City of the Dead by Brian Keene Read Free Book Online Page B

cremate him," she replied. "Let me get myself together and I'll go down to the vet's. Can you-can you put him in the Explorer for me?"
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    He nodded, kneeling down to cover the dog up with the blanket again. For some reason it had slipped off.
    A police car flashed by in the ambulance's wake, followed by another. Don opened his mouth to comment and that was when Rocky bit him.
    The dog's hair didn't stand on end. There was no warning growl or bark-no sound at all. One minute Rocky was dead, his intestines cooling on the garage's cement floor. The next, he sank his teeth into Don's hand, right between the thumb and forefinger. Screaming, Don tried to jerk his hand away, but Rocky dug in, shaking his head in defiance. The dog's eyes rolled back, showing the whites.
    "Oh shit! Myrna, get him off of me!"
    Shrieking, she beat at the corpse. Rocky refused to budge. His muzzle was crimson with both Don's blood and his own.
    "What's happening, Don? What is this?"
    "I don't fucking know! Just get him off me, God damn it! My hand!"
    Myrna reeled back, hysterical. Frantic, Don glanced around the garage. A claw hammer lay perched on the tool bench, but he couldn't reach it.
    "Myrna!" No response, just more sobbing. "Myrna! God damn it, look at me. Please?"
    "I-I ..."
    "Grab my hammer from the tool bench!"
    "I-I can't."
    "Do it," he roared. "Do it now!"
    She ran, arms flailing helplessly, and returned with the hammer. The dog's teeth felt like rows of hot needles. Rocky regarded him while he chewed. For a second, Don thought he saw something reflected in those dead eyes, something dark. Then the dog shook his head
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    again, burrowing deeper. Don was beyond pain now, beyond fear. He focused on the siren, still bleating in the background, as shock enveloped him.
    Myrna handed Don the hammer. Slowly, with a sense of calm, he raised it over his head and brought it crashing down. There was a solid crunch as the swing ended between the dog's eyes. Then he raised the hammer back up and hit it again. Rocky let go. Immediately, the dog's jaws snapped at his leg, but Don lurched backward.
    Rocky sat back on his haunches, staring at Don with clear contempt. Then the dog opened its mouth and tried to speak. Vocal cords that had never formed words before began to do so now. To Don's eyes and ears, it was like something inside the dog was borrowing the animal's vocal cords for its own purpose.
    "Rrrraaarrgghh! Rowwwlll!"
    "Jesus ..."
    Rocky seemed to laugh.
    Grimacing, Don swung again.
    The dog's head collapsed as the hammer sank deep inside.
    Rocky died a second time.
    That was how it started. They left the dog's bloody corpse laying inside the garage. Later, while Myrna went to the veterinarian's office to make arrangements for disposing of Rocky, Don drove himself to the emergency room to see if he needed stitches and to get a shot, just to be safe. The hospital echoed of chaos-pure, raw anarchy. Waiting and wounded patients whispered of a possible biological or chemical terrorist attack, something that was making people and animals turn crazy. Homicidal dead ducks attacked an old man in the park who fed them every morning. A rapist cut an old woman's throat, only to have her turn the knife back on him minutes
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    later while he was humping her corpse. A bus driver had a heart attack behind the wheel, died-and then purposely sent the bus careening into a crowd of people at the next stop. A woman shot her husband in a domestic dispute and then he rose up and shot her back, along with the cops responding to the call and the paramedics sent to revive him.
    When he was finally admitted after many hours of waiting, Don watched a patient in the next trauma room flatline, then start thrashing a few minutes later, grappling with the doctor hovering over him. The EKG showed no heartbeat, even when the man began biting the doctor. Don left the hospital after that, making do with antibiotics and a gauze pad.
    Myrna didn't come home that night. Calls placed