Free The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 3) by Luke Duffy Page A

the Gazelle that was nestled within its dark chasm. She had to go through into the next room.
    She switched off her light and raised the pistol so that the barrel was just millimetres from the seal of the door. She swallowed hard and then pushed down on the handle, wincing with anticipation of the inevitable click as the locking mechanism came free from its housing. The handle creaked loudly in the silence as the door came free. She pulled gently and felt a gust of stale air blow through the tiny crack between the door and its frame, lightly brushing against her exposed skin. Goose bumps sprang up on her forearms, and her heart began to race. Again, she paused and listened.
    The thuds had become louder now and were accompanied by the snarls and moans of the dead as they hammered away at the outer doors. The room of the reception area was in complete darkness, and through the narrow gap between the door and the frame, it was impossible for Melanie to tell if there were any of the infected inside. She bit down on her lip and tried to blot out the haunting wails of the dead in the streets outside. She squinted into the gloom and concentrated all her senses but it was no use, she would need to step through the doorway and possibly use her light. The thought of giving away her presence terrified her, but she could not risk groping around in the darkness and making noise as she stumbled over objects, or worse, collided with any infected that may be lurking within the shadows.
    She pulled the door open further, enough to squeeze her body through. Once across the threshold, she instinctively stepped to the left, pushing her back up against the doorframe and crouching down into a squatting position with her pistol held close to her chest and the barrel pointed outwards. There she remained for a while, staring at the wall of blackness that surrounded her, listening, feeling, and tasting the atmosphere. After a few minutes, her eyes began to identify shapes within the room. She could see the delicate contrast between the dark floor and the lighter coloured walls.
    Bulky objects that she presumed were couches and coffee tables became visible against the murky backdrop. Then there was the main door. Its frosted glass panels glowed in comparison to the rest of its solid dark frame as the moon continued to barely penetrate the cloud filled sky above. Faint shapes could be seen moving on the opposite side of the reinforced glass as the door continued to rattle and grown from the mass of bodies pushing against it. For now, the sturdy barrier refused to allow them entry.
    “Shit,” Melanie whispered with resignation as she reached for her torch. Her hands were shaking, and a wave of nausea surged up from the pit of her stomach.
    She placed her fingers over the lens and switched it on, allowing only the tiniest shard of light to pass from between her glowing fingertips. She hoped that it was small enough to remain unnoticed by the prying dead eyes beyond the opaque glass of the door. She took in a deep breath and began to move through the room, remaining in a crouched position and carefully placing each step as she shone the thin beam over the furniture and the walls. Silently, she prayed that there would be a door containing a set of stairs leading up towards the roof. She had seen no sign of a staircase in any of the other rooms within the restaurant, leading her to believe that they must be somewhere near the front of the building, adjacent to the reception area.
    On the left was a desk where the maître d would have been stationed, welcoming guests and providing them with drinks and menus as they waited to be seated. Behind the reception desk was a small cloakroom, and on the opposite side was the seating area. Again, the walls were adorned with an abundance of oriental décor, but there was no sign of a door or a stairwell. She suddenly felt deflated as she realised that getting back to the roof was not going to be easy. She wondered to