Free The Dead Series (Book 2): Dead Is All You Get by Steven Ramirez Page A

not too far from here.”
    Griffin was out walking Greta, and I was glad she wasn’t around to hear this.
    Holly took a seat on the sofa and, tucking her legs beneath her, fought off tears. “But who would do that?”
    “Someone who didn’t want her asking a lot of questions,” I said, glaring at Warnick. “We can’t let this lie. Warnick? Right?”
    I hadn’t meant to take my anger out on my friend, but at that moment he represented for me everything that was wrong with “the program.” First Chavez, now Pederman. I didn’t trust anyone, and it made me gut-sick.
    “I already spoke to Pederman about it,” Warnick said.
    “Yeah, I’m sure that helped.”
    “Dave, can you not act like an idiot for one minute? He agreed to let me look into it.”
    “You mean,
really
look into it or just pretend?”
    “Dave, give the man a chance—sheesh!” Holly said, getting to her feet. Then to Warnick, “What about the police? Can they help?”
    “That’s an interesting situation,” Warnick said. “Apparently, the entire force has been replaced. Pederman doesn’t want them involved yet—he wouldn’t say why.”
    A chilling sadness came over me. We’d spent so long battling evil forces in the town. And let’s not forget the undead. Evie had been the one bright spot in a sea of blackness. For me, she’d represented a way for us to make sense of everything—a way to bring order. Now, she was gone. And despite her cheery outlook I was beginning to lose hope.
    “So where’s the body?” I said.
    “In the hospital morgue. We’re waiting for the autopsy.”
    “Who’s performing it?”
    “A Doctor Fallow.”
    “Isaac Fallow?”
    “They brought him down from San Francisco today. He might already be over there.”
    “Let’s go,” I said, getting my gun.

    We found the hospital in lockdown, with Black Dragon soldiers posted at all the doors and several Humvees parked outside. The building itself had sustained little damage and the grounds were immaculate, bearing no sign of the plague that had decimated the town.
    As we approached the two soldiers guarding the emergency room doors, I couldn’t help but sweep the area with my eyes. The soldiers let us pass without comment. Inside, hospital staff and maintenance crews were visible everywhere—unlike the deserted scene we’d found when Warnick was leaking blood from a gunshot wound and I was towing a fractured leg behind me courtesy of repeated torture by the Red Militia.
    We rode the elevator to the morgue. The last time I’d been down here, it had been with Detective Van Gundy when I identified my friend’s body. Missy had split Jim’s head with an axe after he chased us down in the forest. I didn’t like to think about who I’d been back then—a coward who’d left my ex-mistress, Missy, to die at the hands of a dragger. She’d very nearly exacted her revenge after she turned.
    I thought of the freakishly tall, lumbering cop Van Gundy and how Warnick and I had later found him at Wal-Mart, turned after being bitten by his wife or son. Technically, I was still a suspect in Jim’s death, and I wondered if eventually the police would get around to arresting me. That was a million years ago, as far as I was concerned. I’d since traveled down a long, dark river of blood towards what seemed was a new seething terror.
    The doors opened on the waiting room. It was still clean and pleasant, with nice furniture and artificial plants. A chirpy attendant greeted us, young and clean-shaven, wearing a fresh set of scrubs and black clogs.
    “Dr. Fallow has already begun the autopsy,” he said.
    Warnick moved past Holly and me. “We’d like to see him.”
    “I’ll need his permission.”
    When the attendant returned, he used his card key to admit us to a room labeled CONFERENCE ROOM—PRIVATE , which turned out to be the autopsy room. The interior was brightly lit. Four large tables stood in a single row, each with its own sink and surgical equipment. Over