Dying Days 2 by Armand Rosamilia Read Free Book Online Page A

what?" John asked. This was becoming ridiculous; he wasn't in the mood for any of this. He wanted to rest, rise early in the morning and be done with their supply run.
    Kayla, by the grin on her face, and the look in her eye, wanted to play and have some fun. Peter simply leaned against the bar and watched his sister like he'd probably done a thousand times before.
    They'll be fine without me, John thought. She'll get into some minor trouble, Peter will step in as the heavy, and they'll both go home tomorrow with a hangover.
    And John decided he could rest tonight. He said his good-byes but Kayla wasn't listening. She was already flirting with the befuddled old man sitting next to her, making sure to show as much cleavage as possible, hoping for a free drink.
    John pushed his way to the door, amazed that even during an apocalypse some people's first priority was getting drunk. Sometimes their second and third as well.
    "Who are you?" a young girl asked John as he was leaving.
    He smiled to be nice and moved past her. "Nobody."
    "I beg to differ."
    John just wanted to get to a comfortable bed and rest. But he didn't want to piss anyone off tonight, either. "I'm John. I was just leaving."
    She grinned at him and put a hand on her hip. "Too bad, honey, because I have enough to get us both drunk tonight."
    John got a better look at her. She was a redhead, very pretty and petite, and wearing a revealing outfit: cut-off concert T-shirt, tight jeans with rips strategically placed, and high-heeled black leather boots. She was also older than he first thought, probably in her mid-twenties.
    "I'll take a rain check on that, but thank you for the offer."
    "Don't wait too long, honey. A girl like me is getting rarer and rarer these days."
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    Her eyes opened suddenly but she didn't move, staring at the fluorescent light banks above her. One of them intermittently blinked and made an annoying buzzing noise, like when she was in high school.
    She turned her head and realized she was in a school.
    Desks and chairs were piled in a corner, just under the green chalkboard.
    Darlene was on a large wooden table, hands and feet strapped tightly. As soon as she started to struggle she was startled by a voice from just out of sight.
    "Excellent. I knew you weren't dead. Well, dead-dead."
    "Who are you?" she asked, voice raspy. She felt like she'd swallowed a pound of sand. She tried to break free of the restraints but couldn’t budge them.
    "Holy shit, you can talk." He came into view, a man sporting long, thick wild hair and a bloodied lab coat. He smiled, his face like a child's under all that hair. "The next step in the evolution. And so soon."
    "Who the fuck are you?"
    He ignored her question, walking slowly around the table and looking like a kid about to open Christmas presents. "Excellent," he muttered, clapping his hands in excitement.
    "Let me up, motherfucker."
    He disappeared from Darlene's view again, returning seconds later with a hand-held tape recorder. He put it close to his face. "Subject is exhibiting speech, even sentences. Subject is also using profanity, which might be a neurological disorder, or may simply be a personality trait from when she was alive."
    Darlene closed her eyes. She was tired, and now some lunatic had her prisoner and thought she was a fucking zombie. Could this day get any worse?
    "The wound is still bleeding and rigor mortis has yet to set in, which I find odd. She's a fresh candidate, the freshest I've had yet."
    Darlene opened her eyes again. He was standing over her and sniffing her.
    "What are you doing?" she asked.
    It startled him and he fell back. She laughed when she heard him crash into something, breaking it.
    "For the last time, you fucking madman, let me go."
    He stood over her, his mouth open. "You called me madman."
    "No shit. Untie