Free Machines of the Dead 2 by David Bernstein Page A

protector needed to do this to others, and Kyle would remain safe, then so be it.
    Screams erupted from the room the woman was in. “Mom! No!” came a high-pitched girlie scream. Kyle’s heart sank a little, knowing the big man was killing two innocent women. No, one woman and a girl. He didn’t want to know how old and imagined she was in her late teens. Cannibal returned to the living room holding two arms, one smaller than the other. Blood covered his chest. Kyle felt weak in the knees. Cannibal laughed. “Don’t pass out on me, little man. We have work to do.”
    For the next couple of hours, Kyle helped Cannibal with the bodies, cutting them up and placing the parts in the oven. He threw up a few times, Cannibal chuckling at his displeasure.  
    When it was time for the man to eat, Kyle went into the bathroom and puked what little food he’d eaten from the household’s fridge. The entire house filled with the odor of cooked bacon, which wasn’t bad until he pictured what was cooking. He remained there until Cannibal called him, letting him know it was safe to come back.
    “I feel good again,” the man said. Grizzled bones were left on the kitchen table. Kyle guessed if he was to stay with this man, then he’d have to get used to his eating habits. Right now, the world was in chaos. He needed protection. He had no choice. If he found someone better to protect him, then he’d consider changing teams, but for now it was “TEAM CANNIBAL.”
    Kyle set out around the house, looking for valuables, then realized there was no place to sell them. From what he had heard, the epidemic was everywhere. What mattered now was survival gear. He found a backpack in the boy’s room, antiseptic in the bathroom, a toothbrush—unopened, a bar of soap, and in the bedroom he took pairs of socks and underwear from the father’s drawers, the size looking as if it would be okay. From the kitchen cabinets, he grabbed some canned goods, crackers, tea bags, and candy bars.
    “We’ll stay here for the night,” Cannibal said. “We have a secure place and food. Tomorrow we’ll head north, going over the Tappan Zee Bridge.”
    Kyle wanted no part of remaining in the house, but wasn’t about to argue. Anything Cannibal wanted, Cannibal received. He stayed in the parents’ bedroom while Cannibal slept in the living room. As long he kept the door closed, the odor of cooked meat mixed with the coppery smell of blood wasn’t too strong in the bedroom.
    Over the next two days, the two traveled toward the highway, staying the night in Tarrytown. Cannibal found the remains of a police officer, his Glock 21 and 3 clips still on the body. “My children don’t need such things,” Cannibal said, shoving the gun into his pants.
    Later that same night, they broke into a home and found an elderly couple sleeping. A shotgun rested next to the bed. Cannibal slaughtered them with his knife, then handed the weapon to Kyle who waited in the kitchen with a cup of Earl Grey tea. “Now you can defend yourself.”
    Cannibal continued his death trek, as Kyle came to call it. The man killed many people and zombies, hating to do the latter. He rarely used the gun, preferring to use his bare hands. Kyle found more weapons along the way, a .30-30 rifle, a sawed-off twelve gauge, and a Beretta pistol.
    Every night, the big man ate human meat, the whole scenario still unnerving Kyle. It was something he knew he’d never get used to. He actually thought about trying the meat, seeing how strong Cannibal was, but then realized what he was about to do and threw up.
    By the time they reached the bridge, killing became second nature to Kyle.
    Getting across the bridge on foot wasn’t too difficult; most of the zombies were still roaming around the cities and towns. Vehicles crawled at a snail’s pace. They met other convicts along the way. Only one had been a problem for Kyle when he was on the inside. Cannibal killed him one night and ate him. Kyle was