Free Life Among The Dead (Book 2): A Castle Made of Sand by Daniel Cotton Page B

the admissions desk.
    The corridors are dark and eerily calm, and
not a single echoing moan or shuffling foot stirs.
    I’m here , now what ? Gar asks himself, never being one for strategy. He
presses on through the scary halls, wondering if there may be
someone in need of help. Another joint is lit to ease his nerves,
but the tension in his chest is compromising his breathing.
    While tiptoeing around toppled gurneys and
fallen bodies, Gar hears a rustle. He can’t lock down the origin,
nor does he know where he is since it is his first time in this
hospital, and his first time on this side of the city. Rifle pumped
to its maximum pressure, he slows his steps and listens to what
sounds like feet sliding along the floor. The person stumbles,
spilling over a wheelchair that skitters into view from an
intersecting hall.
    Gar inches closer, keeping to the opposite
side of his hall. He sidesteps at the corner, wanting to know if
the individual is undead, but fearing what the truth may be. The
shadow is too thick to see anything but the outline of a person
hobbling his way. So he brings his rifle up to his shoulder and
aims at the mystery. But just as he is about to pull the trigger he
hesitates, because he doesn’t want to shoot a living person. Gar is
aware his weapon isn’t exactly lethal, but he does know from
catching a ricochet once that it hurts like hell.
    “Hi,” he says
    The simple greeting is answered by a flash of
light and a mouse-like sneeze. Gar falls to the linoleum floor,
covering his face to protect himself from the bullet. But the round
whizzed past his cheek.
    “Whoa! Stop shooting!”
    “Keep your voice down,” a voice whispers.
    “You’re the one shooting,” Gar counters
defensively.
    “With a silencer, putz. If you go around
screaming, you’re going to bring those things down on us.”
    Gar nods in the darkness, oblivious to the
fact the man can’t see him. “Do you need help?”
    “You want to help me?” the guy sounds
skeptical.
    “I think I came here for a reason, man. I
don’t know what it is exactly, but maybe it’s to help you. I’m Gar.
What’s your name?”
    “My name is of no consequence,” the man
groans. “Sorry for shooting at you. No offense, but you smell like
shit. I thought you were one of them… Do you mind if I take a
drag?”
    “Not at all!” Gar answers proudly. He grabs
some ganja from his pocket for his new smoking partner. “It’s my
own creation. You’re gonna love it.”
    “Help me walk, pal?” the man beseeches, with
the joint pinched between his lips.
    “You go ahead and enjoy that one, man. I have
a whole stash in my bag. Sadly a lot of it was lost. But, I have
seeds. I can rebuild it. Where are we going?”
    “Even in a place like this that caters to the
richest of the rich, they have a section reserved for VIPs. I need
to get to the chapel.”
     
    ##
     
    Veronica Wilkes still waits in the chapel
named after her late husband. She is expecting news about his cause
of death, and is ready to pay his killer if all has gone according
to plan. He should have been here by now , she thinks to herself, keeping
her distance from the others in the dimly lit place of worship.
    For most of the day, she has been alone in
the quiet hall, with only her cell phone to keep her company. Not
long after her battery failed, the others arrived. A man in a
wheelchair whose head is completely bandaged with gauze like the
Invisible Man, and an apparently insane person in an orderly’s
uniform that speaks nonsense about people coming back from the
dead. The lunatic is so paranoid he actually moved several of the
wooden pews against the door to protect them from his delusion.
    The man she had hired to kill her husband
said he had access to a poison that should go unnoticed. The
virtually undetectable toxin degrades over time, becoming
nonexistent during a postmortem, unless the examiner goes against
the directions of a close friend and becomes too thorough for his
own