Dying Days 5 by Armand Rosamilia Read Free Book Online Page A

movie?”
    Jeff nodded with a smile. “Yeah. The movie franchise and the television series.”
    “I never saw it. My dad liked it, I guess. Why?”
    Mitchell, who was standing behind the guy, stared at the shirt and then back at Jeff and grinned. He obviously got the gallows humor of the situation. “I think what Jeff is trying to say is: you’ve been promoted to the lead when we go down there.”
    The guy smiled.
    Jeff nodded at Mitchell and went back to watching the tent people. “I see maybe a dozen guns. They set traps a hundred feet away from the tents in a circle around them. Snares and nothing major. No explosives. A few lengths of rope attached to tin cans. They’ve been here awhile because they dug a shit trench and I can see a pile of refuse nearby. I’m guessing they’ve already cleaned out the mall and the restaurants and airport but we’re going to search ourselves at some point.”
    “How do you usually do this?” Mitchell asked.
    Jeff turned to the guy. He was starting to like him a bit, although, if push came to shove, he’d stick a steak knife between his ribs and be done with it. He was just another asshole in a long line of assholes who thought they could get on Jeff’s good side. “How do we usually do what?”
    Mitchell pointed in the direction of the tents. “Go down there and talk to them.”
    Someone behind Jeff snickered.
    “We don’t usually go down and talk to anyone. We usually surround them with our Harleys and shoot the biggest douche bag we see. Then we take the women and anything we can carry,” Jeff said. “Only now, The Lich Lord has decided these losers are worth more alive than dead. I don’t see the point of more mouths to feed, but I’m overruled on this one. So… we’re going to go down without a show of force and talk to whoever is in charge. Explain where we are living and tell them they are welcome to join us.”
    “What happens if they get mouthy or want to fight?”
    Jeff grinned. “Then all bets are off and we shoot every last one of them. And gather our new belongings.”
    “It looks like win/win for you either way,” Mitchell said and laughed.
    Jeff didn’t know if he was being a dick or not. Maybe he didn’t like this kid as much as he thought. “Let’s go down there and have some fun. I’ll take you and Red Shirt,” he said and pointed at Mitchell. “We carry rifles but don’t point them at anyone. The rest of the team stays in position and shoots anyone who is about to kill me.”
    The three men made sure their secondary weapon was in position in case it was needed, a pistol in the crook of Jeff’s back hidden under his shirt. He had no problem shooting people, but The Lich Lord had been very specific: invite this group to Main Street without a conflict.
    Something had changed, small and subtle, in The Lich Lord. He seemed no longer interested in killing everyone not on their side of the walls. He wanted to help everyone still breathing and destroy every zombie walking.
    Jeff had seen their leader hop over the walls (if he hadn’t seen the creature jump fifteen feet from a standing position, he wouldn’t have believed it) and come back before first light, covered in gore. But he wasn’t feeding on the living. He was ripping the undead apart. When Jeff did his daily rides to find supplies and other survivors, he could see the destruction on A1A. Bodies piled six feet high, stacked on the sidewalks.
    And the bodies picked clean of anything useful and placed behind the pile in a plastic shopping bag and sometimes more than one. The Lich Lord was doing part of Jeff’s job. All Jeff had to do was collect the spoils of the battle and bring them home, as if The Lich Lord couldn’t be bothered to carry a bag filled with pistols, bullets and pocketknives back on his person.
    Jeff passed out weapons whenever possible, but kept the best toys for his own future use. He was partial to AK-47’s and military-issue M4 carbines, as well as over a dozen