Free Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine by Dalton Wolf Page A

gracefully aging
structure. The doctor noticed a movement further up and his eyes moved to see Sarah
waving down from the carved marble fence of the terrace. The terrace itself was
set within the confines of the structure, just above the entrance, not
protruding over the sidewalk or street, but still affording a clear view of
either side from the tables lining the rail.
    “Yes, I do believe this will do,” the
doctor nodded appreciatively.
    “Right?” Trip asked. “Good job,
Babe. I wouldn’t have ever thought of it. Great place to dig in and call for
help.”
    She smiled down briefly and then
looked down the street, a dark, brooding shadow creeping across her brow. Tripper
noticed the tell-tale shudder as her spine told her bad things were coming.
Only this time they could all see it coming.
    Crap, his mind muttered. With
one long, lingering look down the street at the approaching horde of Infected,
the two men stepped between the high carved columns that guarded either side of
the large arching entryway. Trip paused and reached into the shadows, swinging a
large black iron gate shut like a portcullis. The deep, heavy clang, seeming
oddly musical and morbidly foreboding, rang like a bell tolling the doom of the
City throughout the echoing streets.
    It ain’t even noon yet, and the world is over, Tripper took out his phone and started making calls.

Boomer and Brick
     
     
    “There it is again,” repeated Boomer,
an uneasy feeling tightening his gut.
    “Shut up, man. You’re blowing it,”
his buddy leaned back and whispered in his ear. “I’m about to score with this
babe.”
    “Where you think you’re gonna take
her, Brick?”
    “C’mon Boomer, I—what the fuck?”
    This time they had both heard it. Sounds
of gunshots and screams coming from up north, very faint, but unmistakable.
They were in a valley, so they couldn’t see very far on either side, but both
were certain they’d heard it.
    “Probably just some fireworks got
out of control,” Brick mumbled dismissively.
    “Hey, man. You forget where I grew
up? I know what gunshots sound like.”
    Boomer stood slightly over six foot
in height and his broad dark shoulders had kept many a tackler from destroying
his taller, leaner quarterback, Stephen “Brick Wall” Jacobs. But Brick was no
wimp, either. The physically imposing, well-tanned, handsome and blonde Jacobs
had obtained his nickname by making any tacklers who made it through the line
bounce off him as if from a building and then he would hit his running back
Boomer McClintock in stride out in the flat for big yards. The killer combo had
taken South to the title three years in a row since making varsity in their
sophomore year.
    “Hey, Baby!” Brick was saying to
the pretty blonde who’d tried inching away from him while his attention was
distracted. “Where are you going? The parade is nice, but everything goes
better with me,” he schmoozed. “What say we slip into that alley and I slip
into something more comfortable...I’m thinking you,” he ran a finger across her
chin with a cheesy-charming smile that totally failed under such caddish
circumstances.
    The girl pulled back making the
face of one who’d just eaten horseradish sauce when expecting mayo. “Sorry
honey. You’re hot, but maybe you need to sober up and learn a little respect.
That’s something your mommy should teach you before you play with the big
girls. Give me a call when you grow up,” she slammed the proverbial door in his
face, turned sharply and sauntered off to her friends, leaving him to stare at
her shapely ass as she sashayed away like a pro.
    Brick’s fragile ego couldn’t handle
challenge of any kind, but being twenty-six and the girl barely twenty, he
would not stand for rejection from some kid.
    “Bitch!” he spat, flipping her off.
“I’m the best man you’ll ever find, you fucking dike!” he shouted after her.
    “Hey, easy man.” Boomer cautioned
him quietly, dark eyes darting