Read Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine for Free Online Page B

enough
away. Don’t want them turning back when I’m half way out of the car. I don’t
have a trunk latch. Gotta use the key.”
    “Okay. And you’re right. They do
seem to be slowing down. Maybe the more energy they exert, the faster they wear
down.”
    “Don’t know. Something to keep in
mind, though. OK, I’m going.”
    “Be careful, honey. I love you.”
    “Hey, I’m just going to the trunk.”
He winked, opened the door and darted to the rear of the car, slipping the key
into the slot on the first try. Reaching in, he grabbed his wallet and shoved
it in his pocket and slung Sarah’s purse around his shoulder—no time for male
proprieties—and started to shut the trunk, but stopped at a sudden thought.
Leaning deep into the back, his fingers wrapped around the handle of his
favorite bat just as Sarah let out a shriek.
    “Trip!”
    He slammed the trunk and looked through
the back window to see which side the new attacker was on, but she was looking
behind him, eyes wide and one finger pointing over his shoulder. Knowing he didn’t
have time to think, only to act, he lunged down to his right into a tight roll,
feeling something sharp glance off his shoulder as he moved. In an instant, he
was up and facing his opponent—a quick glance around showed there was only one,
a very large white man with a huge belly and a red and gold Chiefs Jersey that
would have been a tent on Trip. The stench of roadkill flooded his nostrils and
he retched. The thing’s skin had turned the color of ash, eyes and mouth tightly
drawn into a freakish, cadaverous mask. The mask of the dead. Unfortunately, in
Kansas City the dead didn’t seem to want to stay dead anymore.
    The man moaned and lurched towards
him, so Trip stepped to one side, bashed it in the head once with a level
swing, followed with an uppercut. With a grunt of finality he turned and brought
the bat straight down one more time on the top of the head with all the power
he could muster. The man’s skull burst like an over-ripened watermelon at a Gallagher
show and sprayed the area with a reddish-grey goo that dribbled down the former
man’s bulky, headless shoulders to splatter all over pavement and Trip’s shoes.
    The body slumped to the pavement
with a heavy, sickening plop. Unable to control himself, bile rising in his
throat, Trip collapsed to his knees, vomiting every bit of an excellent steak
and egg breakfast. Tears came unbidden as the reality of what he had just done
hit him. Oh my God. I just killed a guy. Holy fucking shit. I killed
someone. I beat his fucking head in.
    “Trip! Let’s go! We have to go help
the doctor. You can throw up again later.”
    “Easy for you to say,” he gagged
and wiped the tears at the same time. “You didn’t just spill some guy’s brains
all over the place.”
    “I saw it. But he was dead already,
Trip.”
    “You don’t know that,” he shouted
back, fighting back more tears.
    “I know. I’m sorry. But it was him
or you, and we have to get out of here.”
    A scraping somewhere in the shadows
of the garage was all the motivation he needed. He didn’t want to be lunch, but
even more than that he didn’t want to kill another guy or— what if the next
one is a kid ? He worried.
    Despite his sour stomach, he wiped
the bloody length of the bat on the dead man’s jersey, turned, and teleported
to his door, unable to remember how he got there—fear was an excellent
motivator. Tossing her the purse, in half a heartbeat, he had already slid the
bat between the two bucket seats as Sarah dug for the proper change. The gate
was beside them and the ticket already inserted and he sat holding out his other
hand to Sarah.
    “Two-seventy-five,” he said.
    “Just a second.”
    “Hurry up, babe,” he demanded, snapping
his fingers and checking all around for more undead. “The dead don’t wait for exact
change,” he quipped.
    “That’s not funny, Tripper,” she
snapped. “I’m getting it. Don’t rush me.”
    How