MZS: Philadelphia (Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Book 3) by K. D. McAdams Read Free Book Online Page B

woman.
    Outside, the gunfire stops.
    “Tucker!” the three of them scream in panic.
    The man holding the child has leaned his face into the wall. The bloody pulp of flesh that used to be a head has flopped off to one side. I can see the man’s back trembling and hear his sobs above all else. That must be his son.
    The largest of the three men opens the outside door, the one that came through in front of me. On cue, the gunfire resumes, but still they scream to their friend.
    “TUCKER! TUCKER! TUCKER!”
    He doesn’t even glance our way.
    The first zombie appears at the back of the Humvee and I know there are many more on the way. We need to help Tucker, but leaving our door open so zombies can get in is not the way.
    With all my might, I push them aside. My effort is justified when an arm thrusts through the opening and grabs at the large guy’s chest. The hockey stick I saw earlier connects with the zombie’s chest and pushes the thing back several steps. I grab the bar of the door and pull it closed, listening intently for the click.
    “Here,” I scream, too loud for the newly reduced level of noise.
    They slide over to the sidelight window and jockey for position. The young woman stands motionless. The distant look in her eyes conveys nothing and everything.
    I have to take a step back from the guys by the window. They are oblivious to my presence here in the stairwell. Moving about to get a better view of the outside, they dance around each other but see only their friend outside.
    “He’s okay. They can’t climb onto the rig,” the big one says.
    “He needs to get under cover before he runs out of ammo. I’ll try texting him,” the one with the hockey stick says.
    From my vantage point I can see out to the Humvee. The guy in the turret is firing and pausing.
    After a sustained burst of fire, I can see a fist pump and briefly catch a smile purse his lips. For a moment I forgot that, in addition to the zombies, this guy is getting shot at from the snipers.
    Another short burst of gunfire erupts and Tucker—I gather that’s his name—slides down out of view. There was no telltale red puff to indicate that he was shot. He may be reloading or just resting.
    The big one pulls out his phone and reads the screen.
    “Tucker thinks he got the last shooter.”
    “Now what?” Mr. Hockey stick asks.
    Out the window, there are hundreds of zombies on the street. There are more than I remember seeing in the lobby. How many bullets would he need to stop them all? More than I believe are in the truck.
    “We can distract them,” I say without thinking.
    “What?”
    “If we go to the lobby, we can make loud noise to get the zombies turned around and maybe give him enough of an opening to get to the door.”
    “Let’s go!” the big one yells.
    “McLean. You stay here with Todd,” the guy with the hockey stick says to the girl.
    “When the zombies get away from the Hummer, open the door and call Tucker over.”
    “Uh huh,” she nods vaguely.
    “Laney, do you understand?” he asks again.
    “Yeah. Open the door and yell for Tucker.” She’s distant.
    We turn to head into the hotel.
    The three of us pause to look at the man still holding the lifeless child. He continues to sob and has begun lightly banging his forehead against the wall. We’ll have to find a way to help him when their other friend is safe.
    The big guy moves first. He gives his mourning friend a wide berth and heads to the hotel door. The hockey stick guy directs me to go second and I follow without protest. I have not been inside the hotel from this entrance, so I know as little as my new companions.
    We get through the door and into a short hallway. It leads deeper into the hotel and I hope it connects to the main passage to the lobby.
    “Which way is the lobby?” Big guy asks.
    “To the right, it’s not that far.”
    He takes off at a slow jog. For the first time, I notice that his forearms and calves are covered in something. The