Writing on the Wall Read Online Free PDF Page A

from the wall. I reach up and pull it aside, unveiling my collection. Ryan’s eyes light up as he whistles at the sight.
    “Joss, I’m gonna be honest with you.” He reverently runs his hand over each tool, all of them dented, dinged, mangled and well used. Well worn. Well wielded. “If you weren’t so hostile, I’d be in love with you by now.”
    I can’t understand that statement and I can’t look him in the eyes. So I stick to what I know. Silence.
    He picks up a weapon, a tire iron. Not your average, store it in the trunk of your car tire iron. This one is long and incredibly sharp at one end, round and blunt on the other.
    “That’s really not the best—“ I begin, but he cuts me off with a smile.
    “It’s perfect.” He swings it around, spinning it back and forth, testing its weight and reach.
    I grab my go to weapon, the most used of them all.
    “Is that what I think it is?”
    In answer I whip my hand out. The baton extends to its full length of 16 inches. It’s all steel, all deadly.
    “It’s an ASP.” I reply proudly.
    “It’s badass.”
    I can’t stop the chuckle from rising out of my chest. I flip it in my hand, offering the handle to him. He takes it up eagerly to test it out with a couple practice swings.
    “It can break bone, can’t it?”
    “Oh yeah. It’ll crack skulls.”
    “Where did you get this and are there more of them?” He collapses it down then swings it out as I did, snapping the baton out to attention. He laughs when it extends.
    “I found it in an apartment years ago. It was the only one.”
    “Dammit.”
    “I know. I did a happy dance when I found it.”
    He hands it back to me. “You? Happy dancing? I can’t picture it.”
    “I’d rather you didn’t.”
    “I’d rather see it.”
    “That’s not going to happen.” I stash the ASP in my pocket and lift the wood from the door. “You ready for this?”
    “I’m always ready.”
    I look back at him, eyebrows raised. “How’s your hand?”
    He rolls his eyes at me and I hate the gesture so much I feel a little like punching him again. “I told you I made a mistake. It was one time.”
    “Your one time mistake almost got both of us killed. It still might.”
    “I said I was sorry.”
    “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No you did not. When did this imaginary apology happen?”
    “Well I meant to say it.”
    I lean back against the unsecured door, crossing my arms over my chest.
    “What?” he asks impatiently.
    “I’m waiting.”
    “Seriously?” When I don’t respond he sighs heavily. “Joss, I am so terribly sorry. Please forgive me.”
    His voice is dead, completely insincere. I continue to wait.
    He sighs again as his shoulders slump slightly. “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you.” I say happily, popping up off the door and swinging it open.
    Before I head out into the hall I look both ways like I’m crossing the street. I’ve been blindsided by a zombie before. It’s like being hit by a truck that’s all teeth, drool and stink. It sticks with you.
    “Is this really a good idea?” he whispers as we step out into the hall.
    “Now?” I whisper back sharply. “You’re asking that question now?”
    “I’m just saying maybe we should wait until first light.”
    I know what he’s really worried about; squaring off with Risen with an untested partner. Fighting with the wrong person, or another person at all, can prove fatal. You put your faith in them to cover you in some way but what if they make a mistake? What if they fail you? What do you do then?
    You let the infected have them and you run, that’s what.
    Then you live alone and you keep your mouth and memory shut.
    I shake my head, not willing to let him use this lame excuse. It’s a shady way of saying I don’t trust you.
    “You know why that’s stupid.”
    “Because there will be more of them by then.” he mutters grudgingly.
    “Exactly. If we kill what’s out there now, they’ll work as a deterrent for others. They