Free The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) by Luke Duffy

and down into the dark pit of the stairwell, checking that they were not being followed by a mob of ravenous corpses. He could still hear them in the distance, their poignant and frustrated moans rising up through the pitch-black staircase, but he was confident that they were still on the other side of the barricades, and for the moment, they were safe from attack.
    Out on the rooftop in the pale light of the moon and amongst the air-conditioning units and elevator machinery, they could make out a number of crumpled and static objects. In the centre, just twenty metres away, a cluster of uniformly shaped bulky items sat neatly piled together in a row. Around them, scattered at variable distances across the gravel, lay smaller, more randomly shaped forms. As Al and Tommy drew closer, they realised that they were looking at the bodies of their own men who had gone missing three years before.
    Having been trapped on the roof of the building as they were now, the group had taken their own lives. How long they had held out for was impossible to estimate, but the scatterings of empty brass bullet cases indicated that they had fired off all their ammunition in an attempt to thin out the crowds below, and most likely saving the last rounds for themselves.
    “I think this is Harry,” Al grunted, staring down at one of the sprawled corpses, his voice filled with remorse as he was forced to relive the loss of a friend.
    “Yeah,” Tommy replied from a few metres away, also looking over the pale bones of another body. “I think this was Davey. I remember how much he loved these fancy boots.”
    There were six bodies altogether, each of them easily identifiable as one of their friends. For years they had fought, laughed, and mourned with one another, side by side. They had suffered more than they deserved throughout the rising of the dead, and through years of proximity, reliance, and necessity, they had known everything about one another. Now, the whispers and rumours of the men having run away to find a safe place to live, were expelled as pure fantasy. They had all died here on the rooftop of the parking complex, alone and just a few kilometres from their home base.
    In the centre, the larger items revealed themselves to be the equipment of the men. Their packs and exhausted supplies were piled neatly together side by side. There, Al and Tommy hoped to find the High-Frequency radio, but they had no idea if it would still be in working order and if it was, how they would get it and themselves back to base.
    Tommy peered over the edge of the rooftop and down into the black throng that was swarming around at the base of the building. It was impossible to see the pavement below, and there were more of them coming from the adjoining streets.
    “You really are a complete wanker,” he spat, turning to Al, and shaking his head. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
    Al said nothing. He glanced around him and at the remains of the men who had died there many years before while trapped in the same way that they now were. He considered how long they would last before they suffered the same fate. They were carrying very little in the way of food and supplies, and even their ammunition was beginning to run low. He removed the magazine from his rifle and then counted the remainder he had tucked into the pouches of his vest.
    “Five mags,” he huffed.
    “Yeah, I’m about the same.”
    Al stepped across and began sifting through the moss covered packs, searching for the heaviest that would be an indication of which was carrying the radio. It only took him a minute to find it. He unclipped the top flap and reached inside, feeling the cold metal of the set, and then pulling it free. Tommy stepped over and shone his light down over Al’s shoulder as the big man inspected the piece of ancient looking communications equipment.
    “You think it’s still working?”
    “Haven’t a clue, mate. It looks fossilised to me,” Al