Bone And Cinder: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Zapheads Book 1) by Scott Nicholson, Joshua Simcox Read Free Book Online

later came a sting, followed by a rush of warmth flooding through him, blanketing the pain in his head and face.
    The Haldol?  The endorphin rush that flooded his brain a moment later told him otherwise.
    Krider’s favorite candy.
    Heroin.
    He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he was knocked unconscious, but he hoped he had been out long enough to allow his metabolism to catch up to the opioids in his system.
    If not, even with his relatively high tolerance for narcotics, this new dose could be just potent enough to flip the switch on his respiratory system to the “off” position.
    His death wish upon discovering Allie’s condition had now given way to a fierce will to survive.  Because he wanted his hands around Krider’s throat.
    The rage rising within him after hearing Krider’s voice had been drowned by confusion and a sense of absurd surrealism.  Before the anger had a chance to resurface, it was swallowed by the warm bliss produced by the syringe’s contents.  In another place and time, he could have enjoyed this.
    “We won’t overdo it,” came Krider’s voice as if from across a softly lapping bay.  “Just enough to take the edge off.  I’m guessing you’ve probably had a few of your feel-good pills since you got here.  The world ends but some things never change.”
    Mackie tilted his head slightly and stared up into the face hovering over him.  The reddish beard peppered with flecks of silver.  The brown hair that fell just below the base of the neck, thinning at the crown.  The feverish eyes of a cruel, cunning madman.
    “So?” Lucas Krider asked.  “Do you want to kill me?”
    Every day.  More than you know.
    But Mackie couldn’t find the voice to verbalize that response.
    “I’m sure you’ll want to try, once you’re well enough,” Krider said.  “And all these guns in the room probably won’t change your mind.”
    He picked up a chair near the pool table and brought it close to Mackie.  “But you may want to listen to what I have to say first.”  He sat and fished a small ziplock bag from the pocket of his slacks.
    Gummy bears.  A treat Krider indulged in frequently.  It would’ve seemed endearingly childish behavior for a normal man, but Krider somehow made the habit a perversion.  He popped a few in his mouth and chewed.
    “I’m going to miss these,” Krider said, smacking wetly.  “But I imagine there are enough of them around to keep me going a few years. It’s a world of supply and demand, as you know better than anyone, Mackie.  The supply may dry up, given the collapse of the manufacturing systems, but the demand has certainly died off, too.”
    Mackie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light.  A large Hispanic man in a dark T-shirt and cargo pants, his hair shaved to stubble, stood nearby.  His bulging arms cradled what looked like a military-grade assault rifle, an M16A1.
    Mackie recognized him.  Herrera.  A long-time Krider loyalist and one of his most feared assassins.
    Do psychos have some sort of “goon gene” that protected them from the solar flares?
    Mackie didn’t roll too far down that philosophical track or he would have had to account for his own survival.  He preferred to think of it as bad luck.
    To Herrera’s right, two men and one female lounged on a sofa near the snack bar.  Two other assault rifles leaned against the right side of the sofa, their barrels resting on the arm.  With the room lit only by candles, Mackie couldn’t recognize the rest of Krider’s crew.
    When enough saliva drained into his throat to lubricate it, Mackie asked, “How...how are you here?”
    Krider smiled.  He was never one to smile coldly; his warmth always seemed genuine even if he intended to order your execution with his next breath.  He was a man who took pleasure in every moment.
    “Well, the answer to that has multiple parts.  But a big part of it is you, Mackie.”
    Mackie’s real question was how Krider and Herrera had survived