Zombie Fallout 4: The End Has Come and Gone Read Online Free PDF Page A

right outside the door just as the nurse was putting the waiver forms back into her bag.
    The nurse heard and then saw the man; his features let her know how disappointed he was. “Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll be back tomorrow for the 4th floor, just get in line and we’ll take care of you.” But that was a lie, the nurse did not return the next day, and neither did 90% of his department who had missed work.
    “What a weird day,” Peter said to himself as he walked home from the bus stop. The streets of Kansas City looked deserted, barely anyone had showed for work and Ma’s Grill was closed. The bus which was generally standing room only had only one occupant and he was a bum with a bus pass. He was on the bus every day. He just rode it all day long in the winter to stay out of the cold. Peter sometimes wondered why the homeless man didn’t just buy a ticket to Atlanta , seemed like it would have saved him a lot of time. What Peter didn’t know was that the man lived for the here and now. The future was the big unknown, a doctrine that the rest of the surviving human race was to become very familiar with.
    Peter stepped onto the gravel of his parents’ driveway and turned to watch the streetlight turn on. “Ha, beat you this time!” he shouted to the indifferent fixture. He noticed the lights on in his parents’ house but did not see any movement. “Probably watching a movie,” he said aloud to somehow dispel the dread that was building up.
    He looked up and down the street uneasily before entering his tiny abode. It was never Grand Central around here, but it was quitting time and there should be and was always more movement as folks returned from work, errands, school, whatever. Realization did not completely sink in until he logged on to Xbox Live and noticed there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 20% of the usual volume of games being played. He had no explanation for the increased beating of his heart or the sweat that started to build up on his forehead and palms.
    He looked out his window and across the yard into the large bay window that dominated the back of his folks’ home. Nothing looked unusual except for the lack of movement. His mom was usually a whirling dervish of activity, preparing dinner, doing laundry, playing with their two Maltese dogs. Peter picked up the phone to call his parents, but the phone alternated between a fast busy signal and the three tone warning of a downed line.
    “Should probably go and check on them,” he mused, still gazing out the window, the phone chirping in his hand. He wouldn’t have gone if he had stopped to turn on the television. Early stories were already reporting mass riots involving cannibalistic mobs. He walked down the stairs, the air seeming oppressively heavy. The clicking of the phone was drowned out by multiple sirens caterwauling a few blocks away. Peter moved his hand up to his face, studying the handset he carried, suddenly wishing it was heavier and had a longer reach. “Now why would I need a weapon?” he asked himself. “I’m going to my parents’, not Detroit .” Each step got heavier and heavier as he crossed the yard. “Come on Mom, just walk by the window, just once,” he pleaded. More sirens joined the fray and for the life of him he could not figure out why his parents weren’t checking out what the fuss was about. ‘They must really have Breakfast at Tiffany’s cranked,’ he thought, looking for humor and finding none. The sirens which had violently been pushing the silence away cut off as if on a timer as his foot hit the first step on the back porch. The vacuum of sound was immediately filled in by the frantic barking of Chip and Dale, his mom’s dogs.
    “Chip and Dale never bark,” Peter said aloud. “Mom dotes on them too much for that.” He never noticed as the phone slid from his grip and cracked on the cement. His eyes were fixed on the door handle. For reasons he could not explain, he was more afraid now