Free Unrest by Nathaniel Reed Page A

can’t,” Kamara said.
                  “We made a promise to Jomo to get his family.”
                  “No, no,” Jomo said. “I want to have my family back very much, but not at the risk of my friends. We will find another transport.”
                  Marina clapped him on the back. “You’re a good man Jomo. We’re gonna get that van back. And I need to get to my place and get some guns. Then we’ll have a fighting chance with these deadbeats.”
                  Xinga giggled.
                  “Oh, that joke you get. Asians.” Marina winked at her.
                  They moved past statues of alabaster and bronze into a hall lined with paintings. They sat down on one of the benches.
                  “What now?” Kamara asked.
                  “We should phone the others,” Jomo suggested, “See how they’re doing.”
                  “Good idea,” Marina said.
                  She got a hold of Klaus.
                  “Hey, my German compatriot, how goes the search?”
                  The line was so deathly silent that for a moment she thought they got disconnected. She opened her mouth to say his name, and then he spoke.
                  “We’re not doing too good,” Klaus said. “Where are you?”
                  “We’re at a museum. We had to abandon our vehicles.”
                  “Vehicles?” he said. “Plural?”
                  “Yeah, we found a van, but... Never mind. It’s pretty quiet here. But we’ve only entered the first room.”
                  “Which museum are you at?” Klaus asked. She could hear Samir and Ian conferring in the back-ground. She told him.
                  There was some whispering in the background before Klaus came back on and said quite assuredly, “We’re heading towards you.”
                  “Okay. Good! Avoid the back streets, especially the warehouse district. Trust me.”
                  “We will. Marina?”
                  “Yeah?”
                  “You do know that museum has a weapons room?” Klaus said.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

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                   In The Armory, which was what the museum had dubbed the room containing weapons from different periods, they waited for the others. The weapons in question were behind quarter inch thick glass in cases on the walls or free standing on pedestals in the middle of the room behind cubes of glass. They would have to find a way to smash through, but the displays were probably alarmed, so it was best that the rest of the group arrived first before they smashed and grabbed, alerting cops who were probably already otherwise occupied, or inviting a zombie horde.
                  To Marina’s dismay there weren’t many guns. A few revolvers and some long rifles, and she was sure they wouldn’t have any ammunition. There were plenty of sharp and blunt weapons that the rest of them eyed admiringly.
                  “We meet the others soon?” Xinga asked, seated at one of the benches with Jomo.
                  “Yes, they should be here any minute,” Jomo confirmed.
                  “Good, we need more men,” she said. Then she lowered her head, embarrassed. “No defense.”
                  “It’s no offense sweetie, and I won’t take any even though I can run circles around them,” Marina said.
                  Kamara laughed.
                  “It is true,” Jomo said, “that I am no warrior, but in my country I was an excellent hunter.”
                  Marina smirked. “That’s good to know kid. I don’t think we’re the