Read Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead for Free Online Page A

off the hunger, but I'm going hunting and
     every little bit helps. Another pint and I'll be primed, the top of my game. I open the
     fridge. Eleven pints. I don't like to let my stash get much below ten pints. If I take
     another one I'll need to replenish the stock in the next day or two. I think about the
     three zombies last night and how close the girl came to cutting my eyes out. I grab one of
     the little bags. I suck it dry, standing there in the middle of the room, and it makes me
     feel the way it always makes me feel, it makes me feel alive.
    There's a patrol car parked out front of the abandoned P.S. on 9th Street. A couple police
     barricades fence off the courtyard and the doors are sealed with yellow tape. The crime
     scene has been worked already, but the cops will keep it sealed until curiosity dies down
     and they don't have to worry about any freaks breaking into the building to party in the
     death room. As it is, a few people are on the sidewalk across the street, pointing at the
     school and taking pictures with their phones. If the Coalition hadn't fingered the kid
     this place would be rabid with cops and newshounds, and I wouldn't be able to get anything
     done at all.
    I circle around to the 10th Street side of the building. The rear entrance has been long
     boarded up. No cops necessary here. A trio of club kids walks loudly west. I wait for them
     to turn the corner, then I take three running steps, jump six feet straight up, grab a
     window ledge and clamber up the security screen that protects the broken glass behind it.
    It takes me less than a minute using the window screens and bricks to scuttle up the wall
     to the roof of the school. The two pints I drank today have me peaked. I walk on the balls
     of my feet to the roof access door and inspect the lock. Old, rusted, I could force it
     easy. Instead I slip the picks from my back pocket. I wiggle the tension wrench into the
     lock then tease a hook past it and rake the pins. This keyed up, I can feel and hear each
     tiny click as I slide the remaining pins into place. I rotate the wrench, the lock pops
     open and I'm inside. Pitch dark. I leave the door ajar to admit the ambient light of New
     York City. My pupils grow to the size of dimes. It's not exactly clear as day, but I'll be
     fine.
    The air is dank and thick with mold. Graffiti covers the walls. I hear a scamper of rat
     claws ahead of me, and then the rat freezes, sensing something large and dangerous. It's
     right, I am
    dangerous, but not to it. Animal blood may as well be salt water as far as the Vyrus is
     concerned.
    I feel a slight shifting of the air. The door I've left open is drawing the warmer air up
     and out of the school. I follow the draft backward and find the stairwell. I descend three
     flights to the ground floor, sniffing at the thin trail of air wafting up past me, picking
     out details from the last twenty-four hours. I can smell the decay of the zombies, the
     urine of Ali Singh, the nameless blood and brains of the other boy. I can smell my own
     slightly feral scent and the Ivory soap I use in the shower. Fresher than the rest is a
     heavy overlay of sweaty cop, coffee and fingerprint powder, and the excited tang of news
     reporters. Under it all, the heavy, damp rot of the building.
    I retrace my steps to the room where the killing took place. The door has no lock, but the
     cops have sealed it with the inevitable yellow tape, the era's icon for tragedy. I tear it
     off and open the door. It reeks inside.
    Normally in these things someone would have been here by now with a bucket of bleach to
     get things sterile, but I guess the cops want to leave the crime scene intact until they
     have a confession out of Singh. Result: taped body outlines, dried blood, dried urine,
     dried vomit from whoever found the slaughterhouse, and oh yeah, dried brains.
    I pick out the zombie smell from the others and walk slowly around the