he would die if he didn't get something in him right away, something warm and living and full of blood. Just the thought of tearing apart a small animal, a rabbit, yes, or maybe a dog, mmm, or even a small child, made him swell with manic bliss. A sharp pain in his arm brought him out of his vivid daydream. He'd bitten his own arm. Dark burgundy coagulated blood began to puss out of the wound. It hurt so much he screamed in agony. Anger surged through him, a terrible rage for not being able to feed, to quench his overwhelming hunger. The rage came in waves, filling him up, making him strong, numb, unstoppable. It was as if the anger was a living being capable of overriding all of his other systems. It was his God now. Yes. It