Free Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel by Richard M. Cochran Page A

we’re there.”
    “How do you know it’s still
there?” she asks. “What if it was looted? What if those things are there
and we can’t get through?”
    “It’ll be fine, trust me,” he
says, waiting for her.
    “But how do you know, Johnny?”
    “Listen, this place is only a
few blocks from my work,” he explains. “My buddy lives there. He’s a total
packrat. There’ll be more food than we’ll know what to do with.”
    “What about the dead?” she asks.
    “There’s a secret way in through
the train yard,” he explains.
    “Will your friend let us stay
there?”
    “Yeah, Mike’s a great guy,”
Johnny says. “He just has a tendency to overstock on supplies. I think it’s
called OCD or something.”
    “So he lives in a shit hole.”                      
    “No, that’s not it,” he replies.
“He’s really organized. He just has a lot of stuff.” Johnny inspects a
portion of fence between some overgrown hedges and turns to April with a smile,
“Through here,” he motions.
    April crouches down between the
hedges and follows Johnny through an open portion of fence. The gap is tight,
but she’s able to wiggle herself through. She snags her shirt on a piece of
fence that is hanging precariously from the other links.
    “Damn it!” She exclaims as she
unthreads her shirt from the wire.
    Johnny tries to help her, but
reaches her as she finally gets loose. “Are you alright?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies,
adjusting the shirt on her shoulders.
    At the edge of the property,
Johnny gazes upward along a narrow building on the other side of the fence. A
series of catwalks connect along the back of the building, extending to ladders
that wind around to each level.
    “So we went through a fence to
be blocked off by another fence?” April questions.
    “There’s a way around here,”
Johnny says. “Did I happen to mention that Mike’s a little paranoid?”
    “And?”
    “And he used to come in through
here so no one would know that he was home.” Johnny reaches up to a low hanging
branch and pulls himself up.
    “Yeah, that is a little
paranoid,” she replies.
    Guttural howls snap them back to
reality. From across the train yard, a horde of the undead shamble pass train
tracks, eyes locked on April and Johnny.
    “Shit!” Johnny shouts. “Grab my
hand!” He reaches down and grabs April’s arm.
    “Hurry, they’re coming,” she
cries.
    With all his strength, Johnny
pulls her upward as her feet scrape on dry, brittle bark, searching for a
foothold. He leans forward, bracing himself on the branch and clasps his other
hand around her wrist.
    The dead wind through the train
cars, crunching along loose gravel as they make their way toward the promise of
movement. Dried blood cakes to their uniforms, blots out nametags, and blurs
the image of the station logo that adorns their shirts. With rabid cries, a few
of the dead are on April, clawing at her pants as she tries to kick them away. She
screams and flails her other arm, grasping for anything to take her away from
their snapping mouths.
    With a burst of adrenalin,
Johnny tugs her upward, nearly wrenching her over the branch with the force he
exerts.
    “Oh, Jesus!” April pants in
terror as the rest of the undead who were lagging behind reach up toward them
with snarling faces and broken, bloody teeth.
    Close to the first series of
catwalks, Johnny reaches out and snags the railing. With a quick movement, he
heaves himself over and lands on the catwalk. “Come on,” he says as he reaches
out to April, helping her over.
    The dead grow in numbers,
rasping out unintelligible growls as they probe the low hanging branches of the
tree in an attempt to get at the moving feast.
    “Where the hell did they all
come from?” April asks, still shaken.
    Johnny could see the story play
out in his mind. One of the dead got in, probably the bag lady at the back of
the crowd of bodies, and bit one of the workers. The infection