Free The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End by L.I. Albemont

know what had brought him over here until she noticed something. There was a spattering of blood, bones, and fur, mixed with dog biscuits on the ground next to the stoop. The driver had found Brian’s stray. He had probably followed it over here. She felt sick. Another pane of glass cracked, insidious little lines spreading out like a web.
    “Bea, I’m here.” Brian took the second gun and stood beside her, his hands shaking and the gun wavering. She opened her mouth to tell him to go back to the bedroom and then-
    The door shattered, the old wooden frame giving way as the burly figure came through, falling clumsily to the floor. He brought a smell of rot and decay with him. Fresh blood covered what remained of the clothes he wore. Bea backed away, holding the gun in front of her. She fired once and hit him dead center in the abdomen, knocking him down. He got to his knees, arms outstretched while he moaned.
    Brian screamed at her, “In the head, Bea, you have to hit the head.”
    She fired again; this time skull and brains sprayed across the kitchen cupboards. The headless body slumped to the floor. Her ears rang and she staggered out of the room and over to the futon where she collapsed, her knees shaking. Something dark blocked the light from the window for a few seconds but when she looked up nothing was there.
    The kitchen door was so damaged she couldn’t see a way to make it secure again. An icy wind whipped through the house, fluttering the paper towels and she heard a moaning that might be the wind or could be something else. She checked to make sure she had the gun beside her.
    Just then they heard a screeching, grinding sound then a crash. They looked out the window. A Suburban had crashed into the old gates, knocking part of the wall down then flipping over on top of the rusty iron. A limp body was just visible through the broken windshield, hanging upside-down suspended by the seat belt. The crowd on the sidewalk, attracted by all the noise, poured through the open gateway, spreading out across the garden. Three fell into the swimming pool while four more mobbed the Suburban, pounding on the doors, somehow knowing there was food inside. They heard a scream then silence.
    “Get your boots on, Brian,” she whispered, crouched below the window frame, “I think it’s time to go.”
    Staying low they found their backpacks and jackets and went out through the kitchen, Bea put the iron fleur-de-lis rail in her back pack, lifted the curtain of ivy hiding the broken wall, and slipped out into the side street.
    Snow fell softly on the deserted street and sidewalk. The branches of the towering oaks that lined the street drooped under the heavy, white blanket. They stayed close together, searching around every corner for movement, listening to the wind whistling through the avenues. Lights were on in most of the houses but they were too afraid of making noise or what they might find inside to knock and ask for help. The snow muffled the sound of their footsteps as they proceeded down the street, heading from force of habit toward the Metro. Bea stopped, trying to decide where they could go.
    “Ok, here’s the plan. We’re going to Dupont Circle. Evan is over there somewhere and so is Sylvie from work and she might need me to get into the Gallery. If we find her I’ll probably give her my pass and then you and I will hang out at her place for a while. Does that sound okay to you?”
    He nodded but said, “Bea, we need to each be able to get to a gun fast. Zombies won’t wait while we dig through the backpacks.”
    He was right. Reluctantly she pulled out both guns and put one in her pocket, placing the other in his hand. He put it in his jacket pocket and they trudged on.
    They saw several wrecked vehicles and some areas of snow that were stained with a dark fluid but they were almost to M Street before they saw another human being.  A solitary figure, male, with a rifle slung over one shoulder, marched