Free The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) by J. Steven Butler Page B

the lavishness Damian lives under. I do a quick inspection and find
everything I need.
    I move quickly, placing two of the extra gas cans in
the makeshift harness on the bike, all the while keeping a wary eye out for
unwanted visitors. I’m still hoping for a no show, but I’ve just
straddled the bike when the first one shows. He lets out a feral shriek
alerting me to his presence across the airstrip and to the right. In a
couple of seconds, three more crash through the woods behind him.
    They haven’t seen me yet, but as soon as I crank this
baby, they’re going to home in on me like missiles. That might not be so
bad if it weren’t for the fact that they’re between me and the exit path I saw
when I landed.
    I don’t want to kill them, not knowing what I do
now. I make a snap decision, and crank the Hellcat. It starts right
up and I lean into the throttle, the powerful engine making the walls of the
thin shed rattle.
    The heads of the Festers snap in my direction and they
break into a mindless sprint. Popping the clutch, I whip the Hellcat out
and to the left, away from the exit path. I plan to lead them away from
it, make a large U-turn, and speed back to it. I should be able to easily
outrun them. I just don’t want to have to go through them.
    They give chase, and my plan is going great until I’m
almost to the end of the strip. Suddenly, a group of twenty or more
Festers emerges from the woods in front of me and close on me like
lightning. The timing is too perfect and I curse, unable to believe what
I’m seeing. Did they just set a trap for me?
    I slam on the brakes, the Hellcat sliding into a skid,
and I hit the gas again, the rear tire throwing up turf. Now I’m flying
back towards the first three freaks, and I watch in horrified frustration as
they fan out to cut off my escape. But there are too few of them, and I
grit my teeth and gun it, moving for the largest opening between them.
    There’s less than twenty yards between us and they
immediately turn inward to cut me off by closing the gap. It’s going to
be close.
    I shift into second gear and give it all she has,
holding my breath as I squeeze through two of them at fifty miles per
hour. Their fingers actually brush my arms and chest, but I’m moving too
fast for them to get a grip. Now I’m out in the open and I risk a glance
back, thankful to see they’re all falling behind the powerful bike.
    I let out a long sigh of relief and head for the
exit. In ten more seconds, I'm racing down the path under the canopy of
trees, the Hellcat purring like a bridled beast beneath me, heading to my old
stomping grounds.
    A few hours later I pull up in front of a fading, brick
duplex on the outskirts of Brooklyn, walk quickly to the door labeled 1A, and
ring the bell. I can hear shuffling inside, and a man cursing as he walks
heavily to the front door, the whole place shuddering from his footfalls. He
pulls the door open, but leaves the anti-Fester iron-mesh secondary door in
place.
    He's a heavy-set man with a grizzled beard, and quick,
intelligent eyes. His arms are covered in tattoos and his long, greasy
hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. A mangled toothpick dangles
precariously from his lips. He looks me over without saying anything at
first, then barks, “Who are you? What do you want?”
    I say exactly what I've been instructed to say.
    “D.H. sent me. I've got a black-bird that needs looking
after in the bushes.”
    The beefy man's expression never changes.
    “It'll be ready and refueled when you need it,” he
says, and slams the door in my face.
    So much for small-talk.

Chapter 8
    When I was the Sweeper for New York City, my home and
base of operations was the Trump Soho Hotel which had been converted to The
Organization's New York headquarters. I had an immaculate suite all to myself
and a small crew whose sole purpose was to back me up. I even had my own
doctor.
    The Soho has plenty of Fester security. You know, gates
and stuff. But I