Free The Coalition: Part II The Lord Of The Living (COALITON OF THE LIVING Book 2) by Robert Mathis Kurtz Page A

eye, smiling back at her. “A lot of people do that with their safe houses,” he told her. “You never know when you might need a helping hand yourself, you know.”
    “Aren’t you worried they’ll clean out your supplies? From what you and Oliver have told me, your safe houses are quite well-stocked.” Jean, too, scanned the dimensions of the dark alley, anxious for them to be out of the place.
    “I don’t tell them everything,” Ron said. “Most of the stuff inside is either shut up tight with high-quality locks, or hidden where I’m the only one likely to find it.” With that, he took a step south, ready to take his group out and to safety.
    Something clattered behind them. They turned to see roughly a dozen deaders stumbling out of the street in their direction, and moving toward them. At first, Cutter figured them for being agitated and in chase mode, but their faces were downcast, staring at the ground as they stumbled along. And that’s when he noticed the gigantic shadow looming behind the walkers; a shadow that became an enormous shape on four pillared legs that were in the midst of mashing zombies into black and red paste on the pavement. The zombies were actually scared of the enraged bull elephant that was taking its anger out on the things. So they’d squeezed into the confines of the alleyway to merely get away from it. They hadn’t yet noticed the trio of food items in front of them.
    Without saying anything, Ron motioned for Jean and Oliver to follow him. And together they all began to move more quickly, but managed to keep their pace from becoming a panicked rush.
    When they came to the far end of the alley, Ron was relatively sure that the zombies had still not spotted them. So he paused just long enough to make sure the way was clear. The safe house was to the right and less than forty meters away. All they had to do was get there and open up the door. A couple of panel vans had breathed their last just in front of the door to the rooms, and it was hidden from anyone looking on from the other side of the street or down on it from one of the high floors of the buildings opposite. It was actually a fairly secure location, and he figured it would take a bulldozer or a couple of grenades to shear off the steel door leading in.
    “Let’s go,” he told them. “I’m going to jog, but that’s all. No running, unless we absolutely have to do it,” he hissed.
    And, of course, that was the moment the zombies coming in behind them paid them notice. The vague idea of alarm that was in their rotten brains gave way to the lust for living flesh. The one in the lead gave out one of those hideous moans that seemed to spur all zombies into a fit of pursuit, and in less than a second, there were a dozen other dead voices joining in the unholy chorus.
    God, how Ron hated that sound. If only he could, he would destroy them all.
    They moved out, resisting the urge to race and merely jogged. Ron set the pace, Oliver kept up, and Jean followed, turning from time to time to look back.
    The line of the undead emerged from the alley and continued their spastic chase.
    “They’re locked on,” Jean said. Indeed, they were doing as they always did when the lust for meat was on them. If they figured for an easy meal, there was nothing really to keep them from going into their own version of a run. Sometimes they fooled you with their speed. They appeared to be so clumsy and so without reflex that you could be lulled into a very false sense of security and physical superiority. She knew that you had to tread a fine line between respect for their tenacity and arrogance of one’s own ability to move with a grace denied to the living dead. If you failed to do that, they would kill you, for sure.
    “Yeah,” Ron told her. “I saw right off that we were in their sights. Nothing for us to do but get into the safe house and lock it up tight as a drum and wait them out. We might end up having to stay for more than just