Rage by Lee Pletzers Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t walk. I brought my hands to my face and saw the skin mottle and turn a green-gray shade of death. My vision narrowed and all I saw were sepia images of the hall and streaks of colored light at the side of my vision, giving me a tunnel view. But with these limitations, I was more aware than ever before. They weren’t confines like I’d always assumed. With the sudden relaxation of my muscles, I heard ragged breathing up ahead around the side of a doorway. Someone was waiting. The smell of gunpowder mixed with sweat and fear filled my nostrils.
    I leaned against the wall. He was inches from me. Lightning fast, I reached around and grabbed the M-16, yanking it out of his grip and tossing it against the wall. I was hoping the strap was around his neck, an easy grab, but alas he released the weapon and stumbled back.
    He lost his footing and hit the ground. I rounded the corner. He was fumbling with something. He pulled out a small bottle and sprayed me with Mace. A slice of RAGE left me at his feeble attempt to live. I almost laughed. He was a kid, barely eighteen.
    The M-16 called my name. I stepped backwards to it, watching the kid try to push himself into the wall. Without looking, I reached down and scooped it up. There was no strap. I pointed the barrel to the ground. “I’m giving you the chance to get out of here.”
    The kid looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.
    “ I said, ‘go!’”
    He got shakily to his feet.
    “ Where’s Speaker?”
    The kid looked to the door behind him several feet at the end of the corridor. He looked back at me. “You’re not like them,” he stated.
    “ I’m worse.”
    He stared at the M-16 barrel as it leveled with his chest. His hands rose and, using the wall as a guide, he slid around the corner and ran for all he was worth, straight into George, who took him down in a body to back WWE Barrett slam and went to work, ripping and tearing flesh. Blood sprayed as arteries were severed. The kid’s legs kicked for a few seconds then lay still apart from the occasional twitch.
    Six zombies gathered around, watching. George stopped and got to his feet. He turned to look at me and blood covered his chin. A sliver of skin hung at the corner of his mouth. Once he stepped away from his catch, the other zombies pounced on the fallen kid. The boy’s hand reached out to me. I was surprised he was still alive. Not for much long though, those zombies were hungry and not interested in making more. For the kid that was a blessing in disguise.
    George came up and stood at my side. He gave me a quick look over. “Speaker is right,” I told him. “I will put an end to this.” I checked the M-16. “I will start with that fucker.”
    A small chunk of plaster exploded next me. George pushed me to the side and raced down the hall. A guard was still around. I wondered if there were more. The guard turned and ran but was tackled to the ground incredibly fast. George was like an assassin. He was fast, he struck hard and he never missed. He scrambled into a crouch, grabbed the guard’s face and slammed the back of his head into the floor. He repeated the action time and again until the solid crack of the skull became a wet slap. He drove his foot through the guard’s face for good measure ensuring this one would not rise as one of the undead.
    I looked back down the corridor. It was time to do this. Taking a step forward, I stopped. Something felt wrong. I’m not sure what it was, but there was a wrongness here. A quick sniff of the air produced nothing but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. Gut instinct told me not to turn that doorknob.
    The doctor started talking again. He was coaxing me, telling me to drop the machine gun and enter the room—we could talk things through—come to an understanding—set me on the correct path for the mission—be the fucking hero I never wanted to be.
    He wasn’t in that room. The little shit had lied to