Read Safari - 02 for Free Online

pile at the gate. The ones around the wall didn’t concern him so much, but he needed to get rid of that ramp of flesh. With that intention, he climbed the ladder, perched atop the wall, and pulled the ladder up after him as he climbed down the other side. The effort made his ribs scream and left him bent over and wincing for seconds.
    He scuffed through the area where he’d burned the corpses. The fire had eaten well, ravaging most of the bodies down to stark, soot-spotted bone. His ribs continued warning him with bell-like chimes of pain as he labored with the gate, taking down the wooden beams bracing it. He took several breaks—saying, “Goddamn it” —every time until he was able to open the gate. He doused the corpses on the other side with gasoline and readied a match. He sheltered the flame with his hand and dropped it on the bodies. A huff and the fire quickly spread, feeding on the dead with a focus as single-minded in purpose as the corpses had been when animated.
    Gus straightened and watched the funeral pyre as it grew, lighting up that section of the wall and pushing back the encroaching gloom of the storm. Larger flakes of snow swirled, dancing on violent air currents. Shreds of black ash joined in above and around the growing blaze. He looked up at the darkened sky and wondered where the day had gone. He figured there was no way to close the gates, not with the fire going, so he would leave it to burn away as much as possible and close the gates in the morning.
    If anything, dead or alive, found him during the night, he’d let his new best friends, Benelli and Ruger, do the talking.
    *
    Gus woke up to discover two inches of snow had fallen during the night, and the heavy cloud cover suggested more was on the way. He got up and sleepily checked his wounds. Everything still hurt. The holes in his gums had stopped bleeding and, while looking bruised, didn’t seem to have any signs of infection. He thanked God for that, but cringed at the face in the mirror, still battered and bruised in a harsh display of red, purple, and yellow. Long lines of blood-crusted scabs marked the trenches Roxanne had clawed in his face, and Gus wondered how the hell she hadn’t permanently blinded him. The woman could fight.
    He rinsed his mouth with an antiseptic and went about the rest of his morning routine, feeling how cold the house had become from the broken door.
    That, and the lack of human company.
    After breakfast, he suited up. He studied the motorcycle helmet and thought of his nose. Missing that important piece of armor didn’t set well on his nerves, but he shuddered at the thought of trying to get the helmet over his nose again. He tried slipping on his ninja hood, but the pressure on his nose made his eyes water. Swearing, he elected to go without anything on his head. The wind chilled him as he wandered out to the gate, his bootprints marking the way in the snow. The fire had died during the night, and the mound of bodies still hadn’t burned completely. A light coating of snow covered the remains, and knobs of charred bone and bent knees rose above the mess. Gus arched his back, feeling the creak and crack there, and adjusted the Nomex coat. He had to do two things. He had to get building supplies—planks of wood and sheets of plastic in particular—and seal up the ruined sliding door in the living room. Then, he had to clear the gate and seal the wall. The scale of the assault wasn’t lost on him—he’d shot hundreds—but others could arrive at any time. The cold would slow them down, but wouldn’t stop them. The wall was the first and best defense in keeping them at bay, and he needed to secure it.
    Periodically muttering to himself, he hauled out another gas container and doused the leftover dead. He lit the pile once more and howled at the height of the flames. Gus peered over the fire, through the gate, and saw the dark husk of the pickup. He didn’t want to chance driving down the mountain road