Free The Zombie Saga (Book 3): Burn The Dead: Riot by Steven Jenkins

time there is for people to turn. Who knows, by tonight there might be twenty thousand of those bastards out there. And no sofa and flick-knife are gonna keep that many back.”
    I forgot about my knife. It sparks off the memory of that wanker from the bar. I shake it off and focus on the now. As much as I hate to admit it, Ginge is right. By now maybe only a fraction of fans have probably turned. So things are most likely to get worse. But the thought of leaving the safety of this room is too daunting.
    “Let him go, Alfie,” Jonny says, a big smirk on his face. “Let him be the hero for once. We’ll see how well that fat bastard does out there.”
    “This isn’t funny,” I snap. “He could get killed.”
    “Well, that’s the risk you take going out there,” Jonny replies. “If he wants to be Mr Ginger Tough Guy 2009 , then I ain’t standing in his way. And neither should you.”
    Natalie gets up off the floor. “I’ll go with him.”
    Jonny turns to her, a giant scowl across his forehead. “You? Don’t be so fucking stupid.”
    “No, I’ll go with him,” I offer, regretting it the moment I say it. She didn’t leave me much choice. I can’t exactly stay in here and let her go out there. I’ll never live it down. I’m a lot of things, but a coward definitely isn’t one of them. “He’s my friend, so it should be me that goes with him.”
    “ Fine ,” she says, bitterly, “but don’t screw this up.”
    “We won’t,” Ginge says, walking up to the door. “We’ll be five minutes. I bet the car park is filled with police, Cleaners—the works . There’s probably a fire engine already out there, waiting.”
    We quietly drag the sofa away from the entrance and press our ears to the door. “I hope you’re right, Ginge—otherwise we’re fucked.”
    “Have some faith, Alfie,” Ginge whispers. “Waiting for help to come is nearly always a bad idea. You have to make things happen. Pro-activity and all that. So I ain’t waiting here to die. And neither are you.”
    I don’t hear any signs of movements outside. Don’t imagine Necs walk that lightly so I think it’s clear.
    “Good luck without a weapon,” I hear Curtis mumble from the floor.
    He’s right; we need something. My knife? No, it’ll be ineffective. And I don’t want to show Natalie that I have one on me. Or Adriana and Ted. Ginge and me scan the room for something to use. The stools are too big to carry, so are the two tables.
    “What about a whiskey bottle?” Ginge suggests. “We’ve got plenty of those.”
    “Really?” I say with a hint of sarcasm. “It’s not a fucking party.”
    “It’s better than nothing.”
    Rolling my eyes, I go over to the bar. “ Fine ,” I say, grabbing two bottles, “We won’t need them anyway. Our best weapon is running the fuck away .”
    Jonny lets out a chuckle. “With that fat fucker?” He takes a huge gulp of beer. “You’re having a laugh.”
    “Shut up, Jonny,” Ginge snaps, taking the whiskey bottle from me. “If you’re so brave, why don’t you go instead?”
    “I never said I was brave,” Jonny replies. “I’m much happier just sitting here and getting pissed. I’ll leave all the heroics to you two.” He takes another swig of beer, finishing the bottle. “But unless you’ve got a flamethrower or a grenade, you haven’t got a hope in hell getting back here in one piece.”
    The guy has just lost his little brother, so I don’t retort; none of us do. He’s drunk and high as a kite, so I’ll let him be an asshole. He’s only letting off steam. He’ll probably pass out after another couple of beers anyway—coked up or not.
    Taking a deep breath, I turn the lock until I hear a clicking sound. “You ready?” I ask Ginge, trying to conceal the terror in my voice.
    Brandishing the whiskey bottle like a sword, he throws me an anxious nod.
    Pulse soaring, sweat glazed across my brow, I pull the handle slowly and the door opens.
     

14
     
    Why is it always