Survive by Todd Sprague Read Free Book Online Page A

in the small bathroom getting ready for his second chance at bed, his phone chimed that he had a new email. Poking his head out of the bathroom, he made sure Sara was already sleeping peacefully before flipping open his phone.
    M, they’re looking for us. Two men showed up at my place in Maine today. They ransacked the place, looking for something. They left a list pinned to my door with a knife. It was a list of NEC officers. Some had been crossed out. Your name was on the list too. Be careful. They had a lot of firepower with them. Get me on the shortwave tomorrow. 1830 hours. I’ll be listening. -Jcon14
    John sent a quick reply, acknowledging his receipt, then deleted the message. He flipped his phone closed and climbed into bed with Sara. John kissed her bare shoulder, then closed his eyes. The nightmares started that night.
     

Chapter 6
     
    September 22, Zed Year One
    Brattleboro, Vermont
     
    “Fire into the room! Pour it on!” John yelled, firing an AK 47 into the dark portal of the open doorway. Light from the muzzle flashes lit up hideously decayed forms inside, all struggling to get through the doorway and out into the open.
    “I’m out!” John’s father, Harold Mason, yelled, dropping the empty magazine from his rifle.
    Cries of “Me too!” and “Empty!” and “That’s it!” came down the line as the sounds of gunfire diminished until it was only John firing, trying to stem the tide of the undead all by himself.
    CLICK! John pulled the trigger again. CLICK! He looked down, frowning at his empty weapon. He threw the impotent gun down to the ground and ran for the door. Reaching it seconds before the undead, he slammed the door shut and tried to lock it. As he tried to slide the bolt home, the rusty metal squealed, but wouldn’t budge. Heavy bodies began smashing in to the door from the other side. John leaned against the door, pushing with all his might, but the door slowly began to open. Rotting fingers reached around the door, groping for the living.
    “Help me!” John yelled. He shoved harder at the door, bracing his feet against the dirt beneath him. The undead redoubled their efforts, and the door slid open more. An arm, flesh shredded and putrid, edged around and reached for him. John looked over his shoulder, seeking support.
    John’s family reached for him with decaying hands, bloody mouths working in unison as they moaned “ Jooohhhnnnn.” The door smashed its way inward and John was pulled down by the incoming horde moments before his family reached him.
    John sat straight up, a wordless scream almost escaping his mouth. He breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. He sat there like that for a few moments, just staring into the brightly lit room. As his breathing slowed to a more normal level, he heard birds chirping outside the bedroom window. He looked around slowly. His carbine leaned against the wall next to the bed, his shoulder holster hung from the bedpost, still with his Sig Sauer nestled inside. The big bed took up most of the room, with his gun cabinet against the far wall. Two nightstands framed the old four poster bed, and a big dresser occupied the last wall. Storm lamps sat unused atop the dresser.
    He kissed Sara on her forehead, careful not to wake her. He stood up, pulled on the pants he’d dropped on the floor the night before, and padded quietly into the living room. Princess raised her head in greeting before flopping back down in a patch of sunlight on the wooden floor.
    Walking through the living room, John glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:15. Good , he thought to himself. There’s so much to do today. He shook his head and frowned as he reached the kitchen.
    John filled the coffee pot with water and coffee grounds, then turned the old machine on. “At least the electricity still works,” he mumbled softly to himself. Princess thought he said “There’s a slab of bacon out here for just for you,” and ran over to him, tail wagging happily.
    He looked down