Xombies: Apocalypse Blues by Walter Greatshell Read Free Book Online

“Fred Cowper here! Fred Cowper—don’t shoot!”
    A different voice called down, “Fred Cowper? We thought it was the Mexican Army. What’d you do, take the scenic route?”
    “Who’s that? Chief Reynolds? Beau, you know I’m cleared with Sandoval!”
    “That was three weeks ago. We gave up waiting for you.”
    “Goddammit, I’m here now! Open up!”
    After an unbearable pause, the spotlight went off, and we could see men with guns lined up on a high catwalk and makeshift guard tower. They were not soldiers, but some kind of private security force—what my mother called “rent-a-cops.” Others below waved us toward a cagelike revolving door in the fence. “Hurry!” they shouted. “Run!”
    As we made for it, something charged from the shadows between barriers, something naked, blue, and low to the ground. I barely saw it before gunfire erupted from a dozen places at once, and the thing was knocked over, spouting flesh. It was a headless torso riddled with holes, trying to get back up on its hands. Then we were inside the door, pushing as hard as we could. But it only revolved a quarter turn before crashing against the bolt, trapping us inside.
    “Who’s the girl?” demanded a stunned-looking sentry.
    “Sandoval said I could bring someone,” Cowper said. “Open the damn gate!”
    “Girls are supposed to be quarantined.”
    “That’s only if they might turn. She has a medical condition that stops her from maturing. Look at her—does she look seventeen?”
    “She’s seventeen ?” All the guards nearly jumped out of their skins, as if I were liable to snatch their guts out.
    Impatiently, Cowper replied, “You morons, if she was gonna, she already woulda. Don’t you get it? Where’s Reynolds?” As he spoke, I saw a ghastly figure appear out of the hazy twilight, racing along the outside of the fence toward us. We were pinned in place; it could grab us right through the bars.
    “Let us in!” I screamed.
    “I guess it’s Bring Your Daughter to Work Day,” said the man Reynolds from above. “All right, go ahead,” he ordered. “Let ’em in.” The gate swung open, and we were jerked through, half-deaf from the fusillade around our ears. I had never heard shooting before. It wasn’t like the movies. Something squishy slammed against the bars just as we jumped clear. I didn’t want to look. I could’ve cried to be among people again, and tried to thank them, but any man I approached reared like a spooked horse.
    “They’re a little traumatized,” Cowper observed, taking me aside. “Send ’em a thank-you note.”
    Reynolds announced, “Hold your fire! That thing’s got more holes than the goddamn Albert Hall.” At his command, a man swaggered past us wearing a tank on his back like an exterminator. Using a sparking device, he ignited a pale blue pilot light at the end of his weapon and pointed it at the writhing pulp outside. Liquid fire sprayed through the gate. Its oily yellow glow cast all the men’s unshaven faces in gold, making them look like combatants in some Hollywood spectacle.
    “Cowper!” called Reynolds from above. In the waning torchlight, he, too, looked heroic up on his crowded platform, like Napoleon reviewing the troops, but he was obviously extremely annoyed about us traipsing through the scene. “Get that girl out of here before somebody shoots her by accident. They’ll fill you in at Building Nineteen.”
    “I have to go to the Front Office,” Cowper said.
    “The Front Office is restricted to company executives and NavSea.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since you’ll find out. Now go.”
    “I want to talk to Sandoval.”
    The other man’s laugh was mirthless and distracted. “Sandoval’s a little scarce these days, along with the rest of the suits in upper management. Talk to Ed Albemarle.”
    “Ed Albemarle? From Finishing?”
    “He’s in charge of you people. Better hurry—it’s after curfew.”
    I had no idea what they were talking about, but