Into the Badlands Read Online Free Page B

from the infected. She had bad days and worse days. She was withdrawn most of the time, lost in her own thoughts. She’d become almost child-like, relying on Dave to do virtually everything for her. He loved her, no doubt. His heart ached for her anguish. He tried to be understanding. There were days, however, when understanding was difficult to come by. Sometimes he didn’t want to have to think for her. Sometimes he just needed her to be strong on her own. Sandy needed a protector, though, and he had volunteered for that task, ‘til death did they part. So he did his part, every day. It was his duty, after all.
    With Sandy at bay Dave turned his attention back to the room in front of him. He walked in, lighting the way with the flashlight. The shotgun used in this brutal yet merciful act lay on the floor beside the man's body, the barrel slightly rusty from the dank, basement air. Dave handed the light to Jim, then picked up the shotgun. It looked functional at least; the only true test would be actually firing it.
    Judging from the scene in front of him he assumed both barrels were empty. He broke the gun open and confirmed this. He took the flashlight back, then handed the shotgun to Jim. A quick search of the room revealed a box with about a half-dozen shells. He placed them in his pocket, then took the flashlight back from Jim.
    Suddenly he felt the room squeezing him, the heavy air was suffocating. It was as if all the dread and despair that came with the outbreak had been crammed into that little space. He had to get out.
    Suddenly Sandy called down again. “I don't want to be up here anymore, Dave. I want to come down.”
    He called back up to her. “Come on down babe, just watch your step.”
    Sandy descended slowly down the steps, making sure to grasp the handrail tightly. Dave walked back to the bottom of the steps, shining the light to illuminate her way. “Just don't go in that room back there,” he warned.

    The trio spent the next fifteen minutes with a single flashlight in the bitter cold, searching for supplies for their packs. They found some canned tuna, Spam, and Vienna Sausages, some ramen noodles, and a book of matches. Apparently most of the food had been consumed before the homeowners met their terrible end.
    Jim discovered a hunting knife, which he kept, and a pair of boots too small for him, which he left. Sandy found a can of Sterno, partially burned, and Dave found a can opener. All but the boots went into their packs.
    Suddenly a loud bang sounded as an unknown object struck the floor above them. The trio froze, their muscles tightened. Dave extinguished the flashlight, and the three of them held their breath in the dark while they listened for any clue as to what had made the sound. Then they heard the floor creak, followed by what sounded like a paralyzed limb being dragged along.
    Something was upstairs.
    They strained their eyes to see in the darkened room, but they could see very little besides the feeble light illuminating the steps from above. Something had definitely gotten into the house; there was little doubt it was a carrier. Fuck! Dave thought. It'd been Sandy's job to lock the doors behind them; apparently she hadn't done it. That mistake might now cost them their lives.
    Dave turned to his wife and friend in the dark. “Let's see what this thing decides to do,” he whispered. “If it leaves on its own then we grab the backpacks and get the fuck outta here.”
    “And if it doesn't?” Jim whispered.
    “If it doesn't, then I'm going to catch it by surprise at the bottom of the steps.” He turned to face both his wife and Jim, whispering. “You guys stick together. Grab the backpacks and be ready. Sandy, give Jim the pistol.”
    “What about this shotgun?” Jim whispered back.
    “I don't know...give it to Sandy.” Jim and Sandy swapped guns.
    “I'm going to wait at the bottom of the stairs with the hatchet. If it comes down, I'll hack it to pieces.” He leaned in,