Free Machines of the Dead 3 by David Bernstein Page A

then bring him inside,” Maria said.
    Zaun turned around and yanked his sword out. “Just a second,” he said, referring to the zombie still working its way through the snow.
    Maria raised her rifle and fired, blowing the bot-controlled brains from its head. There was no need to keep quiet now, guns had been fired. Zaun slid his sword back into the sheath and took up his M4.
    They entered the house and were in a short foyer with a washer and dryer set along the left wall. A door was on the right. Maria opened it and saw the front end of a Chevy Blazer shrouded in gloom and knew she’d found the garage. She closed the door and moved into the house. A hallway went left, and she assumed she had thrown the flashbang into that room. To the right were stairs leading up to another level.
    Maria paused. The house was still, as quiet as she could remember a place being. She motioned to Zaun that she was going left. Zaun nodded and followed, watching the stairs.
    She looked into the room and saw an elderly man on the floor, apparently unconscious. He was wearing black khakis and a tan sweater. A bushy white beard covered his face, his skull bald except for the Caesar crown of long, white hair around his head. A shotgun rested a few feet away from him. The room was warm, and then she saw why—a small wood-burning stove rested in the center of it. Flames danced behind the ceramic window. A pile of logs lay next to smaller pieces of wood, the floor beneath dirty with chips of bark. A collection of water jugs took floor space in front of the television. 
    She moved in and quickly saw that no one else was present. Zaun stood by the doorway. “It’s all clear,” Maria whispered as she checked on the elderly man. He was alive. She pulled out a couple of zip ties, secured his wrists together, and then his ankles before dragging him to a corner across from a computer desk. Next to the desk was a door. She shouldered her rifle and pulled her Glock, wanting it for close-quarter action, and yanked the door open. Before her was a closet, the shelves stocked with canned goods.
    She closed the door and returned to Zaun’s side and in a whisper, she said, “Let’s bring Jack in here, then search the rest of the house.”
    Jack was still bleeding, a pool of red sloshy snow where they’d left him outside. Zaun and Maria carried him inside and to the den where they laid him on the couch.
    “This all looks too damn familiar,” Zaun said, shaking his head.
    Maria nudged him and held a finger to her lips. Zaun nodded. Jack was stripped of his jacket and shirt. The wound looked like something had taken a large bite out of his side. She didn’t think there were any important organs located there, the wound not quite reaching the liver. She had no idea what body parts the bots needed in order to work at their best, but if they operated the undead, she assumed just the brain.
    After bandaging Jack’s side, they checked the rest of the house and found it unoccupied. Nothing was in ruin. One of the bedrooms had its drawers open, a couple of them on the floor as if the person had been in a hurry to leave, but that was all. If this was Jack’s sister’s house, which she had no reason not to think it was, the woman had headed elsewhere. They needed to wake the old man and find out.
    Back downstairs in the living room, Zaun set up the portable heaters while Maria found a hammer and nails in the laundry room and boarded up the broken windows. She’d thought about moving to another part of the house, but aside from not wanting to move Jack again, the wood stove could come in handy. For now, though, it would not be used, the remaining fire inside left to burn out. She didn’t need a signal letting others know someone was alive inside. She’d seen and dealt with too much to take a chance that someone might come along and be a problem. At night, they’d use the stove. And if they wound up staying long enough to where they used up all the propane