Rise of the Governor by Robert Kirkman Read Free Book Online Page A

snapping turtle, and across the yard, Nick fumbles for a weapon, but it’s all happening too fast. Philip rears backward with a grunt, just now realizing that he still holds the nail gun. He dodges the snapping teeth, and then instinctively raises the muzzle of the nail gun.
    In one quick movement, he touches the tip to the thing’s brow.
    FFFFFFFFFFFUMP!
    The lady zombie stiffens.
    Icy fingers release their grip on Philip.
    He pulls himself free, huffing and puffing, gaping at the thing.
    The vertical cadaver teeters for a moment, wobbling as if drunk, shuddering in its soiled velveteen Pierre Cardin warm-up, but it will not go down. The head of the six-inch galvanized nail is visible above the ridge of the lady’s nose like a tiny coin stuck there.
    The thing remains upright for endless moments, its sharklike eyes turned upward, until it begins to slowly stagger backward across the parkway, its ruined face taking on a strange, almost dreamy expression.
    For a moment, it looks as though the thing is remembering something, or hearing some high-pitched whistle. Then it collapses in the grass.
    *   *   *
    â€œI think the nail does just enough damage to take ’em out,” Philip is saying after dinner, pacing back and forth across the shuttered windows of the lavish dining room, the nail gun in his hand like a visual aid.
    The others are sitting at the long burnished oak table, the remnants of dinner lying strewn in front of them. Brian cooked for the group that night, defrosting a roast in the microwave and making gravy with a vintage cabernet and a splash of cream. Penny is in the adjacent family room watching a DVD of Dora the Explorer .
    â€œYeah, but did you see the way that thing went down?” Nick points out, pushing an uneaten gob of meat across his plate. “After you zapped it … looked like the damn thing was stoned for a second.”
    Philip keeps pacing, clicking the trigger of the nail gun and thinking. “Yeah but it did go down.”
    â€œIt’s quieter than a gun, I’ll give you that.”
    â€œAnd it’s a hell of a lot easier than splitting their skulls open with an axe.”
    Bobby has just started in on his second helping of pot roast and gravy. “Too bad you don’t have a six-mile extension cord,” he says with his mouth full.
    Philip clicks the trigger a few more times. “Maybe we could hook this puppy up to a battery.”
    Nick looks up. “Like a car battery?”
    â€œNo, like something you could carry more easily, something like one of them big lantern batteries or something outta one of them electric mowers.”
    Nick shrugs.
    Bobby eats.
    Philip paces and thinks.
    Brian stares at the wall, mumbling, “Something to do with their brains.”
    â€œSay what?” Philip looks at his brother. “What was that, Bri?”
    Brian looks at him. “Those things … the sickness. It’s basically in the brain, right? It’s gotta be.” He pauses. He looks at his plate. “I still say we don’t even know they’re dead.”
    Nick looks at Brian. “You mean after we take ’em out? After we … destroy ’em?”
    â€œNo, I mean before, ” Brian says. “I mean, like, the condition they’re in.”
    Philip stops pacing. “Shit, man … on Monday, I saw one of ’em get squashed by an eighteen-wheeler and ten minutes later, it’s dragging itself along the street with its guts hanging out. They’ve been saying it on all the news reports. They’re dead, sport. They’re way dead.”
    â€œI’m just saying, the central nervous system, man, it’s complicated. All the shit in the environment right now, new strains of shit.”
    â€œHey, you want to take one of them things to a doctor for a checkup, be my guest.”
    Brian sighs. “All I’m saying is, we don’t know enough yet. We