The Dishonored Dead by Robert Swartwood Read Free Book Online Page A

you can do is say goodbye.”
    “They think I’m afraid of zombies now. Did you know that?”
    Norman was silent.
    “Frank stopped me when I first got here this morning. He said he’d heard the news, wanted to wish me luck. He said it was an honor to serve under me and that he didn’t believe what everyone else was saying.”
    “Frank’s a good rookie,” Norman said. Down the hallway, more laughter came from the Deck. “I’d say he’s one of our best recruits.”
    Conrad barely heard him. He thought about what Frank had then told him, about what everyone else was saying, and repeated once more how he didn’t believe it. Frank, a kid barely twenty years old, a newlywed, one of the few Hunters nowadays that truly believed in honor and integrity and professionalism. Conrad thought about how Frank had then saluted him—his feet together, his back straight, his flattened hand held to his forehead—and how he continued standing there, staring back at Conrad, a statue that would not move until he was dismissed.
    Some more laughter exploded from the room, and someone shouted: “I’m telling you the truth, she ate the whole fucking thing!”
    Conrad shifted the box to his other side, looked at Norman, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

     

     
    They took Norman’s car. Out of the parking garage and into the city streets, over the bridge and onto the Shakespeare, neither of them spoke. Eventually Norman got off at an exit near the country, made a right at the top of the ramp, and drove for another ten minutes.
    They passed homes, farms, dead cows and sheep grazing in fields, countless telephone poles supporting their burdens of black wire upon black wire. Eventually they turned off the main road onto a narrow, poorly maintained side road that was sheltered by tall gray trees. What little sunlight there had been fighting through the heavy clouds was shut out by the thick leaves and branches.
    A half mile on this side road brought them to an extended gate. It seemed to be the only thing around besides the trees.
    Two men appeared out of the trees. Both wore gray and black camouflage. Both carried rifles. They checked out the car with some kind of sensor, reviewed Conrad’s and Norman’s Hunter badges, then allowed them to continue.
    After another quarter mile the trees started to thin and they passed a large white building. It was about three hundred yards long, maybe one hundred yards tall, with no windows of any kind. It had a small parking lot dotted with a few cars and vans.
    Conrad expected Norman to pull in there, but when he didn’t and they continued on and the place was lost behind the shield of gray trees, he asked what that was.
    Norman answered, “We call it the Warehouse.”
    Another building appeared out of the thinning trees. This building wasn’t as big as the one they’d just passed. In fact, it was barely a quarter of the size. It too was white and had no windows. But in its parking lot there were at least three times the number of vehicles that had been in the previous lot.
    Norman parked and they got out. Though Conrad had been in the country and woods a few times throughout the course of his existence, he had never grown accustomed to the silent stillness of nature.
    “This is it?” Conrad asked.
    “Do you think you’ll remember how to get here on your own?”
    They walked to the entrance, a simple glass door. It had no handle and Norman had to wave up to a security camera before there was a buzz and the door opened.
    Just inside the door was a small corridor that led to a very large but simple desk. Behind this was an older woman wearing glasses.
    “Hello, Norman,” she said. “Is this the new transfer?”
    “That’s right.”
    The women stood up, smiled at Conrad and extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Cynthia”
    Conrad shook her hand, smiled back.
    “Now,” Cynthia said, pulling something from her desk, “if you would just look into this.”
    She held a