Free Saint Pain (Zombie Ascension Book 3) by Vincenzo Bilof

to climb up the walls. People who want to blow their brains out. How many suicides have we had? How many people have walked away?”
    Vincent shrugged. “Didn’t know we were doing a headcount.” He shoveled more garbage into the pickup truck’s bed. “People got their own way of dealing with this. You’re asking a question, and then you keep on talking. I don’t know what the real question is.”
    Taylor used his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. “Haven’t seen you at church. You like that priest? Father Joe? You helped him out before, didn’t you?”
    There wasn’t much for him to say on the subject of God. There never had been much for him to say. His mother didn’t raise him that way. He never questioned, never gave it much thought. He used to think about it when the army was in the process of discharging him, but he buried those questions, buried those thoughts.
    “He happened to be around,” Vincent said. “People like to hear him talk. I don’t see a problem with what he’s doing. He’s doing something good.”
    “I’m trying to figure you out. You’ve got a lot going on in that head of yours. A lot of people underestimated you. They had a habit of underestimating criminals. It takes a certain kind of intelligence, a certain kind of courage, to pull off what you’ve pulled off.”
    “Okay, just say it. You want something.”
    “If you really want to help people, you can’t do it here. Look around you. Everyone here’s waiting to die.”
    “Fuck you talking about? Looks to me like there’s a barbecue. We’re shoveling trash. You want to set up laws and ordinances, shit like that. You want to start this thing over.”
    “And you don’t.”
    Vincent tried to think about Taylor’s intentions. The old cop was still playing a game, and Vincent knew how to play it. A part of him was interested. He could smell a deal; Taylor had a proposition for him.
    What could he do for Taylor?
    Right before Taylor opened his mouth, he figured it out.
    “We happen to be in the suburbs,” Taylor said. “There’s people everywhere, waiting this thing out, struggling. You’ve heard the stories about Sutter. You’ve heard about the people who are trading women and children for food.”
    “Keep talking.”
    “I don’t know what you want, but you’ve got the means to do it. You have guns. The stuff you have here in the neighborhood isn’t all you have. I know it. A lot of people know it, or think they know it. Use them. Do something with them. You want to take this city for yourself, you have to go through Sutter. With him, or against him. You need guns to keep your turf. And if that’s not what you want, take those guns and go north. To Canada, or somewhere else, because nobody’s going to wait for you to hand the guns over.”
    Sutter. Vincent heard the name before but it didn’t mean a whole lot to him. Everyone else saw him as an important figure, and until now, he wasn’t sure why. They had been talking about him, wondering what his next move would be. What did Sutter want?
    Taylor had talked with Sutter. They were trying to strike a deal of some kind. Otherwise, Taylor had nothing to gain by coming to him about the guns he supposedly had. Taylor was a smart man was trying to plan his next move.
    Both men shoveled silently for a moment, and their thoughts were interrupted when they heard a shrill whistle. They both looked up and saw the lumbering football player, Bill Bailey—the Champ—walking toward them with a familiar bottle and some paper cups. Crown Royal. A full bottle.
    Vincent could feel the grin splitting his face. “Goddamn,” he said.
    As a matter of principle, he stayed away from alcohol most of the time because it would make you sloppy, stupid. But the day had been long and hot. It had been a long time since he had a drink.
    And he wanted it. Badly.
     
     
    ***
    They drank and watched the sunset. Their heads buzzed, and they had to piss multiple times. Bill was going to