Can You Survive the Zombie Apocalypse? by Max Brallier Read Free Book Online Page A

clears out his throat. Gross. Then she pinches his nose and puts her lips onto his. Really gross. She performs mouth-to-mouth, then presses down repeatedly on his chest.
    For a good two or three minutes, he doesn’t move. She continues to perform CPR. Then you notice his left foot. It’s twitching slightly. More. Jerking. After some chest compressions, she blows more air into his mouth.
    â€œHey, doc—“
    Suddenly she lets out a blood-curdling scream and pulls back, blood pouring from her mouth and his. The man’s hands shoot up like a pair of catapults and latch on to the back of her skull and pull her close. Blood pours down her face and onto her chest. The thing is devouring her face. Screams echo through the car. The passengers try to run—but there’s nowhere to go. Finally, the doctor flies back, half of her face gone. Blood splashes your shirt and sprays the wall.
    Panicked, you push your way to the rear of the car and slide open the door. You step onto the shaky walkway that hangs between your car and the next. Screams chase you.
    Your hands grip the metal chains that link the cars and you walk across. You pound the door of the opposite car.
    Through the window a man, eyes wide, shakes his head and holds the door shut. You tug. Nothing. A crowd gathers at the window—staring at you and, with horror, staring at the carnage behind you.
    â€œPlease!” you shout.
    More passengers follow you, pushing you from behind, desperate to escape. They push.
    â€œOpen the fucking door!” a young woman shouts.
    More people. Slamming you into the door. Your chest feels like it’s going to collapse. The train takes a hard turn and you feel your feet begin to slip. The momentum of the turn tosses you to the side—only the chain railing keeps you from being thrown to the tracks below. People continue to push from behind. A man wedges beside you and tugs at the door. Nothing. There’s not enough room for both of you. Your waist presses against the chain.
    Either that door opens, or you’re all going to die.
    â€œPlease!” you shout, locking eyes with the man on the other side of the glass. But it’s too late.
    The chain breaks. You reach out, trying to grab at anything. You’re falling back. Everything moves in slow motion. Then you hit the tracks and the heavy metal wheels grind you into a dozen bloody pieces.
    AN END

GOOD SAMARITAN
    They examine the lock.
    As Walter squeezes the trigger, you lunge for the gun. You get his arm and knock it into the air. The pistol fires harmlessly into the ceiling.
    Voices outside. Feet slap cement as the looters scatter.
    Walter stands up, fury in his eyes. “You son of a bitch.”
    â€œYou were going to kill them!”
    A cool, scary calm comes over him. He raises the gun.
    â€œOh no, please, please don’t—“
    BLAM!!!
    You look down. A small hole in the center of your chest. Blood begins to soak through your shirt, forming a perfect maroon circle.
    You fall to the floor.
    Walter’s gravelly voice. “Shoulda minded your own damn businesssssss…”
    AN END

HOWDY NEIGHBOR
    Well, might as well go around and meet the neighbors. You walk the halls, going from door to door. No answer. No answer. No answer. Down to the next floor.
    You hear television coming from one apartment. Good television. Explosions.
    It smells like pot outside the door. You knock again. Nothing. Harder.
    You’re about to give up when the door opens. Now it really stinks like pot. Smoke wafts out into the hall. It’s a young guy, your age, in a bathrobe. Half a beard. Big pair of headphones around his neck. He sticks his head out and looks both ways.
    â€œYo.”
    â€œWhat’s up,” you say.
    â€œI don’t know, you knocked.”
    â€œYeah, uh, I don’t know, I wanted to see who was still alive around here. I’ve had a hell of a day.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œY’know, with all