Necropolis 2 by S. A. Lusher Read Free Book Online

raised the pistol. Turning the corner, he faced another pair of zombified horrors. They were med-techs, helmets torn away, mouths stained with fresh smears of gore. Greg took aim and squeezed the trigger.
    The first shot was perfect. It nailed the back of the first zombie's skull, spraying its brains and blood all over the other, which seemed to send it into a frenzy. It spun, zeroing in on Greg's location and coming for him. He fired again, his hands steady now, and watched one of the thing's eyes explode in a torrent of black blood. The body flopped to the ground, skidding to a stop. Greg kept going, stepping over the corpses.
    As he pressed on, turned another corner, and wound his way through the maze of corridors, the lights flickered and died. Greg froze. His heart thundered in his chest, primal terror seized him like never before. He looked around, but he couldn't see anything. It was pitch black. He had no flashlight, and the gun didn't come equipped with one. Could these things see in the dark? Probably. Hell, they could probably go by smell and hearing alone. Greg realized he was outright shaking with fear now. He tried to control himself.
    As he considered how to deal with this problem, the lights flared back to life. He was relieved to see nothing had entered the corridor in the dark interval that had passed. His nerves were a twisted bundle. He swallowed, trying to calm himself and wondered what this meant. Was the main reactor gone? Was this backup? Didn't a secondary generator usually power only the emergency lights, which were red? He shook his head. Too many questions.
    Greg pressed on, a sense of urgency returned to roost on his psyche like some mental bird of prey. Passing by closed cell doors, he wondered about the men and women currently occupying them, wondered who they might be. What was Dark Ops' plan here? Why did they need so many prisoners? So many cells? He began thinking of the Undead and experiments, and decided that he didn't really want to know.
    What he kept coming back to, however, was his own incarceration. Why the tests? It had become obvious that they still needed him, but why? He remembered thinking about this earlier and unable to come up with a sufficient answer, but now it stared him in the face. The Cure didn't work, and if it didn't work, then there was no way to guarantee anyone's safety while experimenting with the Undead.
    His nerves twisted into a bundle, again. They would chase him to the end of the galaxy for this. All the more reason to hurry. At last, Greg came to the opposite end of the detention center. Whatever it was he was looking for resided within a storage room in the back. Greg's finger hovered over the open button. He glanced around, sure he was being watched, then hit the button. The room beyond was stark white, the walls lined with tall, narrow, cold-storage units made of polished silver steel. He realized this must be where they kept the meals.
    The room had only a single occupant. A security guard, though he was only half in his armor, his torso covered only by a tight black t-shirt and blood. Something had torn viciously into his guts and they hung out in foamy red and purple tendrils. His flesh was deathly pale and he had his pistol in hand. It looked as though he meant to kill himself, but had passed out and probably died from blood loss before doing the deed.
    Greg hesitated, trying to determine if the man was still alive. He didn't seem to be breathing. How did the infection work? Could people die and then reanimate? Was that how it worked? Or did they still have to be alive to turn? Greg raised his pistol, determined to finish the job, one way or the other, when the man shifted and opened his eyes. They were still human, a cloudy emerald that looked out of focus.
    “Bishop.” The man managed to speak after a long time. “What the fuck are you doing out of your cell?” He shifted again, looked like he was trying to lift the pistol, but strength had left