The Dishonored Dead by Robert Swartwood Read Free Book Online

beneath the surface, and as the days and weeks and months and years passed, they both became colder to one another, until it got to the point neither of them could stand to be in the same room for more than a minute before the insults started to fly.
    Staring now at the metal door, thinking about what was carved on the other side, Conrad wished again he could tell his wife everything, he wished he could confess. But he knew keeping the truth from Denise was for the best. After all, this was how things worked, how the world turned, people lying to protect one another.
    Turning away from the metal door, he walked past the rest of the dust-covered boxes and files. He went up the stairs into the basement, turned the corner and ran right into someone coming his way.
    He grunted in surprise, dropping the box. The man he’d just run into quickly bent and grabbed the box, offered it back to Conrad with a lowered head and a murmured apologize.
    “Don’t worry about it,” Conrad said. He took the box, started to step around the man, but paused. “What are you doing down here anyway?”
    “Rats,” the man murmured. His head was still lowered.
    Conrad remembered seeing some droppings in the subbasement. “Where’s Jerry?”
    Jerry was their usual weekday janitor.
    “He’s sick,” the man murmured. He raised his head just a little, enough for Conrad to see his thick glasses and beard. “I’m covering. Sorry again for running into you.”
    “Let me see your ID.”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Your ID. Let me see it.”
    The man didn’t move for the longest time, just frowning at him. Finally he reached into his pocket and extracted his identification and handed it to Conrad.
    “Is there a problem?” he asked.
    The name on the ID was Joseph Cook. Conrad held it up and compared the picture with the janitor’s face. After the attempt on his existence the other day, he wasn’t taking any chances.
    “No problem.” Conrad handed the ID back. “Just get all of those rats expired, okay?”

     

     
    He started with his locker first, took down the pictures of Denise and Kyle. Next he went up to his office on the third floor. Here he cleaned out his desk, but there wasn’t much except a few more pictures of his family. Truth be told, that was all he really wanted to take with him. Not his commendations, not his medals, not his awards, not even his personalized letter from the Leader thanking him for his services—he placed these in the box as well, but he had no intention of keeping them, figured he would throw them away once he got to wherever he was going.
    There was a knock at the door.
    Norman said, “Have everything?”
    Conrad nodded. A moment later, the box now under his arm, he stepped out into the hallway, shut the door behind him. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Philip know yet this will be his new office?”
    Norman nodded. “He was told yesterday. He’s very excited.”
    “I’m sure he is.”
    Down the hallway came the faint sound of a television, some loud laughter. Both men looked down that way.
    “Last chance,” Norman said. “Philip’s out on patrol, so you won’t be forced to see him.”
    The room farther down the hallway was called the Deck, a play on the baseball term. It was where the Hunters on duty spent most of their time while waiting for the all-important call, lounging around, lifting weights, playing cards, video games, billiards, joking, napping. They spent most of the day doing this while two other squads drove around the city in black Humvees (vehicles exclusive to Hunters), making sure their presence was known, and come nighttime almost all of them would leave, squads driving around not only the city but also the surrounding suburbs, because it was at night when the zombies almost always appeared.
    The Deck was the place Conrad had wanted to avoid today.
    “And what do you expect me to say to them?”
    “I don’t know. But you worked with most of them for nearly a decade. The least