Free Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory by Daniel Cotton Page B

ruined
corpses, trying to avoid the large pieces of carnage.
    After they park behind one of the town’s few
motels, Vida once again mans the .50 caliber machine gun while Brad
heads to the office to grab a room key. Her chest tightens, and
that abysmal vulnerability she felt when walking to the bridge
returns. She chalks it up to being alone while Brad secures a room
for them.
    Another lifetime passes in the ten minutes
Brad is gone. Ten minutes of listening to the muffled moans of the
far off dead and jumping at shadows. Every tensed muscle instantly
relaxes when he returns, twirling a wide plastic key ring on his
finger.
    “We’re in Room 202. I figured the high ground
would be best.” He takes the shopping bag he’d filled inside the
abandoned shop. “The room is all clear.”
    Vida follows Brad around the building. Though
no danger is suspected, they move as quietly as possible. Brad
keeps his assault rifle out and ready, just in case. They run up a
set of concrete steps to their floor.
    Vida waits at the room’s threshold until Brad
locates a lamp. He had checked out the room very quickly, he tells
her, and neglected to switch on any lights, but after a series of
clicks the room is illuminated in a dingy yellow glow. The motel
may look seedy, but at the moment it’s heaven.
    Brad sits on the bed and unties his tall
leather boots then pulls the cuffs of his fatigue pants out of
them. “That’s much better.” He sighs.
    Vida relaxes now that a locked door keeps the
crazy world outside at bay. She drops herself into a plush
recliner.
    “The store was picked pretty clean. Probably
by whoever made that mess on the streets.” Brad dumps the bag out
onto a small end table. “I got all the major food groups: jerky,
gummy, sugary, and salty.”
    From the assortment of junk food, Vida
selects a chocolate bar. She’s feeling quite hungry now that she’s
had a moment to stop and let her body tell her what it needs. From
the pockets in his cargo pants, Brad removes bottles Vida hadn’t
even noticed before. Two twenty-ounce sodas and two glass flasks of
liquor.
    “Do you like bourbon or tequila?” he asks.
“Everything else was taken or smashed. I found these survivors on
the floor.”
    “Just a soda, please.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m not much of a drinker,” she admits. “I
don’t like the loss of control.”
    “Suit yourself.” He tosses her one of the
colas. “Control is overrated. My personal opinion. You really
aren’t from around here. Everyone in these parts calls it pop.”
    “I’ve noticed that.” She smiles.
    “I’m from Massachusetts originally. We got
folks out there that call it tonic. I’ve met many folks from the
south that call it all Coke no matter the brand.”
    The inconsequential small talk is a good
distraction. It makes the world outside seem farther away.
    Brad switches on the television but is unable
to find anything except test patterns and dead air. “No news is
good news, I suppose.”
    “This place we’re going to, Eagle Rock, it’s
safe, right?” Vida says. “I promised someone I’d find a safe
place.”
    “It’s as safe as a place can be. There are
fences, walls, barbed wire, around the clock armed sentries,” he
says while mixing himself a drink. He takes a few sips of his cola
while it’s still virgin to make room, and then adds enough
alcoholic experience to make it a veritable harlot. “I’ll be one of
the guys on a permanent rotating watch bill. No rest for the
weary.”
    “I’m sure everyone will appreciate your hard
work.”
    “I hope so.” He shrugs and sips deeply from
his concoction. “We should rest up for tomorrow. There’s only one
bed.”
    “We can flip a coin for it,” Vida says.
    “Or, we can share it…” Brad says, the alcohol
already loosening his tongue. “You can properly thank me for
picking you up. Show me your appreciation.”
    Vida isn’t certain if he’s joking or not, so
she gives his proposition a perfunctory