Free THE SAGA OF THE DEAD SILENCER Book 1: Bleeding Kansas: A Novel Of The Zombie Apocalypse by L.ROY AIKEN

the butcher’s blade in the other. The boy raises his arms to grab at me.
    I swing the blade and one hand falls away mid-forearm. He drops his other arm before I can hi t it. His angry bellow echoes throughout the parking garage. He swings his remaining arm around but I’ve switched out the blade for the meat tenderizer. The boy falls sideways. I step quickly behind his head. I remember something about how some fighters can kill you instantly by shoving your nose bone into your brain and I angle my next blow to do just that.
    That should settle it but Tanner and I are in the not-so-sweet spot of surround-sound hrrrrrrn! echoing throughout the concrete cave of the garage. The Luxury Tank is just ahead in the first space beyond the handicapped spaces. I click the remote lock and we both run to the vehicle.
    I start the engine and as I turn aroun d to check my rear I see a stocky girl in a gore-blackened XXL sleep-shirt stumbling towards the Tank. I shift into reverse and slam into her. She falls backwards, her skull cracking loudly on the pavement. I hear the snapping of bones as my left rear tire rolls over her.
    It’s a short roll out from the garage to the doors of the hotel. I wish it was further. Apparently a bunch of these things have been using the garage to keep out of the sun. It won’t take them long. I screech to a halt before the glass doors.
    A buzzer squawks against my trying to pop the hatch while we’re still in gear. Tanner takes this as a signal to jump out of the Tank before I can get it stopped. He’s already at the doors, pulling them open as I throw the shifter in park. The hatch opens without complaint, but it’s slow. I open my door and jump out. The walkers from the garage are staggering out into the sunlight and headed our way. I see two more coming across the plaza from the street.
    Tann er puts my luggage out first. I wedge my gear between the rear seats. I turn and Tanner is already handing me his large suitcase. Now his suitbag….
    I turn and look up. “Behind you!”
    Tanner has just enough time to duck out under the grasp of the rotund man in the stained gray track suit. This seems to surprise him. He senses my presence, though. With loud crowing noise, he leans in towards me for the kill. I’m reaching for a hammer I’ll never pull loose in time when there’s a deafening bang! and the man in the stained gray tracksuit falls over.
    And then Tanner tosses me his golf clubs.
    G olf clubs?
    “ Goddamnit!”
    “Just close the hatch, let’s go!”
    For a split second I want to throw them at the family of three, mom, dad and Junior toddling up behind us. Instead I toss the bag of clubs atop Tanner’s other gear, slam the hatch, and run for the driver’s side door—
    —where I’m met by a petite, late-middle-aged woman in a pink nightgown. I see her rage-and-hunger-twisted face and punch her in her gut. She folds. I open the door, throw myself in, slam!
    “Why didn’t you leave the keys in the vehicle?” says Tanner.
    “Force of habit.” I’ve got the Luxury Tank in gear. A thump of hands and arms across my driver’s side window tells me the woman has found her feet just before I bolt across the brick plaza.
    T he dead are massing in the street to intercept us. Normally I’d turn left to get to the Interstate but the swarm is too thick. I turn right, hoping I can round the block. Wherever these things were hiding as the sun came up, they’re out, drawn to the hum of our engine, the roar of Tanner’s gunfire, the cries of their fellow walkers. I see them coming out from around the buildings, stumbling down the streets I’m crossing, ambling towards us down the otherwise empty avenues.
    I glance over to see Tanner trying to figure out the GPS over the bouncing and swerving. “Kansas City International Airport!” I say while pulling hard right to avoid a group of three lunging for us. I avoid overcorrecting and hitting the lamp post by jumping the curb at the corner. That