The Rising Dead by Devan Sagliani Read Free Book Online

there was something to the way they moved their heads around when they spoke, some hypnotic mind controlling suggestion they were attempting with their body language and speech patterns, but he'd given up being able to unravel it long ago.
    Gunner grabbed a stack of mail he'd brought from home off the top of the television. He lifted his feet and set them on the edge of his desk, letting out a loud sigh as the black rubber of the combat boots hit the metal and took some of the pain out of his lower back. It felt good to be getting back to his normal routine, now that summer had ended and the new fall shift was starting. So far, there were only clusters of returning scientists, and most of the suits were still off God-knows-where, enjoying their break like privileged college students from affluent families.
    Worthless cunts, thought Gunner, every last one of them.
    While they’d been off growing weaker, he'd spent the summer in intensive conditioning at a so-called boot camp for Black Helix at their headquarters in South Dallas. He'd put in long days training rejects for their lower level security force Code Gray. Most candidates would end up providing personal protection for politicians and celebrities on a job-by-job basis. It was shit work, plain and simple, but it paid way better than what he was making. His current position, guarding assholes at a government clearance bio tech company, meant long hours on his ass pointlessly watching video monitors. For the life of him he'd never understand why they only hired former Gulf War vets to babysit scientists. Even if they were making potential chemical and biological weapons behind those doors the chances of being attacked by a foreign enemy were virtually none. While Black Helix did the tedious details the Code Gray clowns got to travel and see some action. Whether it was pummeling a stalker or roughing up an aggressive paparazzi didn't matter. At least they saw combat.
    Despite being offered a position as lead supervisor countless times, Gunner found the work demeaning in general. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy helping them beat up on new recruits. There was nothing like the feeling of pushing a guy past his limits until he finally broke--and either became a better warrior or quit for good.
    Most of the training involved teaching hand-to-hand combat and close range fighting, but some of it allowed Gunner to dog these overweight slobs around a running track in the hot sun. He found that pretty rewarding. Half of them looked like they had failed being mall cops. The other half looked like they had won some kind of eating competition. The company's version of “boot camp” didn't even come close to the type of brutal and demanding physical punishment real boot camp put you through. These sorry candy-asses that showed up couldn't handle that. No sir. But it did whip them into some kinda shape, at least as long as Gunner was helping out. As emotionally rewarding as it was he had fallen behind on his reading.
    Usually during the latter part of the afternoon, after most of the eggheads were out for the day and the grounds had grown quiet, he'd get a chance to flip through some of his newsletters. Other guys mindlessly read one pulp novel after another by writers like John Grisham and James Patterson. There was nothing wrong with that, mind you, but as far as Gunner was concerned there would be plenty of time for that kind of frivolity once Doomsday had passed. He preferred his light reading to be a little more educational in nature until then.
    Since coming back from his last tour of duty in Iraq, he'd subscribed for dozens of publications others might consider, well, just a little off the beaten path--even in Nevada. These weren't just Soldier of Fortune or Guns and Ammo . Any redneck could grab that kind of thing at the local supermarket or gas station, right next to the girlie magazines and the beef jerky rack. Gunner was more interested in the real tools a survivalist would