Dead Wrangler by Justin Coke Read Free Book Online

But he didn't think so. It was clean, whatever it was. She only had Demarco left to check on, so she crossed in front of James' cell again.
    That was not the guards’ uniform. That was an army uniform or something. She hadn't gotten that rifle at Bass Pro either. Or the grenades, for that matter. Only James' natural fatalism kept him from cheering. This was a new angle. New angles were bad most of the time.
    He went into deep thought trying to puzzle out his next move when the doors buzzed and his cell flew open. He hid under his blanket until he realized the zombies’ doors were still closed. Only the living's doors opened. He was still safe. Demarco popped out of his cell. His hammer had been lost when Decker had lost his fight with his cellmate, so all he had was a sharpened letter opener. When James saw Demarco moving, he got up himself and walked to the center of the hallway, far away from the grasping hands of the undead. The big door at the end of the hall was closed. The woman stood behind the door, peering through the glass. A pile of weapons sat in front of the door; sledgehammers, axes, knives, two pickaxes, and a few spears. Several rolls of the largest trash bags he'd ever seen sat next to the pile of weapons. A walkie-talkie was on top of the trash bags.
    The intercom crackled above their heads. "I am Sergeant Andrews of the US Army. My orders are to pacify this jail. Which means your orders are to pacify this jail. This is your cell block, gentleman, and if you want to leave it, it will need to be secured first. If you need any of the cells open just use the walkie-talkie."
    Demarco grabbed the walkie. "We ain't had a meal in three days! We want food before we do a damn thing."
    "Give me twenty dead zombies and I can maybe arrange a meal."
    The inmates had seen the abandonment coming and stashed what they could. While they wanted a hot meal, and James had eaten enough granola for a lifetime, they weren't in as bad a shape as it seemed. They got to work. It wasn't as bad as it sounded. The zombies were dumb, and they kept their faces pressed against the bars, trying to bite. Demarco manned the pick axe and gave them one thunderous brain destroying strike. Getting the pickaxe out of the skull was harder than killing the zombie. James put the bodies in the bag and dragged the bag out to the entrance. The inmates forgot about the food and cleaned the whole place out. After days of the screaming of the undead, the silence was a relief. Many of the inmates just sat down and listened to nothing for a while. James had never been so relieved to be bored before. He cried from joy. The big door swung open. The big door had always reminded James of an airlock. There was the cell door entrance, the chamber, and another door to the outside world.
    Inside the airlock was a cart from the cafeteria and a bucket of hot water and a stack of towels. They descended on it like zombies and washed their hands and faces, then devoured the first warm meal they'd had in days. The outside door remained closed. Anderson came over the walkie.
    "Back inside boys. Great job on rekilling the fuckers, but you aren't done yet. Put the weapons back in the lock and get back in your cells."
    "I'll cut that bitch when I can," Demarco muttered. James caught his eye and shook his head and put a finger over his mouth. He mouthed 'later.'
    They put the tools back in the lock, which clanged shut behind them. It was the first time in days they didn't have to endure the endless noise of the zombies. The joy of silence outweighed the blood and gore. They trudged back to their cells and collapsed on their beds. They barely noticed the cell doors closing behind them.
    They woke the next morning to the sound of the airlock opening. Six men came in, pulling steel carts behind them. James recognized them as guards. They were in hillbilly hazmat suits now. Laundry gloves duct taped to raincoats, towels wrapped around their mouths. Together they lifted two bags